Here is a fairy tale retelling I wrote in 2018.
The Maiden, Snow White
Snow White lay on her deathbed, enshrouded by the delicate daffodils she had once frolicked in. Her friends had taken a moment away from their heartbreaking vigil, they were mortals after all and needed rest. The friends promised each other that it would be only a short while and then they would return, refreshed and able to stay by her side. Surely, they said to one another, there would be a way to end this horrid spell. And, if not, they would take turns sitting with her until she passed. They vowed to her, and to each other, that she would not pass into the underworld alone.
Yet alone is how the Prince came upon her in the woods. He gently dismounted from his black horse and approached the young beauty. Although he had seen her before, he was nonetheless stunned at how lovely she was even in such stillness. He had known for some time that he wanted her as his bride, having witnessed her kindness and gentleness, as well as her beauty, but he also knew that it may not be a smooth path for them.
Reaching her deathbed, the Prince gracefully stooped and planted a soft kiss on Snow White’s pomegranate red lips. Her eyes fluttered open and, taking in the face before her, she smiled kindly. “You have broken the spell, my prince. I am most grateful,” she greeted in her lilting voice. She sat up eagerly and the Prince retreated from her slightly so that she could do so without him becoming a looming presence over her.
“I’m afraid not, my lady,” he spoke quietly, hoping not to startle her.
“Whatever do you mean?” Snow White asked adjusting her raven locks. “You are my savior.” She hopped off the dais and into his arms. “You have awakened me from eternal slumber.”
She leaned in as if to kiss the Prince, but he gently pushed her away. “I’m afraid it’s the opposite, my lady.” He put one hand on her shoulder and gestured back to the dais with the other.
Snow White turned back to her deathbed and paled.
There, lying completely still, without even her chest rising, was Snow White.
She shakily reached out to touch her lying double’s face, but her hand fell slowly through the visage before her. Expecting a change, she stared at her fingertips disappearing into what appeared to be her own cheeks before whipping back around to the Prince, who had removed his hand from her, “What’s happened? I thought your kiss was meant to break the curse.”
“It was only meant to end it, my lady, and it has.” He paused and looked into her wide eyes. “You are now free of your mortality.”
“But…I don’t wish to free of it,” Snow White stammered, her hand fleeing to her chest, hoping to feel a heartbeat.
She did not.
The Prince bowed his head in slight apology, “I’m sorry, my lady, but once you had eaten the fruit of my kingdom, no matter the vile intent behind the wicked woman who gave it to you, there was no staying in this mortal realm.”
Snow White was stunned. “The apple? Apples are very much of this land—”
“But poison apples are of my kingdom alone,” the Prince interjected in a firm, but not unkind, voice.
“And what kingdom is that?” Snow White demanded, summoning whatever strength she could find in her incorporeal body.
The Prince cocked his head to the side, “Why the kingdom of the dead, of course. I came to rouse you from your cursed stupor and escort you there personally.” He bowed to her, dipping low to show his reverence before rising again and extending a hand towards her.
“Why am I entitled to such an escort to my doom,” she replied, not taking his hand.
“Not your doom, fair lady, but your destiny. You see,” he paused to look into her eyes once more, he somehow felt so at home looking into her eyes, “I hope to one day make you my bride.”
“Your bride?” Snow White whispered, before pausing to consider what the Prince was offering.
She had seen the Prince before. He had stirred a tenderness within her as she flirted with him in the woods, the place she had always felt most at home. Somehow, he had seemed to fit there too; she had thought him handsome, kindhearted, and genteel and, as sublime as this moment was, he had not changed that impression.
“And would that make me a princess?” she asked, warmly mulling over the words and possibilities.
“Of all the realms of the underworld, my fair lady,” the Prince said, smiling, his hand still outstretched.
“And there is really no going back?” Snow White said with a slight tilt of her head to her motionless body.
“I’m afraid not,” the Prince replied, his fingers curling in lightly, “although a visit from time to time can be arranged.”
Snow White still did not move towards the Prince, but she also did not flee.
“Once one has bitten a poison apple,” the Prince continued, “there is only one fate that awaits them. However,” he withdrew his hand slightly, “you can choose to have a place in the underworld other than its princess, but the underworld is your only realm now, whether or not you choose to rule it.”
Snow White, hesitantly at first, extended her arm and then, having made her decision, dauntlessly took his hand. “Show me the way to our kingdom,” she declared in a clear, but still lyrical, voice.
The Prince beamed at his bride-to-be and delightedly enfolded her hand in both of his, hoping she could feel his joy through the gesture. She hoped he could feel her tenderness for him that had been growing ever since she first laid eyes on him.
And so, the Prince and Snow White road into the underworld together on his black horse and they reigned there, ever after.
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