Red,Black,White

Prologue

Now, I know what you're thinking; it's just the Snow White story. Innocent girl has a jealous stepmother, is almost killed by a huntsman, eats an apple and falls in love, yata yata yata. But the thing is, that's not the REAL Snow White story. In reality, it's completely different. When I told the story to those blasted Grimm brothers, they turned into something completely different. No one wanted the queen for a heroine, they said. It'll be much more believable this way. Yeah... NO! Those brothers completely ruined my life!

You see, when they changed my story like that, they unknowingly planted a curse on me. A very long and annoying curse, I might add! So now I'm stuck as an old woman, forever, until someone reads the REAL story. And you, dear reader, are just that someone! So, read on, and feel proud that someone is finally freeing me from this curse! Oh, and enjoy the story! Just because it's true doesn't mean it's boring! I'll start it for you...

Once upon a time...

" And they lived happily ever after," the aged woman read, and then gently closed the storybook. She shook her head, a sudden rage over coming her.

"That's not right! It's never right!" She angrily kicked the wooden pedestal, and then cried out in pain, clutching her foot and hopping around. The rather comical sight was ruined by the scowl she wore; her glare could have killed anyone who had the particular unfortunate to walk in on her just then. She hopped over to her solitary bed, lying back and sinking into the plush surface. She sighed, anger replaced by hopelessness.

"Why is it never right?" She asked no one; and no one replied. No one ever replied, except the lonely howl of the wind. She sat up, flowing white locks coming undone from her severe bun. She absentmindedly took out the straggly bits remaining in her attempted bun; running her fingers through her hair, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"10 centuries! That's how long I've been in this blasted tower!" She exclaimed, eyes wide with exasperation. She stood up and stalked to the window, gazing out at the oh so familiar yard which greeted her eyes. Over the centuries, its various styles and owners had changed, but the trees had stayed the same. So many secrets, they held: they had overheard countless tidbits, whispered into a trusted friend's ear. Their owners had long since passed away, or grown up to have children of their own- the woman wished that she could, one day, take a walk in the fading sunset. Smell the roses, twirl in the falling leaves, and lay on the grass. Just once...

She put a hand to the window, gazing out in longing. Then she turns away from the picturesque sight and strides back to the storybook. She glares at the pedestal, as if afraid that it might kick her back, then grasps the book in both of her wrinkled hands. She picks up the needle lying next to it, which looks brand new. She takes it in a trembling hand, and then chooses a finger to prick. Three drops of blood fall from her index finger, one after another. She closes her eyes, not noticing the blood evaporating from the cover.

She whispers, "please, Lord, let this work." Exhausted, she collapses on the floor, body curled in on itself. And on the pedestal, magic works itself. The book flips to the first page, where four words appear in curling calligraphy:

" Once upon a time..."