Chapter Text
The tower bell gonged, echoing above the ivory kingdom.
No reaction was given, as there were no residents to notice its familiar presence—at least, not a lot. A wooden bear’s ear twitched at the sound, fully aware for who knows how long and yet how close it was, amplifying the gong as if intruding the room, never ceased to surprise her. Although, it has become bearable (no pun intended) as her wooden body no longer shook and trembled by its suddenness.
The small bear looked over to the others. In comparison, she was both the tallest and oldest from the two, beneficial to her height of four feet. The second tallest bear held about three-fourth of her height, along with a round body in contrast to her cylinder one. In addition, the second tallest, the middle of the three, was also a boy but was just as young as she was. The last bear, however, had to be a year younger than the two, also female, and held three-fourth of his height. She was the shortest out of the three. Her figure was similar to his own, but her face was her own shape and look. The two were the same on personal appearance; the tallest had more bark, the middle had less bark, and the shortest had an equal sharing on their faces.
Their appearances were different, but their duties were the same, as they always were for the fourth resident of this kingdom. The current royal that not only ruled this land, but was also the reason of who and what they become.
Before the gong sounded, they already went to work early in the morning to prepare the room for the highness. The middle bear worked on pushing a large pile to a corner of the room, shadowed but mindful of any item in the pile slipping to fall. The shortest bear was picking up the items that weren’t in the pile, scattered about in her direction. The tallest bear held to a broom that matched her height and swept the items in her direction as well, pushing them to the direction of her own small pile, later to be added on to the large one.
As she swept, her body remained calm when the familiar tinkering of the double doors was activated, unlocking themselves and opening up, allowing the morning sunlight in but was slightly covered by a figure, one that was feet taller—and entirely human.
When the figure passed by, the tallest bear looked up in surprise before speaking of a greeting, “Hello, Your Majesty.”
The middle bear followed, “Good morning, ma’am.”
The shortest bear came last. “Good morning.”
None of them received a greeting back to them, they never do and they were used to it. They understood why as her Highness, the Queen of the White Kingdom, showed no acknowledgement to them. Nor to the shadowed residence of the room, the matching wooden desk opposite from the doors with a high chair, the painted portraits hung and shadowed as well; none of them, the entire meaning of a created private office for a royal, meant nothing to her.
All except what stood at the center of it all.
It was the only spot in the entire office the bears had swore to never set foot upon.
Surrounded in a thin layer of grass, barriered by lifted and broken marble off the ground, and shined by the sun, as if a natural spotlight instead of an open gap from the ceiling, laid a healthy tree with its brown bark splitting apart multiple times to create its curved branches, allowing full-grown white leaves at its tips and wherever was close by. White and brown could have been the only colors, but they weren’t, as a third color was added to the duo.
Red.
Ruby red.
Apple ruby red.
It was the main focus under the queen’s gaze. Two fresh and delicious-looking apples grew and now hung on the branches, close for the queen to reach.
The tallest bear’s ear twitched again. The second gong was released.
She knew this well. It was time to begin.
“Magic tree, magic tree...” The queen spoke, such words the bear could remember by heart, “Let this morning by the time that you perform your duty...”
The hood of her golden cape was pulled down, her view now rested from the back of the queen's head. She didn’t need to see her face, however. She knew perfectly well how she looked.
In comparison to the portrait, the queen was clearly aging: her pale, beige skin was losing its color life and held a dullness with wrinkles and liver spots; the hair the bear viewed was styled in a bun but with a silver white taking over her natural red, making the color look like streaks; and her position was slowly but surely becoming hunched despite her efforts to maintain straight and poise. She would never say it out loud, in fear of what can be done under her Highness’ control, but she was getting close to have her see the queen less as one—and more like her grandmother.
The mental note was common to her for weeks that she didn’t have to hold back anything to disturb the queen’s moment. It was true, but was no laughing matter.
The angle of the sunlight began to tilt, resting directly under the tree and queen.
The timing was perfect as always.
The third, and last, gong was set free.
Awe then bloomed in the room. The four watched as the two apples morphed right before their very eyes. No longer were they delicious to eat, and had become lovely... to wear. No matter how many times she and her fellow bear companions witness such an event, the sight of visible magic almost never ceased to amaze her. In a second or two, the apples snapped apart with ease and morphed from their roundish shapes into a slender and curvy pair, with inches-high and thin blocks behind at the ends. The inside held on to the apples’ inner color and with images of two apple seeds in the center as their soles.
The red ruby apples had become a pair of apple red heeled shoes.
The queen then reached up when done, picking one off as she continued, “...of bringing me the shoes of youthful... eternal... beauty.”
The shoes slipped on her bare feet with ease. It was almost made for her.
Once settled, a gush of pink fog was released below. The magic within it swirled below her, rising up to engulf her in its pink forming twister. She accepted its actions, groaning as the magic touched her very being. The higher it went, the strong it got, and the brighter the pink than the yellow sun.
“Oh... yes!”
The three bears chorused their awe, the magic doing what she requested.
“Change me!”
The wish was granted.
No longer did she appeared as an elder, and quickly regained the beauty of youth she held before; an exact look-a-like to her painted portrait. The silver gray in her hair disappeared, burning for the red’s return. Her skin gained back the living ivory color, almost matching the excitement and happiness the queen showed. Her posture once more straightened naturally as she stood with her arms raised close to her head. From the side angle revealed in the bears’ direction, the tallest bear gasped to herself at the returning youth on her queen’s face. Not a hint of wrinkles or the spots rested on her beautiful face. Even the make-up she wore held life, along with it!
She was the truly the most beautiful woman she ever saw.
“Oh! Finally!” The queen praised, admiring her now delicate and young hands. But only for a second, as shock quickly settled in.
The pink magical fog began to sink, and took the queen’s youth with it. It came and went in a short matter of time, causing the aging queen to have her youth for a few seconds, before reverting back to her original self. By the time it was entirely gone, one of the shoes under her gown poked out. The tallest bear then felt her body tremble at the growl released from the human queen, the red shoes now as black as ash. Or rotten apples.
“Not again!” She shouted, her anger echoing the room. “How long must I wait?!”
Pulling the hood back on, she whipped her cloak around, heading to the entrance in returning disappointment and frustration. The sight was familiar to the bear; it was clear to understand that the magical event she and her companions witnessed on was not the first, and most likely will not be the last.
“Clear these away!”
Without warning, the removed shoes were thrown at the shortest bear’s direction. The force made it easy to pop the bear’s head off, tossing it away from the body.
“Uh, oh. Head down!” The tallest bear called out, running after it. This, too, wasn’t the first time in experience.
“Oh, pull yourself together,” the queen scolded, waving her hand back at them while the doors closed behind her. The last thing they heard was a frustrated grunt by the queen a second before the doors closed and left the bears be once more.
“Here you are.” The tallest bear managed to get the head, and placed it back on the wondering body. Once settled, the shortest bear became aware of her surroundings, “Oh! Thanks!”
The three wooden bears then resumed to work. The thrown pair were scattered with the items: the same shoes that has been made, worn, and failed throughout the time being. And yet, all three of them knew that the queen refused to give up.
She has longed for her youthful self to return, and she knew that the power she held inside, a power that was fading faster than her body’s health, will make them work. The shoes have shown that the magic within them was working, but needed to last a longer time—eternity would be best for the queen’s intentions.
But until that time comes, she will not stop. She will not disregard. She will not admit defeat on this failed experiment, no matter to how many times it was done. As long as that tree continues to live, she will get her shoes, get her goal to be successful.
She will have her young and beautiful self again, forevermore. Not even Death himself will stop her on getting what she wanted.
The held curl of his finger ached as it wrapped around the active pen, writing over a small, rectangular parchment paper as it became marked with unique, red symbols only the writer understood. Once completed, the marked paper was placed aside to be added on to the pile of the same pieces of paper, written multiple times. With a sigh of exhaustion, another blank piece was dragged over in front, positioned in a precise manner to avoid any mistakes. The language was no stranger to the writer, but his purpose on writing the same symbols over and over, front and back, must not involve the slightest of mistakes in his writing. Even when his hand was already killing him for writing so long.
Merlin has been creating these symbolled strips all his life; it was his very own creation ever since he was younger, baring a connection between the symbols and the pulsing magic that ran through his veins. Right now, it seemed like parchment with symbols written in an endless repeat. But under his control, either by snapping his fingers or clapping his hands or such, the parchment would immediately morph into a streak of blue lightning, capable of striking down an enemy that comes on his path — and it has done, also on an endless repeat that Merlin couldn't keep count on.
Because so, he was considered a hero to many on Fairytale Island, along with his fellow male companions: Arthur, Jack, Hans, Pino, Noki, and Kio. Together, they were widely known as the Fearless 7, or F7 for short. Whenever trouble strikes, someone called for their help and they would show their honor in completing such tasks... especially with the acceptable praises they received for their actions. And admiring their good looks as a bonus, of course.
Although, an expert he was on his magic, he was no fool on its supernatural qualities. Years of practice upon concentration, focus, and agility had him aware of benefits and disadvantages that his magic, as well others’, can affect in a situation. Some people have control over it and use it for the greater good, like himself. Others who use it for such vile and selfish and cruel reasons for their own needs and satisfaction.
Like that witch.
His hand paused; the paper being halfway done.
One little mistake, and Merlin wished the magic within sensed the problem before it was done. Such a disadvantage, indeed.
Placing his pen down, Merlin brought his hands closer to him, palms facing his sight with a little wiggle from his fingers. Then, they quickly curled into fists and slammed at the table. The sudden tremble caused the pile to react, tilting until it was spread out over the tabletop and close to his fists. He held no attention towards it; he wouldn’t be trembling with strong irritation and anger if so.
“Why, why, whhhyy?! ” He groaned, his fists now released as he pushed back his silky brunette hair, his torso positioned to almost slide off his chair.
His hands. His feet. His face, his body, his entire being of existence...!
They now held a secret, a secret done by a mission gone terribly wrong.
It just wasn’t fair! His mind shouted. How were we to know?! If anything, someone should at least give us a heads up – ‘Thank you so much for doing this, Fearless 7. You are all so brave and handsome and never lost any battle! By the way, though, the princess that has been taken by the dragon... doesn’t look like a princess. In fact, I say she looks more like a witch...!’ Is that so hard to add in?!
It was a simple battle, really, with their experience on confronting and defeating multiple dragons in almost every area of the island. And, of course, almost every dragon had captured a young and beautiful princess, who would give her token of appreciation with a kiss on a cheek to all seven members. They always did love battling dragons.
But, nope!
This one had to be a failure! Over one little misunderstanding!
Merlin still couldn’t believe it. The woman they saved not only looked like a witch, but was an actual princess. The fairy princess!
He remembered well on information he read about her. Like him, she too held magic within her veins, magic that she can control at the touch of her fingers with an aura of lime green. It can also surround her body like a barrier, revealing how powerful she was. Throughout all the princesses he knew, she was the only one that was born with supernatural powers.
If she went under a sleep curse, she would have woken herself up in a second. If she trapped in a castle, she would have attacked her way out with her green magic, defeating any guard in the best of armor within minutes. If she—if she was attacked and captured by a dragon, she would have gotten her way out of it.
Such thought bloomed in his mind more than once, constantly wondering why after.
Why was she there? Why did she get captured? Why didn’t she get out herself if she’s the 'all-powerful princess'? Why let them save her? Why, oh why, did she had to curse them in the end of it all?
It had to be a trick, he suddenly thought. A trick to get them into her plan: to ruin their reputations.
The whole situation wasn’t a mistake. It was all planned, by her.
‘Oh, look at me! I’m the fairy princess! I’m so powerful and magical and green to look at! But, nope, no one wants to look at me! I’m too hideous and gruesome and I have a wart on my face as my decoration! No one wants to be near me... especially the Fearless 7.
‘Oh, how handsome those princes are: with their good looks, dashing smiles, handsome appearances, they wouldn’t dare look at me for a second... I hate them! I hate them all! All women who are prettier than me, and all men who are so handsome that they can never be spotted with someone like me! I’ll make them pay; I’ll make them all suffer! I’ll have them all uglier than me, and I’ll start with the Fearless 7...!
‘Haha! It worked! My plan is a success! Thanks to that awful dragon, I was saved by them — perfect timing and closeness to finish my plan! It’s brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!’
Merlin can picture her crackling, like a true witch ought to do.
‘Not so handsome and charming now, aren’t ya ?! Such gullible, ridiculous men you are to believe I actually needed your help on rescuing me. Such fools... You have fallen into my trap and the only way to break it, is to have a beautiful woman kiss your ugly faces. But not just any woman, the most beautiful of them all!
‘...That is, if that would even be possible.’
Merlin felt his eye twitched.
‘Look at you! Like anyone would fall in love with you!’
His hands began to tremble.
‘You were fools to rescue me, and now you take the looks a fool must be.’
His eyes closed.
‘A short—’
His teeth grinded.
‘—green—’
His heart slammed at his chest.
‘—ugly—’
His hands curled into fists once more at his hair.
‘—dwarf.’
A cry of anger burst from his opened lips. His fists slammed harder on the table, sending a tremble stronger than the last. Along with it, the magic was activated; in a matter of seconds, the magic in him caused the magic on the written parchment to have his creations destroyed, turning into flashes of blue lightning right before him until disappearing into thin air. Not a hint of ash left behind. What remained, however, was the unfinished parchment, crinkled and crushed down under his right fist.
Huffs of air were released, sent down to his lap. He can feel the magic's energy burning, an energy close but not exact to the lightning. Eventually, his breathing began to cool down until he exhaled one last huff, out of complete exhaustion. Although, his mind continued to rile up.
She will pay. She will receive such vengeance on her selfish attack. Calling her a witch won't be enough, even when true. That woman—if she deserved to be called one—had no idea who she dealt with; she may have magic, but so did Merlin.
Their magic will clash upon a battlefield, their green and hideous faces baring masks of anger and determination to achieve victory. Her green against his blue. It would be a first for the signature colors of nature to portray rivalry than equality.
He wouldn’t care how long it took, even if the woman became old and greyish green!
She will fear him. She will beg for his forgiveness. She will accept defeat under him.
She will regret her vile actions.
She will get what she deserves!
…But does she really deserve it?
Eyes opened, still direct through sight on his lap. What?
Does she really deserve such a wrath? Who knows what the woman was doing before the whole dragon scenario came in order: maybe she was minding her business and the attack was done because she was unintentionally in the way – or, she could have been dealing with the dragon herself but got tired and end up being captured – or, someone might have tricked the dragon into seeking revenge towards her for itself, when in reality she did nothing wrong? Vice versa, in a realistic sense?
After all, this curse was done on him because of a mistreatment. On how she looked.
Merlin groaned as he felt the unbearable guilt rising up within him. Oh, how he despised this feeling, that vile transparent yet visible feeling in his stomach that felt as if a burn was now activated. He just had to be raised by wonderful royals and parents, who taught him about good and bad in life, causing proudness and guilt to be created as he grew up!
Just his luck.
A sigh of the current emotion released, he eventually got up and found himself facing his hanged mirror, a piece of reflective glass with a stuck frame of four pieces of wood as it rested upon his bookcase of spells. Not like the library back at his kingdom, but it held everything that he needed during his F7 adventures. Most of them used for everyday life.
Eventually, he watched as the guilt in his brown eyes turn into defeat and tiredness.
“It’s hopeless.” He grasped his chin with his index and thumb, checking out his handsome features. Normally, he would show his amusement on the looks, but his mind had tired him out. He looked ready to sleep for all eternity, and it was only the afternoon. “It would take forever to have the world see this face again. Maybe, another year or so.”
It has been a year since the event happened, and knowing what's done every time the F7 were in presence of each other made it difficult to forget about it for one minute. Seven handsome princes and heroes they were known to the island had to live in isolation, hidden away from the civilizations by choice, to prevent anyone knowing of their curses and mock them over the irony.
Heck, it was more ironic that the people in the village they saved during the dragon attack managed to leave completely before the curse was done. Every. Single. One of them. Gone. By the time the attack was done, they went away, running through the woods before any villager could spot them.
Sure, once in a while they do attend a village to get some needed supplies, but as tempting it was to reveal themselves to anyone, even to a child who could be a fan of them or when trouble was done again, they didn’t.
It would have made the job easier and faster if they did take the chance, but it would have to be believable to anyone else but themselves.
A prince bearing the face of a dwarf was believable as a joke, never the truth.
His hand dropped, hitting at his thigh without a care. The mirror that held reflected memories of his smirks, his dazzling gazes, and his visible self-confidence now held to a new memory. One that was tired frustration and depression.
“Miracles can happen... What bull.”
The day had passed, and night has fallen.
The island went silent as the people went into slumber, while the nocturnal roamed about without a care to whom that slept. However, one of them who sleeps wasn’t. Not with the mission stamped in her mind to care about a good night's sleep.
The ivory White kingdom held no residents but the mentioned four, leaving the area almost deserted and abandoned. But to her, it wasn’t a choice. It was never even thought of, it just... happened, on purpose, without anyone realizing it but herself.
She was alone in this uncomfortable silence, but in a way, it was also comforting. The silence helped her mind focus on the mission at hand, and the mission itself came with steps she must go through in order to have it accomplished—which is why her first step, or task, involved her current position: getting inside the single white and gold building separate from the main castle.
The building that was her father’s private study.
It was a struggle, especially since it’s been forever since she last step foot on the land—and because the queen destroyed the bridge between the buildings with her magic, which is also used for a new but temperate bridge for herself—but she managed. The building itself was half hidden by a thick, carved, marble barrier and she was successful in making it to the top, standing on the surface with a width of five or six inches.
Perfect to limit any chances of falling... so long she doesn’t look down.
A rope was thrown inside a large open window, the end stopping a few inches from the ground inside. Poking her head in, she analyzed the dark room. No one was present. Not a single figure moved from her sight. Still safe, the woman then climbed on the window and grabbed hold of the rope to lower herself down. Halfway through, she chose to jump to the marble floor. Harsh on contact, but quick to get the job done since she wasn’t injured.
Standing up in defense, she looked around, searching upon the darkness. Now would have been a good time to get a flashlight if she wasn’t so urgent on getting the next task done: find the journal. Her father’s personal journal, which was basically a story book of his life, including herself and the queen. If she was right, there should be information in the journal that would help her.
As she looked about, she then paused at the tree’s presence, now shining under moonlight.
“Huh? That wasn’t here before,” she stated, narrowing her eyes in confusion. “What is she up to now?” She questioned, but got over it. The queen was the last thing to worry about – if she got caught. What mattered was the journal.
She just had to figure out where in the room did her father place it.
First, she headed to the painted portrait of herself, smiling in the same white and red outfit she currently wore with a green background. Removal was impossible due to the resistant after a pull; it must not be there, then.
Second, her focus went over to the portrait next to it, but it was hidden behind a large, marron piece of furniture. Only a gap between them was her chance to reach over to the portrait... but it was no use. Her arm was too short and her body too big to get through the thin gap. She needed another way.
Her brown eyes then glanced over to the large furniture that blocked her way; an object that had to be heavy enough that she would need four or five guards to drag it across the floor—with hands under a gripped edge, grunts left her lips as she effortlessly lifted and turned it at almost ninety degrees. Wow, lighter than I thought, her mind noted as she headed to the freed portrait, one that had her father and a baby version of herself, sitting on his lap.
This portrait managed to open this time, swinging as it was attached to a safe door.
“Huh?”
It was dark, but not enough to blind her sight. There was nothing there.
“Huh.” It was odd. Sometimes she finds it there, but even with her hand searching, there was nothing.
Where is it?
Lastly, close to the work desk, she pulled open one of the dresser’s drawers. Nothing, not even a spare feather pen or a bottle of old, dried up black ink laid inside. Frustration began to bubble up within. The journal wasn’t in any of the hiding places she hoped to find, nor was it in gullible areas as the drawer. Where on the island could it—
She gasped.
What was that?
Her eyes darted from the empty drawer to the doors creaking open. There, one of the queen’s servants rode on a magic broom, a lantern with its yellow light, shining out and illuminating to every shadowed spot for analyzing. Security work in progress.
“Oh!” Her gasp was a personal whisper.
Closing the drawer quick and quiet, she hid behind the dresser. The back of her body pressed up against the handles of the two drawers, the cold metal digging at her skin through her clothes. Her body held close as possible, keeping every part hidden.
“Huh?”
She winced, her instincts making her crouch at the confusion. Was she caught already? Did her hair give her away?
The bear flew closer, her body tensing at the action, but it went passed the desk – and over to the dangling rope she left behind. Whoops.
“You weren’t here before.”
Silent as a mouse, when the bear spotted the rope, she hid under the desk and had the space between them widened. On all fours, her attention focused on the confused bear—right until the light shined at her.
She froze, her heart slamming at her chest. She knew it, she was caught. It was a probability she knew was bound to happen, but refused to believe it. Now, she’ll never find the journal, or complete the mission.
It was now hopeless. The queen will find out, and do a harm worse on her than what was done to her father.
Wherever he may be, she thought as her eyes closed in defeat, she just hoped he was alright.
“Whatever.”
Her eyes shot open, then focused on the bear as it turned away, the light leaving her location—not at her—and flew out of the room, the doors closing behind. She was once again alone in the dark and quiet room.
So... she wasn’t caught. The light just shined close to her.
The mission can continue.
A sigh of relief was done before—
“Oh! Ow!”
She rubbed the center of her head, knocking it on the hard wood. Then, a sound was made at the exact spot. She looked up – and there it was, hidden in a secret location inside the desk this whole time. One she didn’t even figure would exist.
The journal!
“Yes!”
Her body started moving before she can be aware, already getting out from underneath and brought the chair close to sit. Now in place, her body then paused when her mind picked up nostalgia; she had forgotten what it was like to sit in her father’s chair, a spot he claimed as his own until his dying breath, where he would past it and his crown to his only child.
She remembered sitting on this chair when her father gestured on doing so. The seat had a lingering of his current body heat implanted, and later extended by her own. The cushioning was soft, just enough to last hours of sitting in a day and probably have a temperate nap – she lost count the number of times she found him sleeping, whether resting back or with his body hunched over the desk. Not to mention the reality of this seat. It was understanding that it was simply a chair, but to her since she was little, it was her father’s own seat, the second behind his throne. While the throne represented his role of a leader to their kingdom, this chair showed a man, who didn’t have it easy as king and father but did all that he could to give who and what he loved his all.
A sigh of admiration escaped her lips. How she missed him so...
Her hands, now delicate to the old book, opened it. Pages turned until reaching an entry upon her interest.
Mar. 29th
I can’t believe that my beloved Snow White has turned eighteen. I only wish her mother could see the kind of smart and beautiful young woman she’s become. There was a disturbance during the party, where the Castle Guards brought in a woman named Regina. They said she was a witch. But she was too beautiful to be a witch. She is an angel I have to admit. I’ve never felt such emotions. It was like destiny bring us together. And despite the warnings, I will get married with her.
The woman, Snow White, remembered that day quite well, and she wasn’t so fond with the warnings and concerns appearing once Regina arrived. But her father, her poor naïve father, was oblivious to them; through his description, her beauty made it impossible for him to be aware of a bad bone within her gorgeous being. At least, at that time.
Snow turned the page, following the next entry.
Mar. 31st
The day has finally come. I have married Regina. It was understandable to give her the care and respect she needed while she resided in the castle through my command. But once she came around, I immediately asked for her hand, and she accepted. It was marvelous! The kingdom once more had a queen, and Snow had a new mother to be there for her as much as I did. Everything seemed perfect! Except for one thing: Regina’s strange-looking mirror. At first, when she informed me about it, I did not mind. Whatever my queen wished was to be granted. But I have to be truthful through this journal than to her. I find the mirror to be pretty odd, not as natural or common as a simple hand mirror. It wasn’t what I expected, but as I mentioned before. Whatever my queen wished was to be granted.
Her blood ran cold. Such words had never been so true. And be later filled with regret.
She then hesitated on the next entry, a small part inside wanting to leave before worry could suffocate her, but the thought of her father as she read his small and precise cursive handwriting had her calm down with a breath or two before continuing. She must find her father, no matter on what could worry or scare her.
Apr. 3rd
There was something not quite right. It had been days since my marriage to Regina, and what should have been perfect was quickly becoming a disaster before my very eyes. Snow expressed her concerns, and while I admire her consideration to the residents of our White Kingdom, it caused nothing but unwanted truth. People around the castle began on disappearing one by one, and once it reached such a low number of residents inside, the disappearance was further done outside the castle walls. I have never seen such a decline before, and it wasn’t due to a strange fatal virus spreading among us! One moment this kingdom held thousands of people. Now, there may be fifty or so left. But what had me curious, however, was the strange-looking mirror. Ever since the disappearance had begun, there had been a change in the mirror. It bared strong vines on the inanimate object, as if holding itself without help from guards. I didn’t wonder before, but I do now. Is it because of that peculiar mirror?
“I’m close,” she muttered to herself, almost a prayer sent to him. “I know I am. Don’t worry, Papa, I’m listening. What do you want me to know?”
Snow turned a page where two entries laid alone with a blank page. Checking the pages after, they were also blank. This was it, the last entries made before his disappearance. And by how quickly the handwriting was on the last one, Snow was in for the truth.
Gulping down her worry, her eyes began reading.
Apr. 15th
I saw it! Indeed, I did! I saw it with my own eyes! Regina, talking to a tree! And the mirror was held by it, also being spoke to by her! They were right after all. She must be a witch.
If I had the chance, I would apologize to the entire kingdom on my blind actions. They have warned me, and the end I have failed them. But not Snow, my only precious daughter. She was my last hope, the last person I don’t want to lose. I should send Snow away, to a safer place. I can’t lose her. I just can’t...
No date was written here.
My dearest Snow,
By the time you read this, my fate will be uncertain.
She’s coming for me now. I only hope that you can find the Fearless Seven, and ask them for help!
But... if my fate has been done, this may be my way of speaking to you for the last time. I love you, Snow White, and I shall pray among you and your future to never be tampered by that horrid witch. I had made my mistake, but I know you well that you won’t do the same. You are a brave, smart, strong, and beautiful young woman. Your mother and I wish nothing but the best for you.
Your foolish father,
King White
Note: Apples; the suspicious of fruits.
The pages turned as the front cover closed in silence. The hands rested on top of the cover, then were cushions for Snow’s forehead as she bowed. If she could imagine it, her head would be resting on her father’s lap, the cover and hands being a warmth and living presence upon his thigh. His hand would smooth her auburn hair in a comforting manner, letting her rest in a peaceful silence with him, while he continued on showing his love during her slumber.
It happened last when she was younger. Now, more than ever, was how she longed for his presence again, and in the same way, too. The reality brought her back without her eyes opening, aware that the tears blooming behind them will fall without her control. Her heartache was the cause of the tears, burning with sadness and loneliness for her missing father.
Yes, missing.
Not dead.
She must remember that.
Her father claimed that his fate was uncertain; there was a chance that he was alive, somewhere upon the island, and possibly under Regina’s power to remain hidden from his world: his daughter.
Inhaling for five seconds, she then exhaled the large breath before straightening up and opening her eyes, her sight centered at the journal. Tears miraculously remained where they were.
“Don’t you worry, Papa,” she spoke to the book, the only connection she had left of him. For now. “You've kept me safe. Now, I will do the same. I will find you, and together Regina’s reign will fall and we shall be triumphant... We will be together again. I promise.”
Her body then jolted, surprised by the sudden presence of a loud gong.
Wait a minute.
The...
The gong!
“It’s morning already?!” Her now widened eyes tore away from the book and towards the ceiling’s gap. No longer did it allowed the moonlight in, but an incoming sunlight under the tree. Regina... She will come soon.
“I have to get out of here!”
As quickly as she could upon her now panicking self, she clicked open the secret location of the desk, put the journal back, and headed towards the discarded rope. She got what she needed. Now she could...
Now she...
She...
She didn’t know why. It just... happened.
Snow found herself, turning away from the rope and at the tree. She spotted a change on the plant. There were two apples now placed – and she knew very well that they weren’t there when she got in.
They shouldn’t matter to her. What mattered was the mission, and getting out of here before Regina finds her and lock her up in the dungeon! Or worse!
...But...
She couldn’t. Not with those apples taking her focus away. Her mind, however, recalled the last words her father had written.
Apples... the suspicious of fruits...
“...But they don’t look dangerous.”
The rope was held, then released with a lingering small swing. Her black flats stepped across the floorboard, passing over the crumbled barrier and planting on the green grass. Flicks of the tips touched her open-viewed foot but she paid no mind. The apples... they were alluring her to their presence.
Why though? Her mind then questioned, blinking her back to reality. They’re just apples. Delicious, yes, but they weren’t her business. Why would she—
The second gong went off.
She didn’t have much time, but her focus remained on the apples. Or, what they were, anyway.
A sharp gasp escaped. “What...”
Her wide eyes and her jaw went agape, no dropping, as the apples shapeshifted before her. No longer were they the red and delicious fruits before, but apple red... shoes?
How was that even possible?
Then again, Regina’s a witch, so it should be.
It then occurred to her that she was reaching out for them, but before she could pull back, one shoe snapped off the branch. It was as simple as picking apples from the apple tree. She analyzed the shoe, looking over and under and inside to see that it was, indeed, a real shoe. Looking back up to the other, she snapped it off, too.
Now what?
There was an energy within the shoes. An overpowering presence she never felt before. Was it Regina’s magic, or maybe its own? Was it... were they what gave Regina her powers? Through these shoes? It was possible... but it also wasn't. Regina could have been born with such power, or even learned how to gain and control it from someone else before these shoes.
These shoes meant no purpose... But then again... Snow White thought back on her memories, recalling the time the guards came with Regina. Wasn't she wearing these exact shoes? And now she was making more of them?
How long has she been obtaining these?
How old is she really?
Now a new illness rested in her stomach. She could be old enough to be the same age as Grandmother—her father's!
Maybe this could be used as a punishment.
Such thought actually surprised her, but it kept going.
This may be her only chance on getting back at Regina: by making sure she didn’t get what she needed. She already had what she wanted, what anyone would want. The shoes, however, were highly necessary than anything else the White Kingdom can be taken from her.
The irritation and anger returned, not as common in normal days but always direct to the queen. Or, her vile and wicked stepmother. She had caused nothing but worries and trouble upon this land, took over as ruler, and destroyed her family's reputation with her tampering magic and enormous vines wrapping around the kingdom. Showing a perfect example on having everything in her clutches...
She looked at her shoes, and through its shine was her reflection. Her eyes, they held a narrowed determination.
Not this time.
If Regina gets her... so be it.
“This is for you, Papa.”
The third gong went off.
The door opened, and a sudden gush of pink fog burst out, startling the queen and the bears on their own broomsticks. Once cleared up, Regina looked over in shock.
This mysterious woman looked down at herself, then to her direction. She gasped, “Regina.”
“No! My shoes! Get her!”
A thick vine appeared behind the queen, and under her command, it did so. Brown eyes widened before running off, sliding over the desk and went under before the vine ended up through the fireplace, trapped in place.
She continued her running, but faltered back when the three bears zoomed over to her direction. With how fast they were coming and how much close she was getting to the vine, a shout released her lips as she slid under the vine, the bears ended up hitting it and had their limbs separated by the force. One bear’s head even slammed to a portrait, “replacing” the face.
“Can I borrow this?” The woman asked, kindly to the head.
“Okay.”
“Thanks!”
It had to be noted that she was aware of what a broomstick is, but not on how to use one. Shouts and gasps were released in the air as she attempted proper control on the broom as it zigged and zagged about in mid-air.
Regina managed to duck when the woman passed over her head, before raising her hand and unleashing another vine to her direction. The focus was to get the girl, whether she was caught or blocked of entry through Regina’s control.
Both ideas, however, had become failures to the witch.
As the vine stretched out through the window, it eventually slowed to a stop. The mysterious woman in the red shoes managed to escape, her voice screaming over the land as the broom drove her away from the witch and the kingdom.
The girl was so far gone that it had to be impossible to see and understand what happened after.
When frustrated with the girl for stealing her shoes and escaping, such emotion became shock. The tree that she worked so hard on... Leaves immediately fell off, the branches curled and solidify, and the bark began to darken into dullness.
Without the red apples to hold or create, the tree has accepted its death.
“NOOOOOOOO!!”