(Taerynn’s point of view)

Taerynn threw the mirror down the stairs of his throne. It broke, shards of various sizes cascading all around. 

He huffed and sat down on his thorn-covered chair with bones fanning the back. Skulls of different creatures adorned the top like a trophy. It wasn’t his first choice of style, preferring a little more class than that, but the prior king of Myrkrheim had a thing for skeletons. 

At least it gave him a menacing aura.

The servants who were in the throne room stared in fear, trembling at the sight of the mirror breaking into a thousand pieces. They knew why he was angry.

Mirrors, besides his own, were illegal. He made it that way after the attempted takeover of his domain since they could be a doorway for the living to enter here. It was extremely challenging, as most got lost in the mirror, but still possible.

Without mirrors in Myrkrheim, anyone who tried to come would be lost because there was no other end.

Yet, Taerynn found a damned mirror in Snow White’s room! In plain sight! 

He growled, “Bring me the one in charge of the East Wing.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Rowan bowed and left with a few elvish guards following him.

As he waited, Taerynn tapped his long nails on the bony chair. 

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

And each minute that went by only intensified his wrath. 

Eventually, pleas grew nearer the throne room. His sight zoned in on the gnome being brought in, feet thrashing and kicking the floor as they carried him from under his armpits. Rowan returned to his side beside the chair. 

“Let me go, bastards! Tell me what this is about now! Release me! Now!”

They let go. He fell, face smacking on the floor. He sat up, rubbed his nose, and complained, “You have no idea what I’m capable of, you scoundrels. I’ll tell my boss, Rowan, and get you al—” 

The young gnome gasped when seeing where he was, narrow eyes slowly making their way to the front of the throne room. When they settled on the gruesome chair and the intimidating individual sitting on it, a small squeal left him. He stumbled and bowed so many times, all three feet of him.

“K-K-King Taerynn! My Lord! Please forgive my rudeness!”    

The elf wanted to scoff at buttering up attitude. It was a common reaction. These malicious fae souls just wanted to look good while in his presence. But Taerynn knew. They were all nasty, every last one. 

As the gnome kept praising him, Taerynn thought, If I remember right, this particular gnome died and arrived here three years ago. He should know better. What was his name?

“Sinlen,” he said.

“Y-Yes, Dearest King?”

“Shut up.”

Sinlen gulped at the sharp command.

“Do you know what I found today?”

“Uh, er, um…”

“A mirror. In my guest’s room. He had looked upon it.”

That prompted loud whispers from the onlookers. The crowd of servants and some civilian fae had grown, hearing that someone was in trouble. 

Trouble indeed.

Sinlen’s hue turned ghostly pale. He knew he had made a grave mistake. “My lovely Lord, I apologize for my neglect. I must’ve overlooked it.”

Taerynn didn’t want to hear any of his excuses. “You’ve been here long enough not to make such blunders. I felt some sympathy for you. Your soul landed here because of your wrongdoings in the past and your victims murdered you. The way you were tortured was a little too much as a punishment, or so I thought. That is why I gave you a significant position amongst the servants to live a better afterlife and get along with others.”

“T-that is true, Dearest King. I’ve always felt appreciative.” By now, Sinlen was shaking hard, likely knowing he truly messed up by failing to get the banned item.

My mana and shard would’ve been gone forever, had that human entered the mirror.

“But, I misjudged you. I thought you were more competent.” Taerynn announced for all to hear. “Erase him.”

You must be made an example of.

Sinlen screamed, tripping over his own feet when he attempted to flee from the incoming guards. “Wait, please! I’m sorry! I’ll do anything, just don’t erase me! I want to live! I don’t want to die!”

“You already are.”

They grabbed Sinlen by his hair and yanked roughly, dragging him through a burned door to the side of the throne room. No one ever wanted to be sentenced down there, for that was where souls would be no more forever.

The gnome’s cries disappeared when the door banged shut, leaving the king to his own darkened thoughts, conflicted on the inside. But such feelings could never come to light, especially in front of these fae who could sense weakness.

I need to rest before facing Snow White. Examining his soul core will be taxing.

An hour later in his office, Taerynn heard a knock on the door. Rowan looked troubled.

“I have a report that souls from Master Fenrir’s domain, Festrheim, have crossed over to ours, My Lord. All big predators. Approximately a hundred. Maybe more.”

“I see.” Damn it. Can’t that wolf control his subjects? “Send the General to take care of them and send a warning to Fen—”

He paused, remembering there was no General anymore. His army had been wiped out during the living dark elves’ invasion. Since then, Taerynn didn’t have the energy to start a new one from scratch, too focused on trying to recover himself. 

“Then… I have no choice but to say hello, don’t I?”

“Shall I prepare Helhest?”

Taerynn declined. The horse hated everyone who was not her original master, Queen Hel, the ruler of Helheim, the hellish afterlife domain for sinful humans. 

“Don’t. She will kill anyone who tries to touch her, including me, if I’m not careful.” 

Perhaps eliminating those trespassing demons would help release this pent-up rage that had plagued him since earlier.

All because of almost losing Snow White.

***

(Winter’s point of view)

It was the next afternoon after the elf left with the mirror.

RUMBLE.

Winter put a hand on his stomach, so hungry that he wanted to vomit. There was a tray of meat on the table. The smell made him even more famished, but he left it untouched. And thirsty. So freaking thirsty that his tongue was dry, throat scratchy, and barely able to swallow. 

But he couldn’t eat or drink anything.

Stuff like that offered by fae would be his downfall. It was common knowledge. Consuming such things offered by these creatures would bind him here. Winter read the stories he found in the library, so it had to be true. If he was bound… would he be able to return? No.

Every meal time on the dot at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, a dark elf would come, carrying a tray with a variety of delicious-looking food. He was what Winter expected his species to look like—straight black hair, golden eyes, and an overall negative energy. Winter tried not to stare at the black patch he wore over his right eye. 

Unlike the other dark elf with white hair, where the prince couldn’t get a good reading, this servant was definitely not a good soul. His evildoings were apparent, and the air around him was painted crimson.

Blood.

Whatever the servant had done, it involved blood. It wasn’t common to see this dreary haze around someone. They would’ve had to have done something so awful, it was unforgivable. Winter wanted nothing to do with him, honestly more frightened than the first fae who whisked him away. 

Plus, there was no point in asking questions because fae were tricky like that. They’d somehow circle the conversation around to get something out of him instead. 

RUMBLE.

With the hunger eating away at his sanity, making him see random objects as food, Winter could only lie on the bed and feel sorry for himself. There was nothing to see through the window. It was all pitch white from the snowstorm. 

Just wait.

And wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Then, two days passed since the mirror incident. 

The elf never came back, something Winter couldn’t understand. Since he was his prisoner, and that fae clearly wanted some shard or whatever out of him, shouldn’t he be… around? Interrogating? Torture?

Better for him to stay away, anyway. 

Because Winter still couldn’t wrap his head around the elf’s aura. It was confusing. Someone like that should be the same, if not worse, than his stepmother. Yet, he wasn’t exactly evil, but not a saint, either—more like in the middle.

Maybe my ability is disappearing. There’s no way he isn’t bad. I’m sure his soul’s ugliness is nasty, just like everyone else. They all are.

The Queen.

Those who wanted to use him for diplomatic purposes when they thought he was a princess.

The few maids who knew of his existence in the tower and treated him like dirt.

Heck, even the dwarves. They may have saved Winter from starvation at their initial meeting, but they were harsh to him initially. The nights he had to sleep outside their cottage were some of the roughest in his short life. 

His father, King Leon, was the only one who treated him well. If only he were still alive…

RUMBLE, RUMBLE.

Winter touched his ribs. The ridges were obvious, becoming thinner. He could barely move, so stiff and tired. His headache throbbed.

I am going to die at this rate. 

He couldn’t even cry. Dehydration wouldn’t let him. 

This is better than that pain in my heart, though. To go through it again… I can’t.

“If My Lord saw your wretched state, he would be livid,” a voice reprimanded. 

Winter flinched. It was the first time hearing anyone speak in days. Laughter bubbled inside, delirious from dying.

“Ha, ‘My Lord?’ And who is that? Royalty?”

“If you think, you will know.”

He cackled, placing an arm over his eyes. “Of course, you would say that.” It was bold of him to speak this way to a dangerous being. Winter’s mind was too far gone to think clearly. 

“Well, he will return in due time. There were issues along the border. Why don’t you eat? It’s childish to starve yourself.”

“Oh, please. I see what you, faefolk, are trying to do.”

“And that would be?”

Winter had enough. He rolled out of bed, hobbling to his feet, and pointed at the servant. The room was dizzy.

Gosh, my head!

“Fae food. I’ll end up tied to… wherever I am. I’m not stupid.”

The elf tilted his head in confusion. “‘Tied to?’ I think not.” 

W-what? Is it not true? It has to be!

“You’re lying,” Winter accused. 

“Fae do not lie.”

“But… the books said so.”

He grinned, canines glistening. “Eating the food I bring you will not bind you here. I promise. Just eat. My Lord needs you alive.”

Winter eyed the meal on the table—flounder, berries, bread, and red wine. 

RUMBLE.

“You… really promise?”

“Yes. The meals I give pose no danger... er... May I know your name so I know what to call you?”

I see your game!

“Snow White.”

There was silence before saying, “Then, Snow White, I will return with dinner.”

He knows it’s not my true name, either.

Once alone, Winter wasted no time gobbling up the food, not even chewing properly, swallowing whole. The wine was gone in seconds. The fish was eaten in mere bites. A few moments later, the plate was picked clean with only small fish bones left. 

He sighed in relief. It would take time to get better. The meal helped, but not much. 

Winter paced around his room for a while, planning his next move. The ancient clock read 1:11. 

Angel numbers?

They were a repetitive sequence of digits with a unique meaning. Seeing angel numbers was usually not a coincidence; it was a message. Winter also read about it at the library late at night.

1:11. Hmm, that one is tricky because it has a few contexts. In this instance, I think I need to follow the path that is right for me. What is my heart telling me to do?

Suddenly, the snow let up. It was no longer hazy with thick fog and white flakes. Winter walked to the window. 

And finally, he could see what was beyond.