The Queen's Tale

Author’s Note: Before reading this story, please familiarize yourself with the Grimms’ original fairytale. You can find it here: http://www.familymanagement.com/literacy/grimms/grimms42.html I reference this site also because at some parts of this story, I quoted part of the story from here (only one or two dialogue lines).

Acknowledgement: A big thank you must go out to de-kayed Renée 🧟‍♀️ for her extremely detailed reviews, and her excellent suggestions. Without which, I'm sure The Queen's Tale would be a terrible read. Thank you so much!

Word Count: 4832 words

Blinding lightning flashed across the skies, illuminating the small village every few minutes. Thunder rumbled, not in the distance, but right above every household. The winds howled, as though wind-demons themselves laid siege to the square and were about to rip the village savagely apart. The villagers had never seen a worse storm. No one dared to venture outdoors, for fear of being struck by lightning, or being blown away.

Although the village was small, like every other human dwelling, it held a place of worship. The pioneers had erected a church right in the centre of the village, to remind the residents of God’s Grace. On this frightful night, Father Paul, the church’s priest, was kneeling in front of the statue of Jesus, praying to the Lord to have mercy on the village. A pious man, he considered nothing nobler an ambition than to serve his community.

In the midst of praying, Father Paul heard a “clicky-clack”. It was so faint that, at first, he thought it was just an animal, mayhap a rat, scampering across the wooden floor. Then, he heard it again. “Clicky-clack!” Father Paul froze, his hand clutching his rosary. He was by no means a cowardly man, but on such dark nights, it was known that the Devil might send his minions to do his bidding.

A feeble voice called outside the church’s iron door. “Please, kind Priest, l-l-let me i-i-in. It is so… so…cold, and I’m so t-t-tired.” Father Paul rose and strode down the aisle to open the door but not before arming himself with a cross and a candle. Although he doubted that the Devil’s minions would be able to enter the church, he was still afraid of what he might find at the doorsteps of this holy shelter.

“Clicky-clack!” That noise again! What was that? He drew the iron bar out of its bolt and pushed open the door. It gave an age-old groan. “Needs oiling,” he thought distractedly. Just then, a gust of wind whipped by, extinguishing the candle he held in his hand.

What Father Paul saw that night was a sight he would never forget. The candles in the church’s hall cast a dim light on the stranger. He was able to make out vaguely an old woman standing, nay, not standing, but dancing in front of him. Although he was unable to see her face in its entirety, for her face was covered by a shawl, her eyes, dark with exhaustion, peered out from the soaked cloth. The black cloak shrouding her thin frame hung upon her, sodden and heavy. She hunched over, as if she couldn’t bear the weight of her body.

What truly distressed Father Paul though, was her feet. She wore iron slippers that, despite the unyielding rain, glowed red-hot. “Almost like the Devil’s eyes,” he thought, unconsciously crossing himself. The entire time he was scrutinizing her, her feet never stopped moving, in a curious tap dance. “Clicky-clack, clicky-clack!” The iron slippers hit lightly against the cobblestone path that led people who sought salvation to the church.

“Madame, what are you?” he breathed.

The old woman blinked the rain-drops that fell on her eye-lids away. “Please, kind Father,” she wheezed, ignoring the question, “I… I am exhausted. I d-d-desire d-d-death, and the r-r-restful sleep it brings. But I c-c-cannot go w-w-without confessing my s-s-sins. Will you hear me?”

Now, the priest wanted to help her, even though he was terribly frightened of this creature. She'd uttered that last sentence with so much heart-felt urgency that it moved him.

“Yes, of course,” he murmured, hurrying forward to take her clammy arm and help her into the church.

It was only when the old lady entered the church that he saw, with the aid of brighter candlelight, that her feet bled heavily. She danced up the aisle, past the candle-holders that lined the sides of the walls. All this while, her feet sent beads of blood flying. Some splattered on the mahogany, wooden floor, creating dark designs, while others landed on the church’s pews. Father Paul locked the door and followed hesitantly behind her, feeling a tinge of regret. “Maybe I should have just listened to her confession at the doorsteps instead,” he pondered, but it was too late.

The temperature inside the church seemed to have dropped a few degrees. Just before Father Paul opened the door to admit this... creature, the air inside had been quite warm and cosy. Now, it felt as if the Ice Queen herself was walking up the aisle.

“To the confessional booth?” he suggested tentatively.

“N-N-No. I want to do it in f-f-front of the s-s-statue of Jesus,” the old woman insisted adamantly. Although she was shivering and out of breath, her tone brooked no arguments.

“Very well.” Father Paul wasn’t going to deny a dying woman’s last wish. Although the good priest was no doctor, he knew, as surely as he knew that there was a God, that these were her last few hours.

She reached the altar quite quickly, for it was a little church, and quietly danced by the fireplace. Father Paul handed her a towel to dry herself off. For what seemed like eternity, neither said anything. Their silence was only punctuated by the “clicky-clack” of her iron slippers.

Now that they were in front of the brightly-lit altar, and now that she'd taken off her shawl and the cloak, Father Paul was able to observe her better. Large, almond-shaped eyes dominated her gaunt face. Exhaustion pinched the corners surrounding them, indicating that she had not slept in more than a few days. The shed cloak revealed a rake-thin body, that reminded him of a prepubescent child instead of a full-grown woman. It was apparent that she'd not eaten for days on end. Father Paul bustled into his kitchen and retrieved a loaf of bread for the old biddie. Much as he was suspicious and terrified of her, he was beginning to feel that she meant him no harm whatsoever. Although he put it in front of her, she didn't touch the plate of food at all. Instead, her entire being concentrated on recovering so that she could tell her tale.

After a while, it seemed that she felt warm enough. The old lady turned towards Father Paul with beseeching eyes. “I am dying, Father, and I want you to hear my story. Will you hear me?” she repeated, her voice held a desperate edge to it.  All the time, her feet went, “Clicky clack, clicky clack”. A drop of blood landed on his cheek. Father Paul cringed internally, as if the Devil himself had touched him, and took out his handkerchief to wipe it off. “I need salvation, and I must confess my sins today, or else I will be damned to Hell forever. Father, help me.” Her face contorted in pain, as if there were the Devil's minions were torturing her already, in her mind, with the instruments of Hell.

“Yes, Madame. Speak, and I will listen,” Father Paul promised compassionately, settling himself down onto the first church pew. “Please, go ahead.”

“I was a young Princess then, when I married the King,” she started. “You do not recognize me, do you?” she asked quite suddenly.

“No, Madame,” he answered honestly. “We’re a very small community, and have little contact with the outside world.”

“Yes, I thought as much.” She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to the Father.

“Madame? Your confession?” He prodded her gently. It wasn’t that he was impatient. He simply wanted her to finish her confession, be cleansed of her sins before she went to meet the Lord. If she tarried and died before the full confession, he was afraid that she might be condemned to eternal damnation.

“Ah, yes.” The Father's soft prompt roused her from her thoughts. “Like I said, I was young. So naïve, so idealistic. When I married the King, I believed that I was going to change the world. As Queen, I thought, I would set progressive policies. I would free the innocent people from oppression. I would release political prisoners from their dungeons to resume their normal lives without fear of prosecution. I really believed,” she gave a derisive laugh directed at herself, “that I could do all those things. Sadly, I knew little of how treacherous court politics can be. My father’s court was different, you must understand.” She looked towards where the priest sat. He gave a faint nod of acknowledgement, as she continued. "As a small Kingdom, we required everyone’s opinions. Mother's. Mine. Brother's. Everyone's. In my husband’s Kingdom, though, all the power was vested in the King. Every courtier yearned to be his favorite. They played a political game that I couldn’t really understand and was soon left behind. Gradually, the King lost interest in me, and cast me aside like a used puppet. After all, the courtiers were willing to sacrifice their virginal daughters. Why would he be faithful to only me? But then, because I was cast aside, I met her.” At which moment, the old woman’s face wrinkled in sorrow. Father Paul did not rush her. Instead, he allowed her to have a moment of silence before she continued.

“She was Snow White, the late Queen’s daughter. Willful and adventurous, she was just like a free spirit. Her mother had died just after giving birth to her, and her father was always too busy to perform a paternal role in her life. So she had no permanent parental presence. We took to each other quite rapidly. I taught her many things. How to quilt, how to sew, even how to read. The mother-daughter bond grew stronger with every passing day.” The old lady danced slower now, every word spoken depleted the energy from her feet.

“Go on,” Father Paul urged, now eager to hear more.

“Before I came to this Kingdom, my father gifted me with a looking-glass, an enchanted object.” Father Paul grasped his rosary. Enchanted objects were the very work of the Devil! The old woman didn’t notice the priest’s reaction. Her eyes gazed into the distant past, oblivious to anything, even to her feet gradually reducing their speed. “He told me to ask the looking-glass every morning,

“Looking-glass, looking-glass on the Wall,
How fare this land’s citizens, all?

“It allowed me know what was going on in every part of the Kingdom. Father said, it was a necessary tool for me to rule wisely as a Queen.” The old woman swallowed, hard. “I saw such atrocities committed. Soldiers plundered the fertile lands, rendering them sometimes utterly unable to grow crops for years. On sheer whim, they often evicted farmers from their farmlands. I saw women robbed of their dignity and virginity, only to be discarded after having been used in every single way. I saw children, mere children,” her voice trembled with fury, “speared and killed for no reason. And I could do nothing. Nothing!” she spat. Father Paul shuddered at the image she had portrayed in his mind. “Barbaric creatures!” he thought fiercely. “They will burn in Hell.”

“For the longest time, I didn’t visit the looking-glass. I couldn’t bear to see the people – my people – suffering and yet, not doing anything about it. One night, though, I heard a whisper. ‘You must go to the looking-glass. To save Snow White, you must!’ I thought it only a figment of my imagination, but the same voice came to me over and over again, with increasing urgency until I gave in and went to the looking-glass.

“Looking-glass, looking-glass on the Wall,
Do you see Snow White’s future, if at all?

“The looking-glass replied,

“Oh fairest Queen of Queens,
Snow White’s future does not bode well, it seems!

“The looking-glass showed me the council with the King. Do you know,” the old lady turned to Father Paul, “anything about dwarves?”

Father Paul was startled. “Dwarves? You mean those unfortunate souls who cannot grow beyond a certain height? Yes, yes, I know of them.”

“Not quite right, Father. I'm referring to magical dwarves, not human ones.” His puzzled expression convinced her that she needed to tell the Father a little bit about the context before he would understand the rest of her tale.

“Let me tell you the history of how magical dwarves came to our lands. These dwarves that I'm referring to live in another, parallel world, similar to ours. They prefer to keep to themselves, so very few have actually ventured out of their lands. But, a few decades ago, a group of dwarves was sent to come here. Food had grown scarce in their lands. You see, Dwarf-land is rich with metal ores, but arable land is difficult to find. The more mining the dwarves do, the greater the damage to the land. I do not know what they do with the metal ores for my husband never cared to tell me. In comparison, our Kingdom has an abundance of fertile land. The Dwarf King saw that humans had fresh produce, and he longed for these to feed his starving citizens. So, seven adventurous dwarves set off from Dwarf-land. They brought with them the precious metals that you see in the city markets. This is not to say that we didn’t have precious metals before the dwarves arrived. We did, but dwarves are so much better than humans at mining. The late King thought that it was an excellent idea to trade. If the dwarves mined for us, then the excess labor could be deployed to the farms. Also, mining is so much more dangerous than planting, or sheep herding. So, a pact was struck between the late King and the Dwarf King. They supply us with metal ores and we in turn supply them with food.” Father Paul could not believe his ears. Magical dwarves, she said? Existing? Impossible! Still, he reserved his opinions to himself.

The old dame plundered on, for she feared her time was arriving soon. “The seven dwarves became the gate-keepers between our world and Dwarf-land. No one could get in or out of Dwarf-land without their permission. They had complete control of the gate-way. The late King knew this. So, in addition to the official contract, he gave in to their demands to make a separate contract with them. Like every male, the seven dwarves were… lusty.” Father Paul shivered, unsure if he wanted to hear anymore. But, there was no turning back. He had to hear this entire story, sordid details or otherwise. If only for her salvation.

“Every year, the Kingdom was to offer a woman to the dwarves. Not seven, mind you. For seven women disappearing every year would arouse suspicions. Only one was necessary to serve all seven. She was to keep the house in the day and provide for… carnal amusements at night.” The old lady's feet had slowed down to a gentle tap-tap-tap. It seemed as though the words flowing from the old woman’s lips purged its vengeance.

“And,” Father Paul couldn’t resist interrupting, “the next one to be sent to the seven dwarves was Snow White?”

“Yes. Through the looking glass, I heard the council vote to send Snow White.”

“But why? Why her?”

“Snow White had matured into a stunning young woman. Her skin was indeed as white as snow, her lips red as blood and hair as black as ebony. Her beauty was known far and wide. Once she'd come of age, the dwarves threatened to close down the gateway unless they gave them Snow White.” She heaved a great sigh. “There was no telling if they would make good on their promise, and the council decided that sacrificing one life was better than risking no trade at all.”

“Heavens bless us!” the priest gasp. “How could they put a price on a life as such? Ruining a life is an unforgivable sin! Did your husband not stop this? How could he agree – ” Father Paul grew more agitated with every sentence.

“He wasn't at the meeting. He was cavorting in the royal bedroom with his mistresses. After one of his mistresses gave birth to a son, he'd conveniently forgotten about his eldest daughter. If he'd been there, the heartless bastard would have agreed to send her away to the dwarves too, I'm sure.” Even if he had not seen the look of contempt on her face, he could distinctly hear acidic disdain dripping from her voice.

“So, what did you do?” Father Paul couldn’t help himself. He had to know.

“I bribed a huntsman a huge sum to spirit Snow White away. ‘Bring her away to the deepest ends of the forest,’ I urged him. I thought I was so intelligent, intercepting the Council's plans.”

“You succeeded?” Father Paul gripped his rosary, hoping against hope that the innocent child had been saved from the clutches of the lascivious dwarves.

The old woman shook her head sorrowfully. “No. I wasn't careful enough and they caught wind of my plan. In a successful bid to quash my plan, they threatened my huntsman with the death of all his family members. Eventually, he had no choice but to bring her to the forest, where there was a path leading to the dwarves’ cottage. He told her that I was the one who had sent him to kill her,” she snorted, “as if I would do such a despicable thing! He told her to run into the forest, along the path and never return. They sent her to the dwarves.” Stark regret hung in the air, after the old woman’s outburst. Both knew that she didn’t blame the Council as much as she blamed herself for sending the child into the wolves’ den.

Father Paul bowed his head, as he felt tears prickling his eyes. “Poor child,” he sighed. “Poor, innocent Snow White.”

The old woman's voice radiated grief. “I watched her. I watched her in the looking-glass and saw how abusive the dwarves were. The screams…” Tears rolled down her grimy face in quick succession, creating two white tracks. She had to take in huge gulping breaths to calm herself down. Eventually, she started again. “There was no way for Snow White to escape, because the dwarves had some sort of magical bind on her. She could move no further than the cottage’s front door. I tried. I read all the sorcery books I could lay my hands on, and yet, there was no way I could break the spell. In the end, I had to harden my heart. To put my darling daughter out of misery, I had to kill her.”

A sinister quiver travelled down Father Paul’s back. “What,” he whispered, “did you do?”

“I disguised myself as an old peddler, selling wares. Off I went, to the cottage. ‘Pretty things to sell! Very cheap! Very cheap!’ I cried. Snow White, upon seeing another human being, threw the door open excitedly. She knew that it was impossible for anyone to help her. She simply was glad to have a human presence. ‘Good-day, my good woman, what have you to sell?’ she asked me eagerly. My heart almost broke when I saw her in person. Her hair was disheveled and her clothes shabby. Her right eye spotted an angry-looking black bruise. In fact, her whole body was covered in bruises, some fading, others fresh. I told you, my Snow White was a brave girl.” The old lady proudly proclaimed. “She refused to give in to the dwarves’ demands, even after several months had passed. The dwarves delighted in beating her up and raping her, though. They reveled in using violence to quell her spirit. Anyhow, I showed her pretty stay-laces of all different colors, especially yellow ones. She loved yellow. ‘Child,’ said I, ‘what a fright you look. Come, I will lace you properly for once.’ I laced Snow White up so tightly that she could not breathe, and fainted.”

“Is that why you are being punished?” Father Paul asked.

“Partly. But I’m not done with my story yet, Father.” Throughout the tale, the old woman’s feet had slowed down gradually, until they stopped at this moment. Finally able to rest, the old dame fell to the ground. Father Paul sped to her side, afraid that she had died without finishing her confession. And, truth be told, he wanted to know the ending to this horrifying account.

“Are you all right, Madame?” He helped her sit up. A pool of blood gathered at her feet.

“I must hurry with my tale.” She grasped his hands. “Hear me, hear me.”

“Always, Madame,” he replied, patting her leathery hands gently. So, she continued the story, while he held her in his arms, lending her his strength.

“The dwarves came home in time to discover Snow White, and they unlaced her. They punished her, though, thinking that she’d wanted to commit suicide. That night,” she squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, “Snow White suffered terribly. I cannot even begin describing the unspeakable deeds they did to her. Suffice to say, she was unable to walk for a fortnight. It was during the fortnight that I hatched my second plot. Once again, I went to the cottage, this time disguised as a different woman. I yelled, when I was near enough, ‘Good things to sell! Cheap! Cheap!’ Again, Snow White let me in. On the pretext of helping to comb her hair, I stuck the poisoned teeth of the comb into her scalp. Immediately the poison took effect, and she fell down. I was sure that this time, Snow White was done for.”

“She managed to escape death?”

“Yes. Once again, the dwarves arrived home early from their work. They removed the comb and sucked the poison out of Snow White’s head. This time, they were sure that it was an attempt at murdering their sex slave. They punished Snow White, though, for being so careless as to let me in, and warned her not to let anyone in the next time around. I tried one final time. ‘If it does not help to set Snow White free, then it is God’s Will,’ I thought to myself. This time, I had a poisoned apple. Well, at least half of it was poisoned. When I took the apple to the cottage, Snow White was reluctant to let me in. The punishments she endured made her cautious. Still, I convinced her that I was nobody but a harmless peddler. To demonstrate that, I bit off the harmless part of the apple. Snow White’s desire for human companionship overrode everything else, and she let me in. I offered the other half of the apple to her. Once she bit into the apple, my child fainted.” The old woman’s voice grew softer and weaker. Father Paul knew that her time was almost up. Perhaps she needed some water, he thought suddenly. Maybe if she drank or ate the bread on the altar, she would survive!

He made a move to get the bread, but she stopped him. “There is no way of saving me, anymore, Father. I am tired, and I want to die. Just please listen to the end.

“I finally succeeded in killing Snow White, I thought. When the dwarves returned, they were enraged to find Snow White dead. No matter how much they tried, they could not bring Snow What back to life. I watched through my looking-glass and was happy. Elated that Snow White finally managed to escape the clutches of the seven dwarves.” The old lady stopped, her story interrupted by a wrecking coughing fit. “Despite their cruel nature, the dwarves still respected tradition. Perhaps they feared Snow White’s ghost? Anyhow, they wanted a proper burial for her. So, the seven brothers trooped down to the funeral parlor to get a coffin for Snow White, but the only coffin left in the shop was a glass one. They bought that. While holding vigil for her, a most tiresome chore for them indeed, a Prince from the distant lands rode past. He set his eyes upon Snow White and fell instantly in love with the corpse. The Prince wanted her corpse, but the dwarves were reluctant to let her go without a price. They negotiated for at least two hours, and eventually, the Prince got what he wanted – Snow White –, and the dwarves, cunning merchants that they are, crates of produce.”

“The Prince wanted to give her a proper burial?” Father Paul couldn’t think of any other reason why the Prince might want a corpse.

“No, Father,” the old woman did not bother to hide her sardonic smile. “He wanted to have sexual intercourse with the corpse.” The priest almost retched at the thought of it. “Yes, indeed. Our dear Prince Charming was a necrophiliac. While he was heaving and thrusting in and out of my beautiful, darling daughter’s dead body, he dislodged the piece of apple that was stuck in her throat. The strangest miracle happened. She became alive again.”

This was the most bizarre tale Father Paul had ever heard, but the sincerity and conviction in the woman’s eyes convinced him that she had strong belief that her tale was real.

“People are full of contradictions, I have found. The Prince, despite his tendency towards necrophilia,  was a responsible man. After having carnal relations with Snow White, he thought it his duty to marry her.” There was another pause, as the old lady coughed harder than ever, as if her lungs would spill out. “I am coming to the end of my story, Father. Snow White married the Prince. Although I was hesitant to go for their wedding, I decided to do so, anyway, to see my daughter alive again. But, when I arrived, Snow White immediately forced me into these shoes and laid a curse upon me so that I would dance to my death. I do not blame her. Not even for a moment. For she doesn’t know the true story. She does not realize that the Council sent her to the dwarves, not I. And that her father was a useless cad who didn't even care about her. Everything I did, Father, I did out of love for her.” The old lady’s voice grew fainter and fainter, until the Priest had to bend forward to hear her words. “Thank you, Father, for listening to my tale. I can finally rest… in peace… knowing my tale has been told.”

“Yes, Madame. You can rest now. Your sins are forgiven.” Father Paul laid her on the floor and rested a warm hand on her forehead. The moment she drew her last breath, the iron slippers stopped glowing. Outside, the winds stilled, and the rain miraculously disappeared. The first touch of sunlight finally lit the skies, after a long, long night.

A thousand miles away from where the late Queen died, Snow White crumpled in front of the looking-glass.

“Mother,” she whimpered.

“Mother!”

That morning, the entire Kingdom shook with the screams of a demented, grieving woman.

-End-