Porcelain skin the colour of snow, shredded, bloodied and now masked by a sleek metal armour. The hills and valleys near my eyes and nose, perfectly matched by this metallic concoction. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I see more than the peasants... I see past my glamour. My fingers trail a diagonal path spanning from my left eye to the right crease of my lips. I let them explore languidly. Feeling suppleness of my cheek, contrasted by the cold bite of the metal, feeling the side of my face that feels no more.
Some days I want to rip it off, dislodge the carefully and intricately connected mass of wires that comprise my mask. I want to rip it apart, expose the skin, the blood. Expose myself. The temptation is there, every hour every second, but especially at the mirror. The potential thrill of revealing myself to everyone tantalises my mind.
I wish this mirror, the only reminder of my deceit, would shatter.
With a deft movement, I've switched sceneries. My illustrious kingdom is now on display. My eyes roam over it's familiar features, it's new blemishes. Huts and small establishments lay littered across immense greenery, the only sign of life being small tufts of smoke spiralling upwards from the occupied huts as their owners struggle to maintain their warmth. My eyes glaze over the raucous bars, schools and security facilities, seeking only the apple of my eye: my palace. It self-imposes itself atop the mountainside, sitting pompously atop its mountainous throne. It's mammoth windows and tapestries glossing and glimmering in the morning light.
Everything is mine.
Captivated by the immense splendour, my mind lapses to the night my dreams were fulfilled.
Icy rain drops pelted down, berating my escape and my defiance, scalding my virgin skin. My heart pounded in time with my thunderous footfalls. Rain sluiced off my skin in sheets, burrowing their iciness into my bones, in a desperate attempt to stall my extant. I fought to keep my eyes forward, focused on my destination in a last ditch attempt to spur me to the finish line.
My prize was so close, a heart ripe and red for the picking. With her heart the true ruler would be gone, leaving the queen vulnerable for attack. Locked on target, I released my charge listening ardently as it whistled through the air, carving into her chest cavity with a satisfying squelch.
The queen had been so rash, so preoccupied by her vengeance. She wanted Snow White to look into her eyes as she died, she instructed her scientists to bioengineer a mask that would allow me to mimic her appearance. The handicap: they needed to remove half my face. So just Snow looked into the queens eyes as she died; the queen had the equivalent distinct pleasure.
Grinning, I gaze at my form with adoration, chanting my mantra: "Mirror, mirror on the wall who's the fairest of them all?"
