IV

IV – Mirror, mirror

While Sir Sanscroft was on his way to meet his old friend, King Arion after so many years and a thousand miles between them, the Queen herself was rather… preoccupied throwing a hissy fit inside her quarters.

“That blubbering fool, what in the world is he thinking? Was he even thinking at all?! Why did he not even bother to consult me with these kinds of things? Had he finally lost it?!” she screeched, hurling an expensive vase violently across the room with a sweep of her arm and watching it crash into millions of pieces on the wall with little to no satisfaction before she rounded next to the closest item she could reach, “First, he had named that demonic brat of his as the crown princess, now he wants her to… to get a fiancé?! If worse comes to worst; what if the girl grows old enough to produce her own spawn? Then, there will be a new generation of red eyed abominations running around and making my life more miserable! HOW AM I TO BECOME QUEEN REGENT THEN?!”

She screamed then, completely frustrated by the sudden turn of events, throwing a golden hairbrush to the side.

“Stupid, stupid king!”        

Then, the Queen flung an extremely fluffy pillow to the floor, clawed it out until its stuffing came out, clawed at her hair till her hairdo came off in large, messy ringlets all around her face, stomped her foot around the extravagant room, causing her silver heels to come off and was just about to chuck her bejeweled diamond ring straight to her vanity mirror when it suddenly spoke up, making her stop:

“You still need me, don't you?”

All at once, the Queen composed herself and quickly sat in front of the vanity mirror–her most prized possession, her consultant, the magic mirror–and began to whine and complain like a child, “What am I supposed to do now? I can't take any more of this!”

The mirror simply laughed at her.

Not for the first time, Queen Ysabel remembered the night before her wedding to King Arion, the night she had consulted her magic mirror–it usually gave such insightful answers to aid her, but it had laughed at her like this too.

As though it was relishing in some private joke.

(Ysabel was feeling triumphant back then, assuming that the throne will be her's before this winter even ends but then, then she had heard from one of the noblewomen that the king already has a heiress of his own, a four years old little princess... a pretty little thing that seemed mute, an adorable, submissive little doll, she had thought at first, eyeing the child with interest.

If the girl proves to be tolerable, Ysabel might just be inclined to keep it around. A child with royal blood in their veins could still be of some use to her, after all.

Skin as white as snow

Ysabel first met the little girl when the King publicly announced his engagement with her to the other nobles one winter night, much to their shock since the two of them just met each other not even a week ago.

All was according to her plan, then.

It was a joyous occasion and victory was within her reach.

Hair as black as shadow

But then, the little girl had sharply raised her head from her throne at hearing the sudden announcement and met the would-be queen’s curious gaze from the crowd; Ysabel had paled and nearly fainted in fright on the spot at the look on the girl’s face–an expression that reminded her of blood and hatred and something too old for her to know.

...upon eyes as red as blood

Ysabel had heard the rumors about the former queen, Lady Eleanor of House Celestine; the girl's mother had died a day right after the child's birth.

The rumors claimed that the first Queen could not bear to accept the fact that she had somehow given birth to an abomination, that she might have been cursed by the Devil, have courted the wrath of the heavens and so... Queen Eleanor had hanged herself in the baby girl's nursery room.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,” Ysabel had called much, much later that night, staring at her reflection with wide, fearful eyes. “What of the little Princess, will I fall?”

The mirror was old, older than her, older than her grandmother, her great-grandmother and great grandmother's grandmother–all were women who were known by the kingdom in the East where their House hailed for deception, poison, and witchcraft.

It was a given, but not spoken.

Indeed, for all of them had sold their souls to the Devil in exchange of this power and beauty–but none would dare say a word and accuse them or even attempt to confront them for being involved with black magic for her family was too old, too untouchable for others.

Why, how else was Ysabel able to make Arion marry her in such a short span of time when it was obvious that the sentimental fool still loved his darling Eleanor?

The mirror was round, perfectly round with a frame that was the color of dried blood and it glowed eerily, causing her reflection to gleam with a glaring, ghoulish light as the reflection of the would-be Queen distorted, turning and twisting into a vision so vile and horrible, her face rotting and being feasted by maggots and earthworms, eyes hollow and cheeks sunken.

Frightened, Queen Ysabel shrieked loudly as she backed away while the mirror… foretold a terrible prophecy:

“The reign of everlasting winter

Ends with a crown never worn, lover

Century’s worth of lives –they wither

Before the hands of one’s anger

A kiss never met, just as sweeter

Of loyal knights, of promises never

Broken; witch-queen’s funeral pyre

Shall bring forth hell’s fire!”)

Obviously, Ysabel had panicked there and then and had spent most of the girl's earlier years trying to end the miserable brat’s life.

But it did not work.

The Queen had tried to poison the Princess at age five–the girl simply came back to life shortly after and even murdered a servant twice her size and age in cold blood; six months after, she ordered a guard to suffocate the little Princess in her sleep… and the man was found next morning in his post with his hands and head cleanly cut off by his own sword. Hell, she even sent assassin after assassin, but no one came back to her!

Nothing worked.

So, the Queen had spent the rest of her married life trying to kill an infernal hell spawn–failing miserably and not to mention, ending up humiliated one way or another, much to her indignation.

Failing was one thing but being mocked by a child half her size was another and ooh, how she loathed that diabolical child with every single fiber of her being! Why won’t the girl just do everyone a favor and die?!

As Queen Ysabel continued to sob miserably within her hands, she missed the way the magic mirror let out an exasperated sigh at her pathetic display.

“Now, now, Ysabel... don't you think you are overreacting?” it asked, serenely, “The Princess is only eleven. She is still a little girl, my queen. She won't be having children any time soon–”

“Then what do you expect me to do? What do you want me to do?!” Ysabel suddenly snapped, shaking the mirror with her hands so much it rattled, “Wait until she is capable to bear children–wait until she presents her fiancé to Arion? Wait until she's already expecting her hell spawn?!”

“Now that you mention it that is a wonderful idea, my queen, how brilliant! Why not wait for the Princess to grow some more?”

“W- ... W-What?!” the Queen stumbled a few steps back, horror and disbelief sketched all over her face as she stared at her reflection, “What did you just say? Have you truly lost your mind?!”

“When was that ever an issue? You heard me, my dear. I said let the pretty princess grow up,” the mirror carried on, a smirk growing on her reflection’s lips, “Then, when everything is within that poor little soul’s reach, when she was about to be named Queen of the land–step in, strike her down and seize the crown. Steal her birthright–take her promised kingdom right before her very eyes when she least expects it!”

Ysabel could not believe her ears.

She gulped.

Well.

It did sound promising but...

“Why must I endure another decade with her?” Queen Ysabel suddenly wailed, slamming her hands on the table, “Why can't I just kill her now while she is still young and–”

“And where did that get you, my dear?” was the mirror’s condescending reply, “Haven't you learned already? The child practically knows how to deal with you by now. You are playing in her hands–dancing to the tune of her own choosing and you don’t even realize it. Besides, you can't kill her that easily.”

“What?!” she screeched, “...wait. You just said easily, right?”

Her reflection raised an eyebrow.

“Your hearing seems to be working, yes?”

“Don’t you back-sass me! Does this mean the Princess can still be killed?”

“Of course, she is capable of dying. She's still mortal,” then the mirror added, almost insidiously, “But she is not to die by your hand, it seems. There is someone else capable on executing the princess of evil,” the mirror had a hearty laugh at the girl’s moniker, as if enjoying some sort of inside joke before continuing: “I have foreseen that someone will return to this land by her 20th year and raze the chains of mortality mercifully binding this insanity. Thus, I suggest you keep this person close, make them your ally because the enemy of your enemy is most certainly a friend… for a time, that is.”

The Queen's dark eyes widened with corrupted hope, “And the girl shall no longer return from the dead? Of this, are you certain?”

“Why, my queen, have you ever heard of anyone coming back from the dead right after their mortality has been destroyed?” it asked, sounding far too amused.

“No. But have you ever heard of a child coming back from the dead when she was just poisoned?!” the Queen angrily retorted, jabbing an accusing finger at her unmoving reflection, “WHEN I JUST SAW HER DIE?!”

“And have I ever been wrong, my queen? Have I ever failed you? No, I have not,” the mirror seemed to laugh at this, “So do trust me when I say this because it is the utmost truth: the Princess will no longer be alive before her 20th winter even ends.”

“Why,” Ysabel whined, resisting the urge to pull at her own hair yet again, “…why do I have to wait that long?”

“Because from here on out, you need to plan this more thoroughly, Queen,” the mirror replied, almost eagerly. Too eager, but Ysabel was not sharp enough to notice that, “The Princess is not meant to perish by your hand, it seems. Besides, don't you think it's fair to inflict the greatest pain for all of the misery the fairest has caused you after all these years? Think of it as... serving her poison that will slowly but surely end her–for good, this time.”