Pale as Snow, Red as Blood

Zalia was used to working for anything she wanted. Money? Find a job. Family? Work her way into one. Peace and quiet? Kill the threats. So, when she decided she wanted to be queen, she had to work her way into the castle and win the king’s favour.

Nothing was known of her bloodline, and blood was everything.

Well, not everything, but a lot. At least she looked good. That had been the one exception; she hadn’t worked for good looks, but they came along anyways. When she did work for them, she had to be careful where she went. Going into a less-than-savourable neighbourhood could end catastrophically. But that wasn’t going to be a problem.

She was going for the royal palace.

The queen had died a few months ago, and she intended to see that that position didn’t remain unfilled any longer than it needed to.

Being a street urchin most of her life had its advantages. She had few belongings to worry about leaving behind. Really only one, and she could take that with her. She’d had it for as long as she could remember. Longer, probably.

She pulled out her mirror, checked her reflection one last time, It has to be perfect, and approached the gate.

She didn’t walk in. She knew better. Kings don’t like women to be too forward or strong. Were she, an unknown peasant, to request to dine with him, she’d be thrown in the dungeon for impropriety. If he, however, laid eyes on her and discovered her, and felt like the whole affair was his idea, well then that was an entirely different story.

So she sat at the fountain nearest the gate and set to work on looking busy. Not too busy, as to look like one who was used to working, but not idle, as one who doesn’t know what to do with themself.

Sure enough, before the day was out, she’d been requested for an audience with the king. He made many subtle inquiries, under the guise of small talk, and she was careful to tell him exactly what he wanted to know and nothing more, so as to not appear over eager. She was then instructed to dine with him that night. He said “invited”. She knew what happened if one declined an “invitation” from the king.

That night, there was quite a feast laid out for the two of them. Except, as it turned out, it was all for Zalia. This itself didn’t terribly surprise her, but his reasoning did. He simply didn’t give one. He merely talked so much that there was no room in his mouth for food among the words. He spoke mostly of his daughter, with occasional hints that it was difficult to raise a girl without a mother. It can’t be all that difficult, Zalia thought, I did it myself. Aloud, she wondered if she would meet this daughter. “Soon,” was all he replied.

As the moon rose, Zalia started getting nervous, which was not in her nature. She asked if she might leave. It was a bold move, but, she said, “The people love to talk, and we can’t have them speaking ill of you, sire. Or of me, I suppose.” The king nodded in reply, and requested she return tomorrow.

When she returned, it was to a proposal. “You were enchanting last night. I haven’t felt this alive since…” He choked up. Or, at least, tried to.

They were to marry the next day, at which point Zalia knew the time had come. If she didn’t act quickly, all would be forfeit, including her very soul.

She suggested that, as everything had happened so fast, maybe he would like to go for a hunt. That would give the kingdom time to prepare for a royal wedding and her a chance to meet her future step-daughter. He consented and, within the hour, was off.

Then she appeared. The girl her mirror had spoken of. Skin as pale as snow, hair as black as ebony, and lips as red as blood. It could be no other. Zalia was powerless to disguise the consuming hatred. As was Snow White.

Tonight, Zalia had come prepared, knowing she’d be accepted. She bore a crucifix around her neck, which, seconds before was hidden under her dress, and a flask of holy water was hidden under her skirts. Around the castle she’d scattered sacramental wafer, leaving the front gate only, so the king could leave unknowing.

The two stared each other down, but both knew they couldn’t act. The hunter was protected, but the vampire was stronger.

“Why do you hate me, sister?” Zalia asked.

“Sister? You insult me!” Snow White sneered. “You will never be my equal.”

“On the contrary, your sire intends to marry me, and make it a public affair. It wouldn’t do for him to kill me right after, so he likely intends to sire me as well.”

“You may have smitten him, but I have a different sort of lust.”

“You think me a fool? I know you thirst. But so do I. As you prepared dinner tonight, and I dined, I had a huntsman put sacramental wafer in your bed. You are no more safe here than I.”

A look of panic crossed Snow White’s eyes. Zalia relaxed. Her work was paying off. She could see her adversary calculating the odds. Together, they were unstoppable. That’s why the last hunter had only managed to kill the queen. In fact, it was a miracle they’d managed that. But Zalia had separated the two, lulling each into a sense of security.

Snow White realized how sorely they’d underestimated their foe. With a resolute expression, she transformed before Zalia’s eyes into a large bat, who flew madly out of the great hall, chirping something that sounded suspiciously like “My King! My King!”

Zalia wasted no time in summoning the huntsman. He reported that the king had been successfully diverted from his standard hunting route, so the girl would have trouble finding him. In fact, the only thing lying in the direction she’d seen her go was a dense wood with only enough room for one cottage. The two agreed; Zalia would await the king’s return, and the huntsman would track down Snow White. Both would retain the hearts of their prey, as reassurance to one another that the job was done.

When the king finally returned from his trip, he stormed into the Great Hall, rather upset that his daughter hadn’t met him at the gate as she usually did. It didn’t improve his temperment to see Zalia seated on his throne. Not that his mood was terribly important to the crossbow bolt she fired straight at his heart. He crumbled to dust, which she collected in lieu of his heart, hoping that her account and the dust would satisfy the huntsman.

He returned the following day, heart in hand. It puzzled Zalia that one heart had stayed intact and the other hadn’t. She started to wonder if the king was really dead, or if she’d mistaken the order of events and he’d turned to dust before being shot.

She consulted her mirror.

“Magic mirror, search the land,

How many demons are at hand?”

“One is dead, that much is true,

The other lives, no blame to you.”

This was a surprise. She had succeeded, but the huntsman, bearing the heart, had not. She looked for him, but couldn’t find him. He’d not been turned, or he’d have shied away from her, for she still wore her crucifix. But what had he done?

He said there was a cottage. She’d start there.

He’d not lied to say the wood was dense. As she’d approached it, she’d seen a pillar of smoke and made her way straight toward it. Along the way she saw a deer, dead. Some animals had been eating it, but the precise incision at the heart was the work of a skilled hunter. At least it wasn’t a human.

Just as she was wondering if she’d veered off course, she saw a clearing ahead. Approaching it, she found the cottage. She disguised herself and went up to the door and knocked. Snow White answered, seemingly alone, but didn’t recognize Zalia. Zalia had gathered a basket of apples as an excuse for knocking on the door, and, to her surprise, Snow White accepted one. There may yet be hope for whoever lived here, she thought. So she went back into the trees and waited.

As she watched, many forest creatures came to the cottage and did some cleaning or building or other sort of chore that suited them. It’s not just wolves and bats then. Zalia would have to be ready to fight an arsenal of beaks, claws, and teeth.

Near dusk, she heard whistling. As she watched, a short old man entered the clearing. Followed by another. And another. Soon there were seven of them. They washed up outside and entered the cottage. As the door opened, Zalia smelled food, just like she’d had at the castle.

She knew that if she stayed this close she’d likely be found and killed, yet she couldn’t make it out of the forest after dark. Readying her crossbow, Zalia crossed the clearing to the cottage again. She heard singing and dancing. Cautiously peering through the window, she saw that the small men “or possibly dwarves. It’s hard to tell sometimes,” were being hypnotized and bestowing upon Snow White precious gems of every colour. They then lined up to go to bed. They must be dwarves, what with the gems and them not being turned. As everybody knows, dwarves, while technically able to be turned, have vile tasting blood.

They soon all fell asleep, and Snow White crept out of bed and along the floor towards the door.

Zalia readied her crossbow.

The latch clicked.

The knob turned.

The crossbow twanged.

And the door gently swung open, revealing a pile of dust in the doorway.