-1A/N: Yes, I know that my character has spontaneously changed from Anne to Anabelle. Anne and Ane were just too similar for my taste…besides, I'm into three-letter nicknames.

As young girls left to entertain themselves are wont to do, Lisbeth and Anabelle created for themselves a fantasy world where a five-year-old and seven-year-old were Queens of the Faeries, and chamber upon chamber of cold stone wall lit by little more than dim autumn sun were a realm filled with elaborate, exotic, sweet-smelling foliage and curious beasts escaping coherent description.

"We need Faerie names," Lisbeth said, waving before her the blue lace fan that her father had given her before he left.

Anabelle looked up from her gift, a book of letters whose cryptic meaning she fervently endeavored to decode. "What?"

"Faerie names. 'Lisbeth' and 'Ana' aren't the kind of names faerie queens should have."

Ana looked worried that, merely by virtue (or, perhaps more accurately, vice) of her name, she had been found unworthy of being a princess. What would her father say? Would he not let her be a princess anymore? Her lip shook just slightly when she said, "They're good princess names aren't they?"

Lisbeth smiled down at her younger sister's concern. "They're good human princess names, Ana. But since were faerie queens, we need to have faerie names."

Ana nodded shakily. "So what's yours?"

Ana's sister pouted a moment. Her gaze sank, and as the focus of her eyes descended, the pace of her fan's flapping ascended its pace until it appeared that the fan was desperately attempting to revive the little girl. At long last (about two minutes), she looked up and said carefully, "Rose Red, I suppose."

"Does it have to be a flower and a color?" Ana's color rose again; her eyes began to dart about the room for flowers whose names she knew. She knew lots of colors, but she was afraid that if she chose a flower from among the two or three she knew offhand that had previously found themselves nestled in palace bouquets she ran the risk of alternatively being too common, like Daisy Yellow, or absurdly ornate, like Chrysanthemum Chartreuse.

Lisbeth shrugged. "It can be whatever you want it to be." She paused. "Just don't copy me, okay?"

"Okay, okay…" Well, that put a flower right out. At the same time that a pattern to follow was cut off, Ana sighed with relief at release from her quest for a suitable flower, a sigh that her sister misinterpreted.

"Come on, Ana, it isn't that hard."

Anabelle's eyes wandered to the window; some movement beyond its ledge captured her attention. She rose and ambled over. Leaning over to discover what strange vegetable, animal, or mineral had drawn her there, a drop of cold shocked her into recoil. She touched her nose, where the offending object had landed, then leaned right back out to see if it really was what it felt like…even though the sorcerer said that it was much to early when she had asked him to have a snowball fight with her and Lisbeth after her father had left…he said it was too early, but as she stood there another flake fell, and another and another, until the air was thick with snow. Ana smiled into the onslaught as she felt the little flecks land cold, then melt and run down her face. "Snow White," she whispered.

"What was that?"

"My faerie name," Ana said, half-turned so that Lisbeth could hear her. "It's Snow White."

Lisbeth crinkled her nose. "That's a weird name," she said. "Now come down from there before you catch numonya."

Snow White shrugged and leaned farther out the window.