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| The Truth About Snow White | |
| By AnnieSeed | ||||||||||||||||||
| 14 May 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||
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I did this as an exercise from the BBC's Get Writing online writing course. I was quite pleased with it, but I'd like to know what you lot think. I have a few other ideas in the pipeline too . . . .  The truth is – I was glad she was gone. The palace was blessedly quiet without Snow White’s endless tantrums. Snow White! What had her parents been thinking to call her that? It had been asking for trouble and they’d got it. Snow White was anything but. She had all her mother’s beauty – flawless fair skin, green eyes, shining black hair and a mouth like a plump, juicy strawberry. No wonder she was the number one pin up in the kingdom. I had married the widowed king five years after her mother’s death. It was the first time I’d been loved, but Snow White hated me. I thought I could deal with it. It wasn’t easy – the girl was only 16 but she had a devious mind, the filthy vocabulary of a brothel-keeper in the worst city stew – there was nothing she wouldn’t stoop to. Then one lovely April morning – she vanished. For six weeks there was silence and we began to believe she was lost for good. One June afternoon, a commotion was heard outside and all in the hall looked towards the great doors. A young man strode in, holding Snow White by the hand She looked different somehow, but I could not have said quite in what way. Bowing to the king, he announced, “I am Prince Sebastian. I come to restore Snow White - and to accuse your wife of her kidnap and attempted murder!” My husband stared at me, appalled, before asking Snow White, “Is this true?” She nodded. Without even glancing at me, my husband ordered my arrest. In less than an hour I was in a cell, awaiting trial. A week later, my wrists bound and a rope tied loosely around my neck, signifying that I was on trial for my life, I was taken through jeering crowds to the Great Hall. Snow White testified that a servant of mine had seized and taken her to the forest. He had tried to rape her, but she had fought and run away. Confident of the people’s love, she had sought help at a modest dwelling, the home of seven very short men. Convinced she was not safe with me in the palace, they had persuaded her to stay with them. One day had come an ancient crone to the door, offering Snow White a juicy red apple. One bite had felled her to the ground, for it was poisoned. The ancient crone was said to have been me, disguised by magic. The prince testified that he had seen Snow White in a glass coffin, being carried to her forest grave. The coffin was dropped, the apple dislodged and Snow White restored to life. No-one challenged this ridiculous story, or spoke for me. My husband found me guilty, ordering that I be burned alive one week hence. In my cell I watched the last days of my life slip by. There had not been time to send word to my brother, whose kingdom lay a month’s journey away. So I prepared for death. On the morning of my last day they came for me. All was silence on the river, and I watched the sunlight sparkling through the trees, trying not to cry, for it was the last time I would see it. Then I remembered that the last sight I would see would be the flickering flames and the faces of my husband and his daughter through the smoke. His love for me seemed to have been as insubstantial as smoke. They led me through the silent, deserted city, past the square, to the palace. As we passed the square I saw the stake where I was to die. All around the square were trestle tables with chairs, set for a great feast. They meant to feast as they watched me die. I was exhausted, and holding onto the last shred of my dignity as I was led into the palace. My husband sat on his throne in the Great Hall. Snow White was not there. The only other person there was the Lord Chamberlain. The Lord Chamberlain spoke, “Your innocence is known, Madam. You are restored to your place as Queen.” Snow White had spent those weeks not with the dwarves but with her lover. The dwarves had been paid to lie for her, but one of them had told Prince Sebastian the truth. The scene with the glass coffin had been set up for his benefit. The Prince had broken their betrothal and informed the Lord Chamberlain. Thus I was restored to my place and Snow White was taken under guard to live out her life as a prisoner. On the surface, life seemed to have returned to its old calm cadences and rhythms. I sat on my crystal throne and brooded. I still flinched from my husband’s kisses, sick with anger, and refused him my bed. I lay awake at night staring into the darkness, turning over events in my mind, unable to fathom my husband’s desertion of me, his willingness to kill me, or reconcile it with his professions of love now. Eight weeks after my restoration, my brother arrived unannounced. My husband was full of anxious apologies, to which my brother listened politely. My husband’s voice tailed off. Eventually my brother said “I have come to take my sister home.” My husband protested, wept and pleaded. I said nothing. “You are not to be trusted with my sister,” said my brother, “Had it not been for the most fortuitous confession of one of the conspirators, your daughter would have succeeded in her wicked scheme, and you would have had my sister killed before I had even heard of the matter.” My husband was in tears now but my brother was unmoved. “There would have been war between us,” was the last thing he said, as he left the room. Three days later, all preparations and packing complete, I set out with my brother at the head of his retinue, my husband watching sadly from the palace steps. I did not look back.
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