Mirror, Mirr- A Twisted Tale (Disney Twisted Tales) - Jen Calonita Page 0,2

get a better look. Anne and the princess struggled to get a better view.

“Don’t look,” she heard one mother say to a young boy. “We must go now! Before one of us is next.”

“Does anyone know who it is?” asked another.

“Looks like royal blood if you ask me.”

The princess pushed her way through the crowd, trying to make her way to the front. Anne clung to her arm, not wanting to lose her.

“Excuse me,” she kept saying. “May I please pass?”

But the townsfolk continued to goggle, talking and staring as if they didn’t see her.

“It’s witchcraft, I tell you!”

“A warning!” said another. “She is not to be crossed!”

“Is he sleeping or is he dead?”

“He hasn’t stirred. He must be dead.”

He? She pushed harder, going against all the manners she’d been taught so long ago to reach the front of the gate and see what the others were so upset about. As soon as she did, she wished she hadn’t.

“No!” she cried, pulling her hand from Anne’s and grasping the bars in front of her.

It was Henrich. Her Henri. Lying in what appeared to be a glass coffin on display on a raised platform. His eyes were closed and he was dressed in the finest of garments. His face looked almost peaceful. Clasped in his hands was a single white rose. It was a message for her, that much was clear. Was he dead? She needed to know.

“Wait,” Anne said as her friend pushed on the gates, slipping inside so fast the guards couldn’t stop her. “Wait!”

But she kept going, the cloak falling from her shoulders as she ran.

“It’s the princess!” someone shouted, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t care who saw her. She rushed up the platform steps and leaned over the coffin, lifting the glass lid. “Henri! Henri!” she cried, but his eyes remained closed. She clasped his hands. They were still warm. She leaned her head on Henri’s chest. There was shouting and commotion behind her. Screams and cries rose up from the crowd.

“It’s her!”

“She’s come back for us!”

“Princess, save us!”

She blocked out their yelling and listened for the most important sound in the world: a heartbeat. But before she had the chance to register one, she was ripped off the platform and spun around. She instantly recognized the large, burly man holding her.

The man smiled, his gold tooth gleaming. “Take the traitor to Queen Ingrid. She’s been expecting the princess.”

She held her head high as he marched her past Anne and the crowd and whispered in her ear.

“Welcome home, Snow White.”

Ten years earlier

Flakes fell softly, covering the already frozen castle grounds. When she stuck out her tongue, she could feel the flakes land on it. The little droplets of frozen water had the same name she did: Snow.

Was she named for the snow or was the snow named for her? That’s what she wondered. She was a princess, so the weather could have been named after her.

Then again, snow had been around a lot longer than she had. She was only seven.

“What’s that smell?” her mother called out, pulling Snow from her thoughts.

Snow flattened herself to the castle garden’s wall so she wouldn’t be seen and tried to stay quiet.

“Smells delicious and sweet . . . Could there be a goose in the garden with me?”

Snow giggled. “Mother, geese don’t stay at the castle in the winter! They fly south. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone also knows that if you talk during hide-and-seek, you can be found faster.” Her mother rounded a bend and pointed to her. “I’ve found you!”

Maybe she was biased, but Snow thought her mother was the most wonderful person in the world. Father said she looked just like her, and if that was true, Snow was pleased. Her mother had kind eyes the color of chestnuts and ebony hair, which, today, was pulled back in a loose chignon. She had removed her favorite crown—Mother didn’t often wear it during games in the garden, especially in the winter months—but she’d need to place it on her head when they went back inside in a few moments. Her mother had to get ready for the castle’s annual masquerade ball. Snow hated that she was too young to attend and had to take her supper in her room with her nursemaid. She so wished she could go to the party. She preferred her mother’s company to anyone else’s.

“I’m going to get you!” her mother sang, pulling up the fur-trimmed hood on her red velvet cloak. Snow particularly liked