Matilda awoke. She was staring into set of green irises that she had seen before. The eyes drew back until Matilda could see a face that she vaguely recognized, accompanied by a somewhat familiar voice, saying, “We meet again, Snow White. I am Prince Charming, and I would like to ask for your hand in marriage.”
Matilda looked around her. She was in some sort of glass coffin, the lid partially open, surrounded by blue and pink flowers in some cove in the woods. It all came back to her: Grimhilde was dead, and Matilda was acting out her life. Everything had gone according to plan, and she was about to get all she’d ever wanted. But she didn’t want it–no, she couldn’t want it anymore. She had given up everything she’d known: her life of familiar poverty, her morals, and her ability to make decisions in life. Yet she had no choice. Grimhilde was not around to keep the throne, and the land needed a ruler. And besides, she’d given up everything just to get here. She would not let all that be in vain. “Prince Charming,” said the queen, “I would love to rule this kingdom with you.”
“Kingdom? I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, my fair lady.”
“Yeah, what’re you about?” Grumpy grumbled, more standoffish than usual.
“Oh, that’s right, none of you know about this.” Snow looked around at the confused looks surrounding her. “When Queen Grimhilde was starting to do magic, the last king and queen wanted to reprimand her, so they gave the kingdom to me because my parents helped the queen give birth,” she explained, leaving out the darker details. “So you should know that with my hand in marriage comes great responsibility. Will you still accept?”
Charming’s eyes softened. “Oh, Snow White, my dear, nothing would stop my love for you! I would love you even if you had really been dead!”
Snow (she was Snow, for she could no longer be called Matilda) frowned disappointedly. “Then you mustn’t call me Snow White anymore.” The prince was confused at this. “Call me Snow White Charming.”
At this, all the animals and dwarves cheered.
The wedding was held in Snow White’s new castle. The pre-party was very exravagant, fitting of a prince and next-in-line queen. Every aristocrat in the land attended, wanting to meet the new couple that would be ruling over them, plus the few who came for the feast incoming monarchs were known for giving. On the menu for Mr. and Mrs. Charming’s reception was tea imported straight from the East, accompanied by chocolate biscuits from the New World (both extreme luxuries); Scandinavian lobsters and New English cod; an assortment of meats, including venison, beef, New World turkey, and a variety of birds. Normally, the Church wouldn’t have allowed fish and meat to be eaten on the same day, but it made an exception for such a monumental occasion as the death of the Evil Queen. In fact, it seemed that all of Europe, if not the world, was excited about such a significant event. The only person who was not celebrating was soon-to-be Snow White Charming.
She was sitting alone on a crate in one of the towers in her new castle, mourning her deceased friend. Matilda didn’t want to face the life that had been made for her. She didn’t want to act out the rest of her life. She wasn’t looking forward to being friends with these old, fat, arrogant aristocrats that only tolerated her for her money and power; she preferred having the equivilant of a hundred friends in Grimhilde. She didn’t want to be responsible for thousands to millions of subjects; she wanted to go back to keeping Grimhilde company, having each other and no other care in the world but keeping food on a clean table. She didn’t even enjoy the thought of marrying Charming; she would rather have the hopeless romantics Grimhilde would have entertained with her. Soon Snow would have all she’d ever wanted, but she wouldn’t have the one thing she truly wanted: her best friend.
