Snow White

In the heart of the Kingdom of Verdalis, where emerald forests kissed the sky and rivers hummed lullabies to the earth, a child was born under a crescent moon. She was named Solenne, but the people soon called her Snow White, for her skin shimmered like fresh snow and her raven-black hair framed eyes that held the calm of midnight.

Solenne’s mother, Queen Alara, was a woman of grace and intellect, beloved by her people. But tragedy struck when Solenne was only a child, and the Queen died during a harsh winter. Soon after, King Theron married again—this time to Lady Lysandra, a noblewoman known across the lands not for kindness, but for her unmatched beauty and cold ambition.

Lysandra became Queen, but her heart was a fortress of mirrors—elegant and hollow. She adored admiration and feared only one thing: being forgotten. So she kept a magic mirror, a relic from an ancient realm, which whispered truths only she desired to hear. Every day, she asked the mirror the same question:

"Mirror, mirror, deep and wise, who’s the fairest in the kingdom's eyes?"

And every day, the mirror answered, “You, my Queen, surpass all grace.”

Years passed, and Solenne grew. She was quiet, but kind; her beauty not in jewels or gowns, but in the way she made flowers bloom where she walked, and laughter echo in stone halls. She listened more than she spoke and read every book the palace held.

Then one day, Lysandra asked her usual question—but the mirror replied:

"Fairest still, you hold the crown,

But Snow White’s light is spreading ‘round.

Not for her face or silken hair,

But for the truth she dares to share."

Lysandra’s breath turned to frost. Rage wrapped around her pride like thorns. "Truth? What truth?" she hissed.

For Solenne had begun speaking not just of love and light, but of shadows—of forgotten villagers in the outer lands, of crops left to rot while the court feasted, of a kingdom that needed healing, not luxury. The people had started to listen. And that made her dangerous.

Fearing the loss of her influence, Lysandra summoned her most loyal huntsman. “Take her to the woods,” she said coolly, “and let the wolves claim her. Bring me proof.”

But the huntsman was an old friend of Solenne’s mother. When they reached the edge of the forest, he wept. “Forgive me, child,” he whispered, falling to his knees. “The Queen ordered your death, but I cannot harm you.”

Solenne, though shocked, did not hesitate. “Then let me go. I’ll find a way to live—away from the palace. And one day, I’ll return not for revenge, but for truth.”

And so she vanished into the forest.

Deep within the trees, Solenne found refuge in a small cottage tended by seven caretakers—not dwarves, but elders of ancient magic, cast out by Lysandra’s reign. They were scholars, healers, and guardians of forgotten lore. They welcomed Solenne not as a child in need, but as a seeker of truth.

She learned from them: how to tend wounds, how to speak with animals, how to sense truth through silence. Seasons passed, and she became a woman not of crowns, but of wisdom.

Back in the palace, Lysandra’s obsession festered. Though Solenne was gone, her name lingered—like a song too sweet to forget. The Queen asked the mirror daily, and the answer never changed:

"Snow White walks with truth in hand,

She heals the hurt, she helps the land.

Your beauty fades, your soul decays,

While hers lights up a thousand ways."

Desperate, Lysandra brewed a spell, disguising herself as a wandering herbalist. She found Solenne at the edge of the woods, offering her a crimson apple “to thank you for your kindness.”

Solenne, sensing something strange, took the apple—but did not eat. She offered it instead to a nearby bird, who pecked it and dropped lifeless to the earth. Lysandra’s eyes widened.

“You knew,” she spat.

“I trusted my heart,” Solenne said gently. “And my heart knows fear when it sees it.”

The forest stirred. The elders emerged. They bound Lysandra not with chains, but with reflection—forcing her to look upon the pain she’d caused. The Queen screamed as her beauty crumbled, not from age, but from guilt long denied.

She fled the forest, and the mirror—stripped of magic—shattered in her absence.

Years later, Solenne returned to the palace, not to take the throne, but to transform it. The kingdom needed a new way—not of royal rule, but of shared wisdom. She built schools, healed farmlands, invited voices from every corner to the great hall.

When asked how she endured, she would smile and say, “The fairest truth was never in the mirror. It was in knowing who I was, even when the world tried to silence me.”

And thus, the legend of Snow White lived on—not as a tale of envy or poisoned apples, but as a story of courage, truth, and a beauty that shone from within.

The End.