"Deep in time, a life of chains,
A loop the willows cast,
Depicts it's greatest, secret void,
A prison of the past."
Throughout the journey to the winding golden brick roads and White pillars leading up to the vast orchard, the little girl sings to herself. She looks at the older woman holding her hand and giggles, seeking approval. The older woman gives her a tired smile.
Pine trees dot the footpaths and cover the seemingly never ending hills. Down the valley, a small village is visible growing into small city on the horizon.
The faint sound of a rushing waterfall somewhere in distant mountains could be heard if one pressed their ears just right.
The early rays of sunlight were peaking out through the dark clouds. Bluebirds sang and chirped.
A deer ran by from behind a tree. The fresh scent of apples fills the air.
The girl is a pretty little creature with her golden braids that are held together by pink ribbons tied into butterfly shapes. The woman on the other hand exceeds nothing but a tired aura of authority and regality, evident in her heavy jewelry and rich, scented curls and straight posture. Her jewelry and poise seem to make her already beautiful face almost overwhelming to look at.
The little girl skips into the orchard, holding the older woman's hand, followed by two men clad in armour. Her face is flushed and her eyes shine with the glitter and joy of a hundred suns, her smile reflecting the warmth of the same. The older woman appears dull and tired, almost sick. The girl let's go of the woman's hands and rushes tree from tree delighting in the fresh red harvest of fruits that hang from their branches. Her laugh is loud and fills the orchard.
The gardeners and women who tend to the trees and shrubs share in her delight and glance at the child adoringly.
The orchard is big, but appears small on the hill it is situated on, the trees looming like giant's legs and old sorcerer's towers where they imprisoned young girls. Over on the North side a gargantuan fortress of marble, cobblestone and obsidian rises from the black mountains like a creature trying to claw it's way out of the underground.
The woman sits and slumps down under one of the trees, her head in her hands, her raven hair spilling into her fingers. She breathes.
Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she stares at the sunlit sky and inhales. Then exhales.
The frost in the cold air is strong. This has been an especially harsh winter, she can tell it's going to snow tonight.
She might not get another chance.
She rises, slapping the dirt of her extravagant red dress.
She claps twice. The two armoured men who had followed her in pull out their swords.
The staff in the orchard is hurriedly removed and escorted out. They exchange looks of fear and worried glaces. As they pile out, the woman rises and dismisses the two men.
The little girl has now settled down under one of the trees, sunlight clad in her golden hair.
In her hand is a fresh red fruit. She inhales it's scent, giggling. And bites.
She does not see the shadow that looms over her from behind the tree. Does not see the flicker of red fabric behind her.
But she screams all the same. She screams when the woman falls on her like a thunderbolt, ripping, clawing, pulling her hair and tugging her skirt.
She screams as she feels the woman bite down on her soft neck, drawing blood. And she screams as she is struck repeatedly, life flowing away from her body with blood. The woman looks up from the girls broken body, warm blood spilling from her mouth, filling it with the scent of iron.
It snowed that night. It was new moon, darkness spilling in from the balconies and windows like ink.
Snow White took of her red dress and threw it in the trunk under her bed. Her black undergarments were a stark contrast to the almost blinding white pillars and furniture of her bedchamber. She liked to wear red dresses during these hunts, the blood didn't stain them.
