(The Queen’s point of view)

She always despised her name.

It meant peace. It meant to pacify. But really, her nature was anything but. There was, though, a third meaning that she did like about her true name.

Beautiful.

She was particular about maintaining her beauty. The thrill of men on their knees for a taste of her was exciting. Though many women hated her, stemming from their jealousy, just as many were curious to grow closer. They were all fools. Weak to lust. Weak to beauty.

But it couldn’t always be that way. All humans aged and died. Time was fleeting. 

Men stopped knocking on her door. Women barely side-glanced in the tea shop, where they gossiped about the latest affairs and sweet nothings from their secret lovers. Before she knew it, she was much older, staring at herself in the dingy mirror right after her first husband left for a younger mistress. How could a partner discard her for such a thing?

To see her skin wrinkle around her eyes and hands as she aged…

Mortality was scary. Was life supposed to be this quick?

It was hard to fathom that people accepted fate without questioning it, that they had to learn how to survive their whole lives, only to be buried in the end. The memory of most would pass and no one would remember. Now that was cruel.

Her mind spiraled. What she was feeling could be called a mid-life crisis. 

And the lady once considered the fairest of the land became obsessed. 

She turned to mana, quickly discovering that immortality or age-reversing spells were banned. In other words, the High Tower, which governed mana users and Low Tower locations, had deemed them illegal. To be found practicing and honing it was a death sentence without a trial.

Disguises to look younger or a different person for less than a week were fine. Those were temporary, but not what she desired. The desperate woman wanted a permanent solution.

Yet, she didn’t mind that being caught was a one-way ticket to the gallows, continuing to sneak around sketchy shops that one could only find through word of mouth and connections. She bought books to practice by herself. Paid under the table to be taught, too. 

It was all for naught. The journey became more difficult. And failed.

Despite her hard work, she was ultimately told she couldn’t be a sorceress, or a person born with natural mana in their soul core. The ability came instinctually. 

For her to even dream of getting on that level, she had to learn like any other average human. 

That was to become a witch—those who could only harness mana through objects, potions, familiars, etcetera. For the most part, witches and warlocks were considered to be… a nuisance to society, as many took this route for ill intent, such as plagues, curses, and summoning demons.

A sorcerer or sorceress could also utilize objects, but it wasn’t required. “Borrowing” from the earth’s energy was as easy as moving a limb for them, and summoning powerful mana based on the four elements—fire, water, air, and earth. On rare occasions, maybe even an uncommon element.

Yes, her soul core lacked mana.

Witchcraft, though, through blood, sweat, and tears, became her talent—creating new spells and potions not in the books, which she may have used her first husband as a sacrificial lamb.

As she turned eighty, well past the average lifespan of a person, she found the right ingredients for it—to stay forever in her prime.

For years, it worked… sort of. Once every decade, she had to search for the rare items again and recreate the potion in her iron cauldron. Human hearts were the key ingredient, though the hearts of men had a slighter kick to a long-lasting result. She used her ethereal appearance to her advantage, wooing them to her cabin in the woods for a quick romp… which never occurred.

The creek beside the little house would run with blood on those nights. How ironic, given that her heart was once broken, now mended by beating organs belonging to individuals who went outside of their own marriages.

Things were great. Those fools in the High Tower never suspected a thing, since she altered her youthful features every 10 years to throw them off the trail. How she looked now wasn’t close to her original face. Witchcraft changed everything for her.

Everything changed, indeed… and not for the better.

Needing the forbidden potion to maintain her body became once every five years. Two years. A year. Eventually, much to her dismay, the woman had to drink it every month. Men’s hearts were losing their effect, too tainted by their ugly souls and the developing world’s poisonous temptations. Her vigor just wasn’t the same as before. A month would turn into a week if things didn't change soon. A week might turn into a day. What would happen if she needed to drink potion every hour? Every minute?

To make matters worse, other concoction components became more challenging to find as the human population grew. Important herbs could now only be found in certain locations, such as the physician’s clinic at Nordenstein Castle, where King Leon von Castell and his heavily pregnant wife, resided over Ascelin.

At 310 years old, she heard a rumor—a very interesting rumor that piqued her interest.

One day, she was at a secret hole-in-the-wall store for witchcraft items and overheard two wizards—there was a mirror that allegedly had mana.

The Magic Mirror.

It was said King Leon found it safeguarded by a dragon he slayed when he was next in line to the throne. The light elves had something to do with that powerful creature, but the witch didn’t care. She yearned for that mirror, consumed by the idea of exploiting its power that she couldn't conjure naturally. If the mana could be used to maintain her everlasting beauty, she had to get her hands on it at all costs.

After drinking a fresh batch of her specialized potion, rejuvenating to her mid-20s…

King Leon’s precious wife, Queen Liesl, passed away after giving birth.

Very tragic.

She thought back then, And what better way to console a widowed man… than with a good hex to get over her death quickly?

Just like that, after sneaking into the castle quite easily days after Queen Liesl’s death…

She became the one to stand on the throne, while poor King Leon’s health deteriorated from broken heart syndrome. The sudden marriage confused the people. The toxic whisperings that he had a mistress all along were hush-hush.

During the next five years, the Queen kept many secrets, one being an expert in manifesting Black mana through objects, or mana with the intent to commit evil or wrongdoing.

The other was the prince—Snow White. He had an innocent heart, the purest she had ever come across and would probably never see again. Once his heart was “ready” when he came of age, she would cut it out of his chest happily.

Her husband's death in his sleep made things more convenient. Her hexing illusion that Snow White was a princess waned in his fragile mind toward the end of his life, making King Leon question which memories were “fake” and “real.”

Very, very tragic.

But at least the Magic Mirror was completely hers for the taking, trying to figure out how to extract the mana. It then began to whisper to her, telling her she was the fairest again, and that no one could overtake her beauty. Only the purest heart would keep her gorgeous forever, never needing to drink that potion again. Those voices convinced her to wait, to hold off on destroying it for its power.

She listened.

Of course, another method could also improve her formula, something that belonged to King Taerynn in Myrkrheim. That attempt, though, ended in disaster.

So, her stepson’s heart was her sole motivation to rule Ascelin with an iron fist. The Queen pretended to be overprotective of the land’s darling, Snow White. In fact, she didn’t want anyone to lay eyes on the “princess,” unless it was for some useless event that the von Castells had to attend.

When her stepson’s heart finally “ripened” at the tender age of 20…

The Magic Mirror had a new foretelling—that the boy had ousted her as the fairest.

It was time… but that damned huntsman failed to retrieve his heart! In fact, she didn’t even know for two years. The Queen couldn’t help but notice that her youthful spell’s quality worsened.

The heart…

The heart the huntsman gave her that day, waltzing in proudly with a bloodied dagger…

He admitted during a torturous interrogation that it was a pig’s heart: 

“Snow White! Where is he?!” the Queen roared in her secret room under the castle. It was where she practiced the darkest of witchcraft. 

“I don’t know, My Queen! Please!” He thrashed against the table’s restraints, wrists and ankles cutting into the spikes holding him down. Blood trailed from the punctured holes, dribbling onto the floor. There were floor drains where the red liquid would lead to the river.

She forced him to drink a potion, meant to boil his intestines. He choked. “You’re lying! Why would you let him go? You have no idea what you did! Snow White has been missing for two years! And did you tell anyone else that he is a prince?”

The Queen was asking too many questions at once. He couldn’t answer, screaming and convulsing as he burned from the inside out. His stomach bubbled. The rats in the corner waited anxiously for their feast.

It was hard to decipher him through his bumbling cries and snot-covered nose when he could finally respond. “I-I-I didn’t t-tell! I felt b-bad for the kid! Mercy! Mercy, My Queen!”

This was a waste of time. She needed to begin the search for Snow White, for he had a whole year’s start to flee. “You will have no mercy.”

The Queen killed him slowly, leaving his body for the rodents to nibble and enjoy. If they spread disease through the potion’s after-effects, she wouldn’t give a damn.

Because she had a prince to hunt.

***

[Present]

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, show me the fairest one of all.”

“Yes,” the whisper answered. 

Her reflection swirled. The Queen secretly hoped to see herself, but she laughed when the faint image of a black-haired prince carried by a dark elf appeared in the mirror.

And laughed.

And laughed.

“There you are, alive and well.” The Queen caught her breath and smirked, hands gripping the Magic Mirror’s frame. He disappeared, replaced with herself. Relief filled her. The mirror only showed her a black screen for years, assuming her prey was tucked away in the darkness somewhere.

To the country, Snow White was missing for 33 years. 

To the Queen, it was a little less. She did find him two years after the huntsman fooled her with a pig’s heart, deep in the Forbidden Forest. The Magic Mirror only gave clues over that time, as if hesitant to provide the exact location.

She found Snow White picking apples through the eyes of her crow familiars.

And she went to him in the perfect disguise as a feeble beggar, searching and combing the thick forest riddled with monsters and fae. That little bastard dared to refuse the gifted trinkets, something she was sure she remembered he liked as a child. The trinkets were laced with poison. The entire mission was such an annoyance. Just take them!

Yet, it worked… in the beginning.

The Queen’s sinister smile widened when she recalled fond memories of using twelve dwarf hearts for her experiments. They were the reason Snow White’s sleeping body was hidden so well in the mountain range. Her curse worked well to ward off curious princes and knights, all meeting guaranteed doom.

“King Taerynn, how did you find my stepson? Do I need to pay another visit to Myrkrheim soon?”

The Queen let out another cackling bellow, becoming obsessed once more to achieve her goal—to hold Snow White’s pulsing heart in the palm of her hand.