The Fabled

Three

"But the seventh one, looking at his bed, found Snow-White lying there asleep." -Brothers Grimm, 1812.

"Again!" my instructor barks.

I growl in frustration and send all the ice I have left, but I've overtaxed my magic. The cold barely grazes my target.

Vera clicks her tongue in disappointment, swinging her silver sword as if it's a toy. "You need to learn how to conserve your energy. The first few hits are always too overpowering, and fifteen year olds don't have much of a gas tank in the first place."

"If I don't give it my all, I die," I counter, catching my breath.

"Draining yourself the first few rounds will be the surest way to death," she replies. Vera gapes her mouth to say more, but instead sighs, leaning against the hilt of her sword in a defeated way. "Your mother's influence is suffocating my training methods."

Quickly, I swallow away the weakness in my voice. It's the one thing both my mother and Vera won't tolerate."No one asked you to tutor me. The queen would have our heads if she finds out."

Vera starts tapping the flat of her sword against a table of our training supplies, suddenly looking older. Her long, thin grey hair has always been a symbol of wisdom as our kingdom's successful general. Today, it acts as a reminder of her diminishing lifespan. She fought for my mother when the Alliance was made and drove the devils out, side by side with her men. Now, the queen refuses to let Vera rest, and has kept the army standing despite our confirmed victory.

"Your mother is not well," she admits as I unstrap my equipment. Vera starts scooting the target back into one of the supply closets, seeming reluctant with her words. "She still grieves, and that horrible shard-"

I shiver as the room turns frigid. My skin erupts in goosebumps, but not from the cold, and Vera draws her sword towards the intruder almost out of instinct. Her jaw is clenched; she knows this fight can't be won.

It is an eerie sight to see Mother in the training room, a place we had convinced ourselves that she would never end up going to. The bared, snow white teeth of our queen gleam as she advances towards us with her notorious heels, now a sign of death in the palace. Wherever she walks, bodies are found. Today, it will be no different.

The nightmare ends, but mother's crystal crown still plays colors at the back of my vision. It sends my heart in a flurry of fear, and I struggle to calm it down. I haven't thought about Vera in years, and not once looked back. Of course I dream of her now, because soon my fate will be the same as hers.

Then what do I have to lose?

Nothing, nothing to lose, the little voice in my head replies. I push the thought down just as I start to roll my aching body from one shoulder to the other. Finally I muster the courage to get out of bed, ignoring the pain creeping through every inch of my skin. Apparently, getting dragged by a rope and poisoned makes your next morning extremely unpleasant.

I groan in agony, but it is when I catch myself from falling out of bed do I realize how foreign the room is.

Far from the luxuries of the palace, but warmer and more cozy, is a living room flooded in sunlight. The wooden walls and oak paneled floors are brightened with a welcoming glow. Somehow, it ties the ugly, mix-and-match furniture together despite how horribly they've been placed.

I crane my neck and cringe. Whoever lives here is shameless with their filth; belongings are scattered across the floor and seating arrangements. Dishes are left on the coffee table in a pile of crust. Clothing is thrown on top of sofas and collecting dust . . .