Gargantuan double doors loomed in the hallway. A large snowflake adorned the ice blue wood keeping whatever lay beyond its hinges in. Ash straightened her back. Bernard peeked out through strands of dark hair, nestled on her shoulder as he squeaked a few times.

“It’s okay, Bernard,” said Ash. “This is the one place in the entire castle no one is allowed to enter.”

No magic could tear it down, no weapons could break through. A solid fortress that only those worthy were able to access.

“Until now, that is.” She held up a white and silver key. “Because of you, we have the means to get in.”

Weeks ago, Bernard had found the key from within that very room. Why or how it was locked inside was a mystery, but one thing was for certain: if the stories about her mother were to be believed, that meant this room contained her precious treasures, both magical and mundane.

If there were proper tools to aid in Ash’s escape, they would be in there, waiting to be used once more.

Steeling a breath, she approached the intimidating entryway, inserting the key into the hidden lock below the door handle.

“Here goes nothing.”

With a twist followed by a click, the enchantment dropped; a bolt loosened.

The doors creaked open.

Dust flew out, specks tickled Ash’s nostrils that led to a quiet sneeze. Never a pleasant feeling.

Her eyes went wide the moment she stepped inside. Scattered about the room, coated in a thin layer of dust, were desks covered in open books and scrolls, tables with glass vials once filled with bubbling liquids, and assortments of textbooks adorning walls worth of bookshelves. Tubes and copper contraptions Ash couldn’t put a name to were attached to the vials— their use unknown. Some spaces on a few of the bookshelves were empty, possible originators of the books on the desks. Of all the books, one in particular caught her eye.

Laid open upon an ornate bookstand was a tome larger than her own head. Its pages contained strange symbols with a written formula for some kind of potion. None of the book’s contents interested her, too difficult to decipher without the proper knowledge. After a moment of perusing the pages, she closed the book.

“Finding the right tools isn’t going to be easy,” she said. “Right, mother?”

Lifting her head, Ash’s gaze locked on a large painted portrait that hung on the wall opposite the doors— taller and wider than the others— of a pale woman.

Ice cold eyes, hair white as snow, a poised posture clothed in the exact same ensemble Lady Rothwell now wore, and a single thin line of a mouth that shimmered a glittering blue. An elegance and grace unmatched, unexpressive— utterly cold.

Queen Galacia, the Snow Queen of the Winter Kingdom.

Ash Sleet’s late mother.

She grew up on stories of this ethereal woman, none were pleasant. Galacia’s story was an infamous one, one spoken in hushed whispers; only father had anything positive to say about the late queen, a true testament to their love for one another. Times like this, Ash wished she had gotten to know mother herself.

There’s more than what’s beneath the surface.

That memory deserved respect. A stranger this queen may be, but she would forever acknowledge Queen Galacia as her mother.

Ash clasped her hands together, forehead pressed against the thumb knuckle.

“Mother,” she said. “with your permission, allow me access to your magic.”

No response. Not that she expected one, but the idea of her mother’s spirit watching over her eased her mind.

With that out of the way, Ash surveyed the room.

Each scroll unfurled revealed sigils she couldn’t recognize, octoganal arrays of lines and runes. Most of the textbooks were of no help either, all required alchemical abilities to utilize. One small book of spells was written in the Seasonal language, the common language of the Valley, which Ash tucked away in her bag; some of those spells could be useful in the future.

Behind one of the bookcases was a secret compartment filled with treasures. A golden pocket watch sat upon a satin pillow, ticking in a steady rhythm, both hands stuck at midnight. Hanging on the wall by a single peg was a royal blue cloak, a large white snowflake embellished upon it. The inner lining was warm to the touch, enough warmth to stave off the cold if worn.

“Quite the enchantment, right Bernard?”

Bernard chittered with a nod. His little feet skittered along her shoulders, moving from one to the other to see the compartment from a different angle; Ash didn’t mind the ticklish pitter patter. His company was her reassurance.

The last item found was a pair of silver heels, the exterior shimmered with crystalline clarity. A very pretty pair, but that was about it. Nothing about them could be discerned as special.

Ash shrugged, lifting up the silver shoes. “These might sell well.”

After stashing away all the items in her bag, she gave the room one last glean. Nothing.

No other valuable items, nothing else useful. Just an old dusty room.

She sighed. Disappointed as she was, there wasn’t much to be done. She got what she needed, that’s all that mattered.

On her way out, a slow, soft hum resonated through the room. Vials shook, shelves creaked, vibrations intensified with each passing second.

Ash turned around.

Under Queen Galacia’s portrait, something shone beneath a long, beige tarp. Ash had noticed it before but deemed it nothing more than a decoration. But the swirling light emanating from beneath the cloth drew her in.

Step by step, Ash moved closer and closer. A deafening ring ached in her ears.

Ascending a single step, she reached out. Her fingers were slow, gradual, clasped around the coarse fabric.

The ringing ceased. Glow diminished.

With a deep breath, Ash pulled off the tarp; it fell with ease.

Staring back at her was a reflection. A glassy, three dimensional surface of her own visage.

There was no hiding her disappointment.

“Just a mirror…”

An elegant mirror, to be fair. Smooth, perfect sheen; not a crack to be found. Its gilded border paved in a wavy magnificence, each swirl was precise, hugging the frame like leaves on a vine. Within the etchings was a pattern similar to the earlier glow lines. Ash traced along the edge— not a speck of dust.

Detailed words formed above the mirror. Abstract curves and dots formed in distinct characters that resembled those of another language, one unfamiliar to Ash. Yet somehow, she could read this strange tongue.

“Hmmm…

‘Magic mirror on the wall…?’”

The swirled embellishments lit up with a bright gleam. Ash took a step back. Her reflection began to distort, curl into itself, and loop round and round in a continuous circular motion. A dissonance of resonances echoed all around her.

Pitiful screams. Snarling trolls. A fierce winter wind. Shattered glass. Mournful sobs. Determined shouts.

It was distant, drowned out by ice and snow, blustering gales, and destructive hail.

Ash covered her ears, shut her eyes to everything. All this noise suffocated the senses.

Then the roar… that dreaded roar returned.

Ice gave way to heated flame. A smoky haze surrounded her.

She fell to her knees, hitting shards of broken glass. Something loomed over her— ever fierce, ever present. It let out a visceral growl.

Her teeth clenched together, then she screamed, “BE QUIET!”

All was quiet. Nothing but silence filled the air. Ash opened her eyes.

Only a reflection remained.