Scar

Like mother, like daughter.

Just because I was royalty didn’t mean I was oblivious to what they said about us. For seven months, I took to shutting myself up in my chambers, but the resemblance was not a thing I could avoid.

Her eyes mirrored mine, her thoughts . . . mirrored . . . mine. One day not so far off I would be the one to translate silver’s watery truth into words the kingdom could use. Every day she visited the frozen pond in our snowy kingdom. She glided across the ice and knelt before the water at the very center. Only she could see what darkness lay beneath its mirror. Only she could save us from the future that waited outside the castle walls, as she had done once before.

Already I had discovered some of her tricks. The dye she kept in a blue bottle labeled Sleeping Potion. The yellow-ribboned corset that created her waist. On the inside of her wrist were constellations of pinpricks — the secret of her ruby lips.

I was next in line but I wasn’t the only one. There were sisters, cousins, vying for her place. One night I slipped out of bed and followed the moon until I reached the pond. I hesitated at the shore--how did she walk on ice when others drowned?--but plunged on. When I reach the circle of water, I knelt and peered past the wintry lunar light.

I saw then what she saw, understood what she did. I knew her for a liar but couldn't blame her for it. If she cast illusion’s dust into their eyes she did it for good reason. Not everyone had her gift for euphemism, for singing certain pain and sorrow into sunlight.

Still, I had to warn them what was coming. To give them a choice. For seven days I thought about how to say it best and finally decided upon a plan. She came to me that night and pulled me through black corridors.

“The heart,” she told the hunter by her side, “must be removed.”

She leaned down and pressed her lips to my forehead. “When you can run your fingertip along the scar without drawing blood, you can find your way back. Then, and only then, you may take my place.”

The hunter and I walked for a night and half a day without stopping. The woods were greener, warmer, and the sound of melting roared in my ears.

I thought he might take pity on me and leave my heart to its own demise. No such luck.

After he lifted it out of me and fed it to a pack of hares, he sewed the cut closed with twine and tied the stitches with clumsy knots. "The heart is nothing but a burden," he said by way of explanation. "Let it heal and you will be even stronger than the queen. Then you will save us all."

I ran my fingertips over the stitches and winced. The pain was almost beyond endurance, but even then I felt the hollowness inside me. "Emptiness isn't something that can repair itself."

"Emptiness is the only way you will ever be able to see." He gave me a nod and replaced his knife in its sheath.

I ran after him all the way to a great river, its breadth so wide I couldn't see the other shore. Waves crested and fell ferociously as the hunter climbed into a little boat. "But I don't want to see!" I cried. "I've already seen enough!"

He didn't look back. His craft careened forward and disappeared. I was alone, my incision throbbing, my rib cage light as a swallow's. I lifted my muddy skirts and trudged into the forest until at dawn I could walk no more.

I woke deep within the earth, in a place where veins of jewels glowed with heat. The dwarves standing round me were stunted, with gnarled hands, and in the dark their spirits looked no different than the color of wind.

They took me to their cottage, which was so small I could only cross from room to room by bending double as I passed between doors. They were hardy but not cruel. Every evening they brought me rubies and emeralds from mines, though what use I had for them I couldn't say.

I never doubted they would protect me, even when I could run my fingertip along the scar without drawing blood. My soul no longer burned blue at night, but whether it was due to the missing heart or the smallness of the cottage I did not know.

After seven years I could pass my hand through my spirit and it was no different than grasping air. One day I looked in the cracked mirror on the cottage wall and saw skin pale as beauty, lips red as pain, hair black as oblivion. The flutter in my ribcage that had started a fortnight ago grew so loud I covered my ears. But its drum beat on.

I gathered the dwarves and thanked them. It was time to go back, I explained. I could run my fingertip over the scar without drawing blood but my ghost heart wouldn't be silenced. I could still save them but I needed to prepare.

Three times that week she came for me. Her true form and her magic made me susceptible to her spells.

First the combs, then the ribbons, and, at last, the apple. I devoured her poisons and fell into impenetrable dreams. But three times more, she failed. The light through the coffin glass kept my ghost heart alive and warmed my spirit until its pulse beat blue again.

The prince came at the solstice, just as the sun dawned crimson across new-fallen snow. His axe smashed the coffin into a thousand diamonds. One he wrapped around my finger, kneeling to kiss away the blood. The breeze wove all the mirrors into veils.

When I saw the horses in the clearing I shook him off and sprinted for the one with ribbons braided through its mane. I heard the prince's footfalls behind me and could only hope he was as skilled at riding as he was at kissing.

The horizon rose to meet me, the castle in the distance fiery with fading light.

*

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