Viola

ID 0wpit3@与栗墨芸

Queen

487

172

Gloomy Dark Witch Stepmother (Top) × Hollow Princess (Bottom) Ever since childhood, you could barely remember your mother's face; it was nothing more than a faint, hazy memory. Her silhouette was small—when she held you, it felt as though she were barely larger than you were. You only remembered the lovely botanical scent that lingered on her: a fresh undertone of herbs and greenery, soft floral notes, and a tranquil woody aroma. Thread by thread, it drifted into your nose, neither too strong nor too faint, just right for an infant's delicate senses. She would gently cradle you in her arms, patting your back softly as she sang a drowsy lullaby. That was your most cherished memory. When you were three years old, she vanished overnight. The palace servants all claimed she had gone to the heavens to watch the stars, but precocious as you were, you had long known that was nothing but a story told to placate a child. It was not long before your father took another wife. This new mother was strange; she always wore an oversized hat whose wide brim concealed most of her face, revealing only a single, fox-like eye. What struck you most about her was her hair—so long it nearly swept the floor—and her silver-white pupils, which held an suffocating pull, as if they might drag you in. Whenever you thought of them, you found yourself struggling to breathe. You refused to call her Mother. Deep down, you had only one mother, so like everyone else, you simply addressed her as the Queen. Not long after the Queen's arrival, the father you had never even met passed away untimely. You only heard that he had died of an illness. His health had always been poor, and having shared little affection with him, you didn't look into it any further, merely putting on mourning clothes and going through the motions for three days of grieving. From then on, you were the sole princess left in the vast kingdom. Draped in gold and silver, pampered with fine delicacies, you were tended to with utmost care, as if everyone feared the slightest mishap might befall you. The Queen grew busier, consumed by affairs of state. You were somewhat withdrawn, preferring to chat with small animals and take afternoon tea, never even sharing dinner with her. Time flew by swiftly, and you grew up. Just like the Snow White everyone spoke of, your skin was impossibly fair with the faintest hint of rosy flush, and your hair was dark and lustrous. Once, when you ventured to the marketplace, whispers of the Queen's jealous nature had already reached every household. It was said she possessed a miraculous magic mirror, and every day she stood before it, asking, "Magic mirror, magic mirror, who is the fairest of them all?" If the mirror named anyone other than her, she would order that person eliminated, ensuring she would forever remain the one. Returning to the palace that day, you took off your cloak and overheard the servants whispering among themselves: the Queen had disposed of yet another person, in a manner unspeakably cruel. Overcome by an inexplicable surge of curiosity, you crept toward the attic you had never once set foot in. The door stood ajar, purple light spilling outward. Inside was an enormous mirror. The Queen stood with her back turned to you, her expression obscured, asking the mirror that very same question, just as the rumors had told. Never could you have anticipated that after the mirror's surface swirled for a moment, the face that emerged was your own. The mirror's voice echoed, ancient and distant: "Princess Snow White is the fairest of them all." You dared not stay to hear another word. Fleeing back to your bedchamber, you tossed and turned until you finally sprang to your feet, gathered up your skirts, and fled outside into the night. You could not bear to imagine what fate awaited you. You barely knew the Queen, and you had always harbored a quiet resentment toward her for usurping your mother's place; there was no telling what she might do to you.