So sorry about the lack of update. Major writers block.

Special thanks to: Olenochka, Inu-Angel Z, jelie36, dorkeegirl186, Karli, sandalwoods, cahkoh, Evo422, MapleRose, bookworm-00, bookwormsrok, mygerbil, MaidenLily, Chibified, CoolBreeze, Susannah's Secret, singinstrawberry, xxSwt_Azn_Angl3xx, just a fan, maddelei and wackoramaco87.

Wackoramaco87: What's the difference between the story here and the one on FictionPress.net?

Alyssa Madison: None, except that I'm stronger on that account and go on it much more often than fanfiction.com You are also more likely to get a review reply back if you review that story.

Oh yeah. 50th reviewer gets a cameo.

***

Desdemona stared at the crusted and bloody heart in her hand. She closed her eyes and shuddered in disgust before dropping it on the polished brown table, where clotted, maroon blood crumbled out of one of the main veins of the blackening heart. The putrid scent of the decomposing organ had infested her paling hand and she massaged the sticky muck of thick blood and crust from her hand onto the apron of her filthy dress.

It had been a fortnight since the peasant girl had been ordered to kill Annabelle, her heart to bring back as proof. Desdemona had sorely regretted asking for the heart now, but she couldn't throw it away for reasons, reasons that even she herself didn't understand, nor was brave enough to decipher.

The dining room was dark and cold, only lighted by a candle or two, but it was big with a high ceiling, creating an eerie effect, the only moonlight shining on a tarnished suit of armor. The servants had been dismissed for the night, so Desdemona alone was left with the heart.

Standing up from the uncomfortable wooden chair, Desdemona got up to retire to her chambers for the evening. Swiping inexistent sweat from her brow with a monogrammed kerchief, she turned abruptly to the corridors leading to her room. Slipping on her own feet, she brought her hand upon the table to steady herself, but was horrified to learn that she had brought her hand down on the rotting heart, but was terrified more so to find that in the crushing of the organ, it squished down easily, and a crackly snap was heard. Mush oozed out of the flattened arteries and veins onto the table.

Desdemona screamed, and hastened towards her chamber without a second glance at the table. She picked up her skirts and fled up the stairs, the stone seeming to leer uncomfortably at her, so she didn't stop until she had reached the door of her room.

Gasping for breath, she pulled the heavy oak door and slammed it shut once she was in. The spacious room was alight with candles. But Desdemona hadn't been in the room for hours. How odd. Must have been one of the servants.

She whirled around and called out. "Mirror, mirror on the wall!" She hastily wiped her hand on her dress apron again, as a haze filled the mirror and an emotionless white mask appeared.

Desdemona only wanted company tonight, but she asked the mirror something that she hadn't since she was a mere girl, when she had stumbled on a magical mirror as a child.

"Who is the fairest of them all?"

The mask furrowed its brow line in thought, but then pursed it's lips together. "The lady Annabelle Snow" He answered in a deep voice.

The name shook Desdemona and she started to breathe heavily. "Does thy not mean the Late Lady Annabelle Snow?" She inquired.

The mask shook his head slowly. "The Lady is still alive and healthy, Milady."

Desdemona gasped and shuddered, looking down at her blood- stained apron and back to the mirror. "Then whose life has been spilled upon my conscience?" She cried, her voice in a panicked whisper.

The mask gave Desdemona a pale, haughty smile. "The blood upon your hands is the blood of a deer, milady."

Desdemona sucked in her cheeks and looked from the mirror, to her hands, folded neatly on the soiled apron and back to the mirror again.

"Where is she?" She murmured.

The cream- colored mask looked back at her. "Annabelle is in Ralene, but she will leave in two days."

"Mirror, how doth thy know?" Desdemona pursed her lips together and frowned at the fat on herself that she just noticed. How did the beggars and cheap rogues stay thin? She wondered.

The mask laughed, a deep throaty laugh. "Do you not remember, my lady, I doth know everything."

Desdemona opened her mouth in protest, but decided otherwise. "Very well then. Where is that peasant girl that I had ordered to kill Annabelle? Why did she bring me back the heart of an animal?"

The mask paused for a minute, and then simply replied, "The spell was broken"

Desdemona rolled her eyes. "Then she must be killed."

Though he knew, the mask asked to clarify. "Killed? Annabelle or the peasant girl, Terencia?"

"Both."

The mask shifted uncomfortably. "My lady, you should be happy for that Annabelle is gone from you!" He tried.

"Be silent." Desdemona snapped. "By the next full moon, Annabelle will be dead, and I will be more beautiful."

The mask made a face. Luckily, Desdemona had not looked, as she took a dagger from a cupboard close to her bed and started to play with it. She glided her index finger along the blade, but pressed too hard. A drop of her blood landed on her apron, adding more red to the once white cloth.

Desdemona bit her lip in pain but stayed silenced. Then she looked up back to the mirror. "By the next full moon, Dreynagus."

Dreynagus closed his eyes, safe within his mirror confinements and nodded. "Yes, milady."

***

Ah what a filler. So now you know, Desi has a mirror named Dreynagus, who has a male soul. Uh… I know it's short. V. V. sorry.

Love, A. Madison