The Tale of the Queen

Title: The Tale of the Queen

Summary: One-shot. An exploration to the story's darker implications in greater depth, this account tells of a mother's jealousy of her daughter's budding sexuality. It is the tale of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs but with a twist. Warning - Hints of female/female & 'tis a sort of dark story.

A/N: Eva Green was such a hottie in Cracks. /cough/ Anyways, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

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My beauty is illustrious and endless. I have many names; Goddess of Spring, Daughter of the Willow, Lady of the Seven Hills. The people of my land cover flowers at my feet when I pass.

Sometimes I gaze into the mirror of truth that hangs on the far wall, in a place hidden with shadows. From there I am able to reach out through the ripples of time, to know the thoughts that pass through a hundred minds.

No secrets are hidden from me.

For I am the Queen, and nothing escapes me; I escape all.

Each seventh year I take a husband. My new king is striking and strong, as were they all once. He has a daughter whose skin is white as snow and whose hair is black as ebony. She hums and sings in the orchard, dreaming of a prince who will snatch her away and make her his own.

But she will dream a long time in the orchard, until her bones break and mingle with the roots of the yew tree, and when her delicate features have been eaten by worms.

And I will still be the Queen, the fairest of all.

The magic mirror thrashes with rising agitation as I fly over the ninth wave that builds far out in that moon-sprinkled sea. Over the dry fields, over orchards heavy with ripening red apples, over the green leaves that stir beneath the harvest moon which lights my way; I come at last to the glade.

There she lays bitter and still; my rival, my daughter, with her rosy young lips and onyx hair. She is curled as if in sleep, her body cradled in earth's embrace. As I plunge down, I see her chest rise and fall, her crimson lips glistening like wet crystal, her pale eyelids flickering as she dreams. I know that my huntsman has failed me.

In the greenwood she has found a home. The little men who work under the ground have taken her in. I hear her name whispered in the streets; I feel her supple, youthful body pressed to mine in tease as I slumber. My people are turning from me, and the land sickens into winter. Broken veins are now in my cheeks and my fingers are contorted and brittle. With the waning moon, my power recedes still further.

As I walk through the orchard, a crimson apple drops at my feet. I can see into its heart, where white flesh is darkened by corruption. I tremble in anticipation as I am filled with malicious thoughts.

I strip myself of my robes and jewels, and put on the rags of a peasant. The mirror is dull, the future misty as I pick up the basket and step into the woods. Murmurs of dread run through the grove from my approach. They too can feel ominous silence above, oppressive with tension.

The little men go off to their business, shovels over their shoulders. Which of them does she bed with, I wonder. What unbridled dark passions are whispered in the remote cottage? I knock on the blemished door, and she opens, shrinking back from me, from the hag at her doorstep.

‘I cannot let anyone in; the seven dwarfs have forbidden me.’

‘It is all the same to me,’ I answer. ‘I shall soon get rid of my apples. There, I will give you one.’

‘No,’ says Snow White, ‘I dare not take anything.’

‘Come now, child, are you afraid of poison?’ I chuckle. ‘I will cut the apple in two pieces; I shall eat the red cheek and you shall eat the white.’

She hesitates. A bird cries out in alarm.

And, young beautiful fool that she is, she stretches out her hand and takes the poisonous half.

Can you not feel that juice in your mouth, my beloved, sweet and sharp at the same time?

My heart is thrashing madly as she bites into the flesh, shutting her eyes in pleasure. As she sinks to the floor the door bursts open and rain blows in, making the fire in the hearth hiss frantically. Suddenly, voices shriek her name in alarm. The little men have returned!

In the shape of a black crow I escape. An arrow brushes my feathers. As a fox I flee hastily, but they unfasten their hounds on me. My strength ebbs as we climb onward and upwards a hill, where water cascades like thunder. Lightning sears the sky, and yet still they pursue.

Cornered at last, they close in on me. I return to my form and stand tall. Even now they cower back, afraid of what they are about to destroy. I raise my arms and lean over the edge, falling swiftly. As I see their faces retreat, I transform again with the last of my power.

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A salmon swims in a river, forgetting everything but the shift of the sunlight and shadow. Seasons pass and still the fish dreams of a high tower, and a beautiful and treasured woman who once ruled a vast land with immeasurable wealth. The fish sees a prince and his young bride journey home in triumph, the cherry blossom falling at their feet. It sees, too, the glow of her cheeks, the gleam in her deep emerald eyes, and the swelling of her belly as a baby grows.

She hungers for fresh salmon, a craving that cannot be subsided. The prince sends out his fishermen and they come eventually to the ferny pool, where after a long battle, the fish surrenders. But inside there remains a flicker of life, and even as she consumes, it rejoices that it has found a new host.

She clutches at her abdomen.

'What is it, my love?' her husband asks worriedly.

'The little one,' she says, happiness spreading to her features. 'I felt it stir.'

The seed of her own destruction is sowed. Her blood nurtures me. If strange thoughts flutter through her head at times, she puts it down to motherhood. Or perhaps something she ate?

When she is aged and grey and shrivelled, then I will reach my full zenith. My time will come round again. 

My beauty is illustrious and endless.

For I am the Queen, and nothing escapes me; I escape all.

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