Lips as Red as Crimson

Once upon a time. A dreadful line; the opening to a story where everyone expects good to overcome evil and the ending to be happy, however out of place it may seem. This is no such story.

It starts the same: the queen, the stepmother, sits before a mirror. She contorts her face this way and that, begging the lines in her forehead to even out like they used to. The fear of being cast out and unwanted made her blood boil, the large vein next to her long-unused smile lines bulging with protest.

“Mirror,” she says as she smooths her dark hair down, trying to appear as regal as she once felt, “Who is the fairest of them all?”

Dark eyes bore into hers, unrecognizable even to herself, searching for an answer in the silence. Her gaze flickers to the haunted figure that has appeared behind her in the mirror, and she whirls in her chair.

“Snow White, I didn’t see you there,” she says through a smile that is more a baring of teeth.

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Hilde” the girl replies, the circles under her eyes punctuating her exhaustion.

At the mention of her name, not her title, the queen grits her teeth but holds her tongue. “Of course, Ivory, my apologies. You know how I like to jest.” She looks at the girl barely on her feet. “How are you feeling tonight? Why are you out of bed?”

To anyone looking in on the exchange, one might think this was a rundown stepmother showing genuine concern for her stepdaughter, but this was not the case. The princess, for she was heir to the throne and would not let her majesty forget it, had fallen ill, and the king, overcome with love for his only child, went with ten of his most trustworthy riders to find the best doctor in the land to come to her aid. In his oversight, he left Ivory at the mercy of his wife that would love nothing more to have him all to herself.

The young girl shrugs, swaying on her feet. Even as ill as she was, there was no contest of beauty. This did not matter to the girl, however, and perhaps was the thing that made her stand out among such trivial things.

It’s hard to care about the red of her cheeks, hot with fever, her big brown doe eyes, bloodshot and yellowed, the paleness of her young skin, clammy to the touch, when every breath is a fight.

Hilde motions for the girl to come closer and puts the back of her hand to her forehead.

“You’re burning with fever,” she says. “Let me fetch my fastest rider and take you straight to the doctor. Go and dress quickly.”

As soon as Ivory is out the door, Hilde wipes at her hand vigorously, trying to remove the memory from her skin.

“Guard!” she calls. “Fetch me my Huntsman.”

She hears boots clanking along the stone floor in answer and brushes through her hair again as she waits.

A resounding knock sounds on the wooden door and through it steps her hulking confidant, the only thing left of her life before the palace, the only one she could trust to do what needed to be done.

“You called for me, your majesty?” he says with a bow.

“Eric, there has been a bit of a change of plans,” she says and motions for him to close the door. After it squeaks shut, she leans in to whisper to him, “The poison is taking too long. We need her to be gone before the king returns. I want you to take her out into the woods. Tell her you’re taking her to the doctor, whatever you have to, but I don’t want that little bitch stepping foot out of those woods alive.”

“It’s one thing to acquire your little potions for you, but it’s another to ask this of me,” Eric says. “Is there no other way to keep her from being a thorn in your side?”

The queen sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her long fingers. “You have always trusted me, Eric. Which is why I stayed your execution and brought you all this way with me. Because you have trusted me and not questioned me all the time. Why now? Do you want to be cast out with me if they find out about our little plot?”

“Our?”

“You think you’re innocent just because it was my idea? If the king casts me out, I’m sure he won’t waste a second thought on you.”

Eric rubs at his thick beard, contemplating his options. The queen had saved him once upon a time, when there was still something in her other than the black heart that had taken root since she tasted a drop of power. If he didn’t do it, someone else would to avoid the rageful gaze she was boring into him with.

“Fine. Bring the girl to the stables before the hour is up,” he says. “I’ll need all the darkness I’m allowed before the monsters begin to roam.”

The queen claps, delighted, and rushes out of her room towards the princess’s quarters. She forces herself to take a breath and let her face relax into concern as she knocks gently on the door. She pushes it open when she doesn’t hear an answer and sees Ivory sunk low in one of the large armchairs by the fire.

“Are you ready, dear?” she asks, forcing a sickly sweetness into her voice.

The girl looks up, eyes distant, and gives a weak nod. Maybe she the poison was working after all.

Hilde pulls Ivory to her feet, half dragging, half pulling her down to the stables where Eric is finishing tying off his saddle.

He looks between them, the doubt clear on his face at the girl’s condition. “You’re sure about this?” he asks.

The queen answers with silence, passing the girl up to him on the horse.

The huntsman feels on the ridges of her spine as she leans against his chest as he pushes his horse to a trot towards the pitch black of the woods. Even knowing this place like the back of his hand, his veins are filled with ice thinking of all the misfortuned souls that had lost their lives in the thickets.

They ride for nearly an hour, backtracking once or twice to head north towards the black mountains where only beasts and monsters roamed. He slows his horse as they come to a clearing, as good a place as any, and he gingerly wraps the girl in his arms as she jumps down.

She stirs in his arms, her eyes focusing on his face. “Where are we?”

He sighs, a weight building in his chest. He would never understand what possessed the queen so to hate this child. She was barely there, trapped in a body failing by Hilde’s viscious hand. Her collarbones looked like they were about to burst from her skin and her lips were nearly blue except for the bloody cracks.

He couldn’t do this.

“We’re at the end.” He sets her down in the soft grass, covering her with his thick fur coat. “I can’t do anything to protect you in that castle, but I won’t kill you. And I won’t take you back. Somehow out here is your best chance.”

A trickle of tears begins to leak from her eyes. “Why does she hate me?” she asks, her voice weak.

“She hates everything. She sucks all good into herself and destroys it. Me included,” he says wiping at his face, surprised to find it wet.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he mounts his horse and rides away.

The girl burrows into the safety of the cape, too weak to cry anymore, to move, to care that she’s going to die out here in the middle of the woods and torn apart by wild animals. She wanted her father, the distant memory of her mother, anything other than this pit that ached inside her.

A hand on her back breaks her from her thoughts, and she peaks her head out from the cape. She is startled by the red.

Blood drips, thick, from the jaw of the woman crouching over her, the source unseen. A scream is trapped in her chest as she stares into the black eyes mere inches from hers.

“And they call us monsters,” the woman says, her voice is low and musical, more of a feeling than a sound. She pulls the cloak off of Ivory and clucks her tongue at her condition. “You’re dying, child. I can smell the poison in your blood.”

“Poison?” she asks, the weeks of sickness, of her stepmother doting over her finally coming into focus. She looks up at the woman and is surprised by the sadness in her face. “Will it hurt?”

The woman laughs, but there is no humor in it. “Living hurts much more than dying if you’d believe it.” She grips the girl by her shoulders and forces her upright. “Do you want to live?”

The girl coughs and another crack of blood appears on her lips; the woman’s eyes are glued there, but she doesn’t move any closer. They are both breathing hard as they look at each other.

“I wanted to be something.” Her words are a ragged whisper.

The woman’s smile is jagged, and Ivory feels that she should be afraid but can’t manage to connect to it. "You will be."

She bites into her wrist and forces the girl’s mouth open, dripping in thick, crimson blood. It coats her chin and soaks into her nightgown as she convulses on the ground.

***

Screams echo through the castle as guards call to each other, trying to make sense of the havoc that has been unleashed. Bodies litter the hallways, spears clattering on the stone, as Hilde hides in the corner of her bedroom, wishing that her trusted huntsman was there to protect her. Two palace guards stood between anyone and the door, but she could not tell where the death cries of her husband’s men fell.

Screams and silence. Screams and silence. Until the screams do not sound again. The door creaks on its hinges as it swings inward, and she can feel this is the end. She stands, wanting to face her killer as a queen instead of cowering in the floor.

The torchlight flickers from where it fell on the ground, and she sees the spectral form of the princess. No longer near death, her skin like marble, her eyes clear and dark, covered head to toe in red. The air reeks of iron as she takes step after wet step toward the queen.

“Even the monsters have hearts, Hilde,” Ivory’s voice is no longer that of a child, but it rings low and menacing. “I wish I could say the same for you.”

The queen screams as she lunges for her, fading to a gargle as the princess holds up her still pulsing prize. She bites down on her near lifeless throat, almost gagging at the taste. When the twitching stops and the flow runs dry, she lifts from her stepmother’s throat and a sharp smile splits her crimson lips.