Post by QueenOfTheDance on Jun 17, 2006 10:28:12 GMT 9.5
My brother's story...
Snow White – The Queen’s Story
History is always written by the winning side.
Already our ballad-makers have composed the tale of Snow White – I am to be remembered as Wicked Stepmother and Evil Queen. Some call me witch, and clamour for my burning at the stake, and Oh God! How I fear the flames!
They say the fire melts your hair first, then blisters the skin, which peels away to expose bone and cartilage, before all turns to charcoal.
Oh spare me that! Though I welcome death, and fear not pain, yet would I quit this world with my beauty intact. Indeed, it is all I have left.
Before you answer my sinful prayer of vanity though, Oh Lord, answer first the prayer of my pride: rather than kneel at her feet and ask forgiveness – let me burn! Let those lips be charred from my face before they kiss my enemy’s toe in homage! Let my body be turned to ash, and dispersed on the restless winds; my soul never to find rest, before I prostrate myself before her!
But I must govern myself. These sudden rages with which I was ever wont to be afflicted, have already been my undoing. My enemy has used them most deviously to her own advantage.
They have imprisoned me in the same chamber that only a few short years ago was my residence on the eve of my coronation. The crowds cheered for me beneath my window, wishing me happiness and long life. The same mob that now bay for my blood.
They wished also that I should provide a male heir, and within just three months of marriage, their wish was granted. I felt the strong prince growing within me, the next king of this realm. But that was before Snow White slew him!
Up until that time I had tolerated the girl, even tried to make a companion of her. After all, our ages were not so very different. But she had never made any secret of her disdain for me.
In the seventh month of my confinement, and great with child, the snide comments of my stepdaughter no longer had any effect on me. As I passed her on the great stair though, I could not resist a jibe of my own. “Behold!” I said, patting my belly, “Your little brother, and one day your king!” It was a cruel insult, that would remind her that she was now but second in succession to my flesh and blood, but also that my son would replace her in her father’s eyes. I did not then know how dangerous she was. As I turned to climb the last few steps, she stuck out a dainty satin-slippered foot, and I fell.
I could hear voices. The king…displeased…child …before its time…won’t conceive again. Snow White had successfully eliminated her rival, and negated the hope that any other should ever supplant her. She came to my bedside with her father.
Outwardly she expressed her sorrow over my unfortunate fall, but her eyes spoke of jubilant triumph. From this moment it would be a duel to the death between us.
Very quickly I learned to dissemble. I never revealed to Snow White that I knew of her crime against my unborn child. I would watch, and I would wait for my opportunity.
Now that I could no longer give him the prince he desired, the king lost all interest in me, and started to visit the beds of others. If he could not make a legitimate heir king, he would crown a bastard.
Perhaps in a vain attempt to win him back, I started to obsess over my beauty.
I turned now to the mirror that had been presented to me on our wedding day. A magic mirror. But mirrors are as much a curse as a blessing, magic or otherwise.
Every day I would ask of it, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” and as my features emerged from its rippling surface, I would feel that somehow my life still contained meaning.
One day though, as Snow White grew to maturity, her features supplanted mine within the mirror, and I knew that it was time to act. With one blow I would destroy my rival and avenge my son.
I hired a cut-throat, who posing as a huntsman took her deep into the forest. There, on my instructions, he would kill her, and bring me back her heart.
The following morning he presented me with her offal in a jewelled casket. In triumph I threw it to the dogs. At last my enemy was dead!
The rest of course is well known. The cut-throat overcome with pity for her youth and innocence, released her, presenting me with the heart of a doe. He was hung, drawn and quartered before a cheering crowd this very day. On her orders.
She then went into hiding, abetted by seven dwarfs, whose ears she filled with poison against me.
It was before these grotesque little manikins, now newly appointed peers of the realm, that I stood bound and gagged, unable to defend myself, as they sat in judgement on me.
Having reached a unanimous verdict of “guilty”, they fell to whispering among themselves, occasionally looking up at me, before returning to their huddle. They looked so ridiculous in their oversized ermine robes and chains of office that I might have laughed if the consequences of their talk had not been so dire.
Eventually, their leader (perhaps by virtue of being the most ugly and diminutive of my persecutors) rose. “Your Majesty,” he said to my husband, “we believe that the final sentence for this evil woman’s misdemeanours should be pronounced by she that has been most wronged.”
Snow White’s eyes filled with tears. Could no-one else see the pin that she surreptitiously drove into her own thigh? How prettily she plays her games!
“Let her dance at my wedding.” She said. I wanted to scream out my defiance, demand death, but I was robbed of the power of speech.
“Your majesty, if I may make so bold,” came the shrill voice of the head-juror, “may not this request be tempered with the maximum sentence of the law? Let her dance, but in heated iron clogs!”
As I await this final humiliation, I look to my most prized possession for consolation. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall who is…”, but it is a question I cannot finish, for I know the answer only too well.
Her triumph is complete.
Snow White – The Queen’s Story
History is always written by the winning side.
Already our ballad-makers have composed the tale of Snow White – I am to be remembered as Wicked Stepmother and Evil Queen. Some call me witch, and clamour for my burning at the stake, and Oh God! How I fear the flames!
They say the fire melts your hair first, then blisters the skin, which peels away to expose bone and cartilage, before all turns to charcoal.
Oh spare me that! Though I welcome death, and fear not pain, yet would I quit this world with my beauty intact. Indeed, it is all I have left.
Before you answer my sinful prayer of vanity though, Oh Lord, answer first the prayer of my pride: rather than kneel at her feet and ask forgiveness – let me burn! Let those lips be charred from my face before they kiss my enemy’s toe in homage! Let my body be turned to ash, and dispersed on the restless winds; my soul never to find rest, before I prostrate myself before her!
But I must govern myself. These sudden rages with which I was ever wont to be afflicted, have already been my undoing. My enemy has used them most deviously to her own advantage.
They have imprisoned me in the same chamber that only a few short years ago was my residence on the eve of my coronation. The crowds cheered for me beneath my window, wishing me happiness and long life. The same mob that now bay for my blood.
They wished also that I should provide a male heir, and within just three months of marriage, their wish was granted. I felt the strong prince growing within me, the next king of this realm. But that was before Snow White slew him!
Up until that time I had tolerated the girl, even tried to make a companion of her. After all, our ages were not so very different. But she had never made any secret of her disdain for me.
In the seventh month of my confinement, and great with child, the snide comments of my stepdaughter no longer had any effect on me. As I passed her on the great stair though, I could not resist a jibe of my own. “Behold!” I said, patting my belly, “Your little brother, and one day your king!” It was a cruel insult, that would remind her that she was now but second in succession to my flesh and blood, but also that my son would replace her in her father’s eyes. I did not then know how dangerous she was. As I turned to climb the last few steps, she stuck out a dainty satin-slippered foot, and I fell.
I could hear voices. The king…displeased…child …before its time…won’t conceive again. Snow White had successfully eliminated her rival, and negated the hope that any other should ever supplant her. She came to my bedside with her father.
Outwardly she expressed her sorrow over my unfortunate fall, but her eyes spoke of jubilant triumph. From this moment it would be a duel to the death between us.
Very quickly I learned to dissemble. I never revealed to Snow White that I knew of her crime against my unborn child. I would watch, and I would wait for my opportunity.
Now that I could no longer give him the prince he desired, the king lost all interest in me, and started to visit the beds of others. If he could not make a legitimate heir king, he would crown a bastard.
Perhaps in a vain attempt to win him back, I started to obsess over my beauty.
I turned now to the mirror that had been presented to me on our wedding day. A magic mirror. But mirrors are as much a curse as a blessing, magic or otherwise.
Every day I would ask of it, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” and as my features emerged from its rippling surface, I would feel that somehow my life still contained meaning.
One day though, as Snow White grew to maturity, her features supplanted mine within the mirror, and I knew that it was time to act. With one blow I would destroy my rival and avenge my son.
I hired a cut-throat, who posing as a huntsman took her deep into the forest. There, on my instructions, he would kill her, and bring me back her heart.
The following morning he presented me with her offal in a jewelled casket. In triumph I threw it to the dogs. At last my enemy was dead!
The rest of course is well known. The cut-throat overcome with pity for her youth and innocence, released her, presenting me with the heart of a doe. He was hung, drawn and quartered before a cheering crowd this very day. On her orders.
She then went into hiding, abetted by seven dwarfs, whose ears she filled with poison against me.
It was before these grotesque little manikins, now newly appointed peers of the realm, that I stood bound and gagged, unable to defend myself, as they sat in judgement on me.
Having reached a unanimous verdict of “guilty”, they fell to whispering among themselves, occasionally looking up at me, before returning to their huddle. They looked so ridiculous in their oversized ermine robes and chains of office that I might have laughed if the consequences of their talk had not been so dire.
Eventually, their leader (perhaps by virtue of being the most ugly and diminutive of my persecutors) rose. “Your Majesty,” he said to my husband, “we believe that the final sentence for this evil woman’s misdemeanours should be pronounced by she that has been most wronged.”
Snow White’s eyes filled with tears. Could no-one else see the pin that she surreptitiously drove into her own thigh? How prettily she plays her games!
“Let her dance at my wedding.” She said. I wanted to scream out my defiance, demand death, but I was robbed of the power of speech.
“Your majesty, if I may make so bold,” came the shrill voice of the head-juror, “may not this request be tempered with the maximum sentence of the law? Let her dance, but in heated iron clogs!”
As I await this final humiliation, I look to my most prized possession for consolation. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall who is…”, but it is a question I cannot finish, for I know the answer only too well.
Her triumph is complete.
