Before the Looking Glass
→ summary: The old tale of Snow White has been passed on by word of mouth for generations on end. Yet in every rendition of the story, you’re nothing but the evil queen, the stepmother of the beloved princess of the kingdom of the Enchanted Forest. But this is your story. Your “villain” origin story. You aren’t as evil as the old tale suggests.
→ pairing/rating: jungkook x reader | PG-13
→ genre: 89% angst, 11% light fluff | snow white!au
→ warnings: profanity, character death, depictions of torture
→ wordcount: 9.5k
The kingdom falls silent.
Pure, white snow rains steadily outside, clinging to window sills momentarily before melting away into nothingness. White. It's the color of purity, innocence, even simplicity at times. But the whole kingdom still holds its breath, unable to rejoice over the first snowfall of a forthcoming winter.
Instead, everyone is mourning. An early mourning. For an imminent death.
The queen is bedridden with the pestilent plague—bound and moribund in her lavish chambers—pregnant with the kingdom's sole heir. The king sits dutifully by her side, desperate for his heir to be born, desperate for his wife to survive her first childbirth.
Soon, however, the wait is over; and subsequently, the silence is shattered.
Loud cries erupt from the palace. Maids are scurrying about, a newborn infant is wailing, the king is shouting orders. It's chaos. But the good kind.
The princess is finally born.
Yet the good outcome intertwines with the bad as with her last breath, the queen looks out the window to see the freshly fallen snow on the windowsill. It's a beautiful sight; so pure, delicate, fragile. "Snow White," she sighs weakly. "Her name will be Snow White." The queen's tired eyes soften as she glances at her daughter, wrapped up in royal red blankets, still crying in the midwife's arms. It's the last thing her majesty does before she passes away, tangled up in wet rags and soaked in her own sweat.
The king orders a period of solemn mourning of the death of such a kind, noble queen. He locks up the palace, allowing no one to leave or enter. He stands, hands behind his back, staring out the window, gazing upon his people with a stern look on his face. He's contemplating. Thinking. Calculating. For the king was always much more emotionally distant than his kind, nurturing queen. He always had a plan. Regardless of its moral complications.
"Come in," he says in his gruff voice, refusing to turn around.
Shyly, you scamper into his royal chambers, eyes trained down to your feet as you hold up a large tray full of breakfast food. "Your majesty," you say, voice quivering and just barely above a whisper. "I-I brought your breakfast."
"Set it on my escritoire," he commands.
You jump at the heaviness and slight annoyance of his voice, scurrying over to set the tray on his mahogany desk. Quickly, you duck away, wanting to flee the room and the king's grasps alike. But he turns around.
"You are not dismissed, maid."
You freeze.
Remaining frozen as the king slowly walks toward you, you shake slightly, afraid of what he could possibly want from you, the housemaid. His face had used to be kind—wide, soft eyes and naturally curved up lips; but now, a dissatisfied frown mars his features. A small squeak leaves your mouth when the king abruptly grabs your wrist with his large hand. He drags you closer to his face, and you're too frightened to pull away. You don't want to know what would happen if you resisted the king.
"Tell me, maid. You're the one we brought in a week ago."
Yes, you frantically nod your head. But that had been against your will. Everyone knows your story, though no one is brave enough to verbalize it. It's the story in which the king had been making his routinely spying rounds at his high window and had spotted you, working in the village. He was quite taken by your beauty. The next thing you know, you're dragged away from your life by the royal guards and expected to serve the king. Possibly as his concubine. But you'd refused. You were in love with someone else. Still are.
They compromised and bestowed upon you the position of the traditional housemaid.
You look away.
"You've always refused to be with me," the king mutters. His grip around your wrist tightens and you force yourself to swallow the whimpers down your throat. "I never wanted to coerce you into doing something you don't want to..."
Your eyes widen in trepidation—what is he going to do with you? The king's supposed to be noble, generous. He has led the kingdom with a stern but gentle hand, through tough turmoils and that deadly plague. Yet now that his wife is dead, he's willing to move on? Just like that? It feels wrong to play into his fantasies. But what other choice do you have?
"Y-Your majesty?"
"You must wed me, maid."
Your heart drops. You?? Marry the king? For what reason?
The king runs his finger down your cheek, gauging your bewildered action and offering a soft smile. You hate it. You hate every second of it. You wish you had enough courage to pull away. To shout, to refuse.
"Snow White is weak," the king sighs, releasing his harsh grip on you, and you scurry a few feet away. He gazes at you, eyebrows drooping with a look of worry. "I suspect it must have something to do with the disease her mother carried... But I love Snow with all of my heart. It's misfortunate that I cannot possibly raise her and rule the kingdom simultaneously. I must take another wife. You understand, do you not?"
That poor child. You've heard she was born quite frail and skinny. Royal or not, it would be a miracle if she were to live on. Though you don't like the king, you suppose marrying him to save a sick child isn't too bad of a future. You'll be the queen, after all. Not that the crown ever interested you. But perhaps... if you become the queen, you'll be able to reunite with your real love. The possibility of it is welcoming. Yet it feels all too wrong at the same time.
"I will give you time to mull over my offer," the king whispers. "You are dismissed in the meantime."
You bow your head, rushing out of the king's chambers to reach the servants' quarters, nearly bumping into busy butlers and maids who give you mean scowls. When you shut the old, rickety door behind yourself, you hide your face in your hands, unsure what to make of the king's proposal.
He'd always been a little infatuated with you. But this... this is disrespectful to the queen! Yet... she's dead. She's gone now. So is it really that wrong for the king to move on quickly to save his daughter?
And if you marry the king, are you being disloyal to your true love? Will marrying the king break off your final ties with him? You glance nervously at the purple rim of a large mirror, hidden away in the darkness underneath your rachitic bed. It's the only possession you were allowed to bring from back home. But looking at it makes you feel guilty.
You can't possibly accept the king's offer. You are merely a maid and he's of royal blood. People will talk! You will be hated. No. You cannot accept. You'll tell him.
You'll have to refuse to marry him.
The wedding commences anyways. What the king wants, he always gets, whether by force or by guilting you into thinking of the poor, motherless child.
You're given a beautiful crown studded with jewels—the queen's old crown, and you're expected to wear it every day, especially in public. But you prefer locking yourself up in your spacious chambers, looking out the large window and wishing that things were different, your crown cast off to the side. You feel forlorn much more often than you'd like to be.
It's strange.
Most village folks want to be part of royalty, but you feel so much farther away from the people now that you bear a crown on your head.
Of course, the villagers have nicknamed you the Silent Queen, for you never speak, at least not publically, and rarely show yourself outside. But they marvel at your beauty in the uncommon chance that you do show your face. Your concern, however, is not of the people. That is your husband—the king's dilemma. You are more concerned with the wellbeing of sweet Snow White and the wellbeing of the love of your life, though you have not seen him for over a decade.
Fourteen years you've been forced to live as the queen of a kingdom you don't know how to rule. It's a lot of time to dwell over your thoughts and mull over your past life decisions. Also a lot of time for change. You're no longer the shy, naïve girl who was dragged into the palace against her own will. You're no longer the idealistic maiden living a humble life in the village. You're the queen of the kingdom of the Enchanted Forest. You're silent, a little wiser, a little less hopeful. But your love for the man of your life never fades away.
There's a rhythmic knock at the door of your chambers that breaks you away from your thoughts.
"Come in!"
A fourteen-year-old bounds into your chambers, waltzing around in her pure white dress with spilled strawberry jam marring the delicate lace. Her black curls, in a wild mess, fly behind her as she makes her lively steps across your room. She turns consecutive cartwheels, tripping over the hem of her dress and planting her behind on the ground. "Ouchie," she mutters petulantly, her red lips parting in discomfort as she massages her bottom. "Hello, mother!" she giggles.
Ah, the kingdom's Little Blossom.
You don't have the heart to tell the teenager that you're not her mother—that you're her stepmother—and you were forced to be so against your will.
"Hello, Snow," you say, offering her a small smile. "What have you got there on your dress?"
"Jam!!" Snow yells, tumbling on your floor and then standing up to bounce around you. "I was feeding the birds some bread, but they told me they wanted some jam to go with it!" she insists. "Birds love jam."
"Snow, sweetie..."
But alas, the kingdom's most adored child, Snow White, is ill. She had been born with unusual features—pale skin, naturally blood-red lips, hair as black as the night sky. She was always a frail child. Even now, at fourteen, she still looks like she'll blow away in the wind. The king harshly subdues all suspicions that Snow White is severely ill, crazy, insane. But the girl talks to animals (and is convinced that the discourse between them is real), sings songs to bring birds, squirrels and other rodents to keep her company and is genuinely convinced that she is an animal whisperer. Snow prances around with her ebony curls and ghost-like skin, demanding that people pay attention to her and applaud her animal-speaking skills. Truth be told, you're a little afraid of her. There's no telling what an insane teenager might do.
"Why don't you ask Mindy to get you a new change of clothes?" you finally say. The jam's going to make every surface Snow touches extremely sticky, and the maids aren't going to have a fun time cleaning that up.
"But my fuzzy friends won't come if I don't have my jam!" Snow stamps her feet. "I'm keeping it!"
There's no use arguing. She's as stubborn as her father. "Well, then, sweetie," you say, praying that she obeys you this time. "I'd like some alone time. Why don't you ask Minha what she's cooking in the kitchen?"
"Okay!"
To your utmost relief, Snow White bounces out of your room, and you follow right after her footsteps, shutting your door and locking it. Hopefully, she'll leave you alone after a while.
Though you technically raised her, bathed her, played with her, you don't love Snow White. She's not your child, nor had she done anything to make you become emotionally attached to her. Snow's also the child of the king. The same king who ordered your kidnapping and service. You often wonder what it would've been like if you hadn't caught his attention, if you'd been allowed to stay at the village, which you loved with all your heart—even if the winters were cold and food was scarce.
Anything is better than here.
And anywhere is worse without Jeon Jungkook.
"Wait up!" you giggle, nearly tripping over your long skirts as you scramble to catch up to the boy who's running across the fields with astonishing speed. The handsome boy turns back to give you a cute grin.
"Come and catch me!" he yells back and you huff, lifting your unnecessarily lengthy skirts to run as fast as your legs can carry you.
"Slow down!" you shriek, panting.
The boy laughs but he considerately listens to you, stopping to regain his breath as he waits for you to catch up to him. "Isn't it great?" he grins, gesturing towards the grassy field. "You should get out more often, Y/N." He wraps a casual arm around your shoulder and you can't help but blush at the contact.
"Kook, you know I'm busy..."
"Then I'll help you with your odd jobs," he says. "Maybe you'll finish work earlier so we can hang out more often!"
"Really?? You would do that for me?"
"Of course, silly. I'll even promise you!" Jungkook laughs, teasingly bopping your nose before letting you go. You feel empty without the warmth of his arm around you anymore but are too shy to make any moves of your own. Jungkook gestures to you to follow him. "Hey, let's go pick some apples."
"Apples??" you say, bewildered. "But how—"
The next thing you know, you're standing on Jungkook's broad shoulders, balancing yourself as you reach your arm to grab at the ripe fruits on the tree. "Did you get one yet?" Jungkook grunts. He's trying hard not to sound fatigued and even adds a little, "Take your time, though. I can hold you for hours."
You giggle at his confidence. "It's okay, Kook! I almost got one, wait, uh oh—AHHHH!"
If Jungkook hadn't caught you as you fell mid-air, you would've broken a few limbs. Nevertheless, you're clutching a plump, red apple in your hands, looking up at Jungkook's soft, doe eyes, heart racing in your chest. He grins at you, and all too soon, lets you down on your feet, only to bop your nose again. "Keep the apple, Y/N," he laughs, turning around and walking back to the village. He always left when you wanted him to stay the most. "Meet you at my place tomorrow!" he calls.
But as best friends do, Jungkook keeps his promise. With both of you working your odd jobs, you're able to finish your work earlier than normal. Jungkook and his brothers are delighted that now you have more time to hang out with them. They all adore you, treat you as the younger sister they never had.
There's not much to do in the village, but you and the boys are creative. When the eight of you are together, there's always something to do. There are times when Yoongi bet a week's worth of his wage as the blacksmith's apprentice for you and Jungkook to prank the village witch—who isn't a real witch (at least, that's what you like to tell yourself). You and Jungkook end up being successful in your prank, stealing Yoongi's wage and leaving him upset for a week. There are times when you go apple picking with Jungkook and his brothers, which yields much more pickings than the unfortunate one apple you salvaged last time. There are times the eight of you lie down on the grassy fields, dozing off in the daylight and waking up by twilight to count the stars. There are times when you pretend to sleep against Jungkook's chest, distracted by his beauty lit by the soft radiance of the moon. He likes to hold you close, so close that you can feel his heart beating evenly in his chest. And when you fall asleep in his arms, he's the one who insists on carrying you back home.
Jungkook was always so adventurous. He used to make you do things that you would've never dreamed of doing.
"Jump!" Jungkook chants along with his brothers. "You can do it, Y/N! We all did it!"
You look down, your hands wet with sweat. "I-I don't know!" you shriek, shifting your position so you don't tumble off the roof to meet an unfortunate death. "What if I fall??"
"We all did it!" Jungkook says. "None of us fell! And even if you do, I'll catch you! I promise!"
Ah, there it is. Another promise.
Roof hopping is something you never thought you would ever do. But it's an activity that Jungkook and his six brothers enjoy a little too much. You grit your teeth, stepping back a bit so you can get a running start.
The Jeon Jungkook you know never breaks his promises.
"I can do this," you mutter under your breath. When you look up, you see an ecstatic Jungkook, waving his arms and cheering you on. You smile. And with a running start, you leap off the roof you're on, only to land perfectly on your feet on the adjacent roof where Jungkook and his brothers were waiting.
Jungkook steadies you, bringing you close to his arms. He's laughing. "See! I told you that you could do it!"
You just tug him closer to yourself, wordless and resting in his presence.
There had been so many good memories. Yet, there are memories you never had that you regret.
You were never able to confess to him. Never able to kiss him or tell him that you love him.
It's all too late now, anyway.
The memories melt away and you step back, tears streaming down your face. There is regret, a little bit of anger mixed with sadness. It's nostalgic. But not the good kind.
You will never forgive yourself.
The gown dyed a deep shade of violet trails behind you as you stand in the middle of your chambers, feeling lost and destroyed from within. You finger the delicate black lace sewn onto the bodice of your garment, and you're immediately taken back to the time when black had been all you'd worn for years—long after the queen's death and cutting into your days reigned as the new ruler.
Everyone thought you were mourning the late queen's death. But you were only mourning Jungkook. The loss, the separation of your best friend and loved one.
After a while, the king forced you to abandon your black garments. His daughter, a bright and chipper child with a penchant for gowns in the shades of red and white, contrasted far too greatly with his new wife who looked like she attended a new funeral every day. He didn't want to be reminded of his wife's passing. Now under his ruling, all you wear is dark purple.
The train of your gown follows your footsteps as you wearily lock the doors to your chamber. With a heaving sigh, you pause in front of a large, purple mirror—one that hangs securely on the wall. Your reflection scrutinizes you.
The kingdom often admires your beauty. As deep as the ocean's waters, as dark as a ripened plum and the headiest wine, they say. But even more often, they compare your beauty to that of Snow's. She is as pure as a snowflake, as delicate as lace and as sweet and charming as a blossoming rose. But you are intimidating; a beauty equivalent to that of a well-jeweled dagger. Pretty, yes, but also sharp, dangerous and cold to the touch. Your hand falls onto the mirror's surface, covering your own face from view.
Quickly, you swallow your tears, taking a deep breath in and letting it out. You force yourself to be composed. Your hand falls back to your side as you stare at your own reflection, forehead straightened and face emotionless.
Lips parting, you recite the verse that has become second nature to you after all these years: "Mirror, mirror on the wall, where did my love end up after all?"
Immediately, your reflection in the mirror ripples like the glass were water. The image reflecting back at you morphs from your face to an active scene at a little cottage in a vast forest. A cottage you know too well.
When the magic mirror reveals the happenings inside the cottage, you sigh with relief. Your hard eyes soften and you mutter a quiet, "Jungkook..."
He's got quite the ridiculous cone hat on, his hands grubby and height short. He's teasing his six older brothers, mimicking their habits and pinching their pudgy, wide noses or tripping them over with his elvish feet. You can't help but smile slightly at his actions. Old habits die hard.
Though he doesn't look like the same Jungkook you used to know—tall, handsome, human—he at least looks healthy and happy, and that's all you want for him.
You continue to watch the seven dwarves go about their daily chores, your eyes brimming with happiness, longing, guilt. It's thanks to you that they're all alive and well. But it's also all your fault that they've been cast off into the woods as dwarves with nothing but themselves to keep each other company.
To this day, the deal you made with the witch, the sacrifice you made for the boy you love, sits at the back of your head, haunting you. Had it really been the right choice?
The plague strikes mercilessly, affecting royalty and villagers alike, leaving the queen bedridden for months and the less fortunate to die in pain.
But Jungkook had said once before that the plague could never get to him. You and he continue to meet amongst the chaos; it's much more peaceful these days with fewer people wandering about, shut into their huts in fear of death knocking at their doors.
"WOOHOO!" Jungkook shrieks, cannonballing into a pile of leaves. You watch him, grinning. Jungkook's always been a carefree spirit. Someone who is unapologetically himself. You've always wanted to learn a thing or two about confidence from him.
"C'mon, we'll get in trouble if we're out any longer," you yell. You wish you had something more fun to say. Something that Jungkook would want to hear.
You thought Jungkook would brush away your concerns as usual, but he emerges from his pile of leaves, picking the stray pieces off of himself before he stops in front of you. It's a little disconcerting to see him be so serious all of a sudden, and there's a small part of you that thinks he's peeved at you for ruining his fun. But before you can say anything, Jungkook grabs your hands, holding them in his.
Heat rushes to your face and your eyes widen as you look up at the boy. He stares you down, stepping closer to you. You freeze. Is this how your romance with him will start? From a single kiss in an autumn field?
Your lips quiver at the thought and Jungkook notices. He squeezes your hands, then suddenly tugs you into a warm tug.
"Kook—"
"We can't meet anymore."
Your heart shatters.
"What—"
Jungkook's hold on you tightens. His voice is steady but even you can tell that he's fighting back tears. "Jimin's sick," he says. "I... think, no, we think... he might just die... and three of my other brothers have... it too." He pulls away from you as if you're burning red-hot iron. "Y/N... You don't understand. I might have the plague. And the last thing I wanna do is give it to you." His eyes sparkle with tears as he looks you in the eye. "So we can't meet anymore."
"W-Wait! No!" you shriek frantically. "T-That's impossible! No, we can meet, Kook. I'll help cure you! I can help! Please don't shut me out."
"Y/N," Jungkook sighs. He begins to back away from you, slowly, carefully. "You've been a great friend to me. You don't have to worry. We'll meet again when we're all better. I promise."
And then he leaves. Just like that. You're too much of a coward to defy his words and chase after him. He'd made a promise after all, right?
The village streets are empty. The remnants of white petals blow in the cool wind, sweeping past your face as you trudge past the tens and tens of huts with white flowers placed on the doorsteps. It's an indication of early death—that everyone inside that household has caught the plague. You don't have the guts to even take a glance at Jungkook's home. Instead, you lock yourself in your hut like everybody else. Every day, you wait for someone to knock at your door; you wait for him to be there, expecting to see you with that silly grin on his face, proposing that you prank his older brothers again. But Jungkook never shows up.
You wait and wait and wait until even waiting seems useless. What if you're waiting for someone who will never show? But you try to stay hopeful, wish for the very best. He'd promised. He'd made an unbreakable promise. So you conjure up excuses for him in your mind. Maybe Jungkook's busy. Maybe he's perfectly healthy, just trying to take care of his sick brothers. Maybe he's waiting until the plague dies down before he visits to ensure safety.
Eventually, you can't take it anymore, and you find yourself on the village streets, wrapped up in bundles and carefully walking towards the familiar hut you'd spent so much time in over the years. But you stop dead in your tracks when you see crumpled-up white flowers at the doorstep. Impossible.
Everyone has been infected in that household. That would include Jungkook. You drop to your knees, vision blurred by your tears. But being infected doesn't mean you are dead... though it is much, much likely.
You feel lost.
Dragging your dirt-ridden body back home, your eyes suddenly trail off to glance at the witch's hut. When you were much younger, you used to tell yourself that she wasn't a real witch. But time and again, she's proved that she dabbles with magic—whether it may be dark magic or "good" magic, you're not entirely certain. Yet she has never tried to hex you and Jungkook for your harmless pranks, so maybe she's your only hope at this point.
It's like fate. The perfect timing. If anyone knew how to help you, it would be her.
You're timid when you knock at the door of her hut. The witch answers abruptly, scrutinizing your frail body and squinting at your face wet with tears.
"I'll do anything," you say. "I just want to save him and his brothers."
You know that the witch, though sometimes of questionable intent, had done many deeds in the past to help the villagers. What you didn't know was the price you had to pay to get what you want. That the witch did indeed dabble in dark magic.
She formulates a contract out of thin air.
"Sell your soul to me, child, in exchange for keeping your love and his brothers alive and safe."
"W-What will you do with my soul?"
The witch sneers. "Why don't you find out?"
You're desperate, young, naïve. Sometimes you ask questions without caring too much for the answer. So without hesitation, you sign the contract. After that, it's all a whirlwind. Potions involved. Weird fragrances and strange tastes.
You emerge from the witch's hut with a large, purple mirror, and Jungkook's hut is nowhere to be seen. Tripping on your feet in desperation, you run home, leaning the mirror against your wall. A tired reflection stares back at you, but you ignore it.
'I've encompassed your soul in this mirror, child.'
Her words echo relentlessly in your head.
'You made the right choice. Quite the noble lover, aren't you? With a simple spell, your soul will tell you where the love of your life is.'
You grit your teeth. Then you choke out a quiet, unconfident, "Mirror, mirror... o-on the wall, where... w-where did my love end up after all?"
A horrified gasp leaves your lips the moment the glass ripples like water and shows you a vision you didn't dare expect.
"Dwarves," you choke. "They're dwarves!"
You count seven of them, all resembling Jungkook or one of his older brothers.
'Treat and care for your mirror like it is your lifeline,' the witch cackles in your head. 'Because without it, you will die.'
You sob, curling up on your floor in a ball. This isn't how you'd expected things to go. Yes, dwarves are said to be immune to the plague, but you never anticipated the witch to go through such great lengths to keep them alive. You never anticipated the witch to relocate Jungkook and his brothers deep in the forest and wipe their memories clean to keep them 'safe.'
Was there any point in saving Jungkook if you can't be with him?
But with another glance into your soul, into your magic mirror, you see that Jungkook and his six brothers are happy. They're whistling about, cooking up a storm, singing to their heart's content. They're plagueless, healthy. So maybe all of this was worth it.
All you can do is watch them from afar. It's the thought that they're alive and well that fuels your life now. Days are monochromic—colorless and dull. You begin your odd jobs again, coming back to your home every day to check upon your soul and your loved one.
There are days when you want to quit it all. Days when you want to demand that the witch reverses her dark magic despite her warnings of you to never see her again. Days when you wish you were brave enough to run away from the village and into the forest to find Jungkook and his brothers. But you never end up going, for they'll never recognize you.
Your soul is already in fragments. You don't need more pain.
Things take a turn for the worse when the royal guards snatch you one day, mid-job, dragging you to the castle and forcing you to be the king's maid. The only possession you are allowed to bring with you is the mirror. Your soul.
And now, here you are, the queen of the kingdom.
With a wipe of your hand, you erase the image of Jungkook away from your mirror. Stepping back, you land on your bed, head aching with memories and regret. Over the years, there has been too much time to think, to mull over your younger self's actions.
You've wondered for the longest time if you should've ever made the choice of going to that village witch in the first place. Or if you should've risked your life to demand that you wanted your old life back—that your soul would be attached to your body. What if it would've been better to let Jungkook and his brothers... die? But what if none of them had been at risk of dying in the first place? What if they could've been cured as humans? These are thoughts and questions that will never be answered. But the possibilities are enough for you to punch the air in anger.
If only you hadn't been so childish. If only you'd just waited.
There comes frantic knocking on the doors of your chambers. You sigh, your eyes closing in frustration. "Come in."
"My queen, the doors are locked."
Your eyebrows twitch in irritation but you heave yourself up to unlock the doors. A young, terrified-looking maid tumbles in. One glance at her and it reminds you of your old self. Lost, innocent, letting yourself get manipulated by everyone around you...
"What is it?" you demand.
"T-The princess, your majesty!" she shrieks. "She's gone!"
"She ran away, Y/N," your husband, the king says, slumping into his seat and rubbing his eyebrows. "She ran away from the only home she ever knew."
"Oh, I'm sure she just wanted to go on an adventure, your majesty," you say. "You know Snow, always living in the fantasy world."
"She'll freeze herself to death!" the king wails. "Snow is so frail... she shouldn't be outside."
You hate to admit it but the king looks quite broken. It's strange to see that look on him and not on you for once. He's a gross man, forcing you to serve him then forcing you to marry him—just because he finds you quite attractive. You despise his guts. But, he still lost his wife. And now, he's practically lost his only child.
Admittedly, you know a thing or two about loss—just enough so that you can sympathize with the king.
Without another word, you excuse yourself back into your chambers, missing the way the king stares at your backside forlornly, eyes misty and a sorrowful crease to his forehead. Once your chamber doors are locked, you stand in front of your mirror, gripping its edges.
This might not even work.
Your memory is hazy about the happenings of fourteen years ago, and you're not quite sure whether your soul may tell the direction of any individual, not just Jungkook. The witch never said you couldn't do it. But she also never specified that she'd encompass your soul in a mirror either, so this would truly be a gamble. It doesn't hurt to try, though. Or maybe it will. It doesn't matter to you anymore.
A small sigh escapes your lips as you squint at yourself in the mirror. "Okay," you mutter. "I'm going to follow through." And with another sigh, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, where did Snow White end up after all?"
Like clockwork, the glass ripples, revealing a clear image of Snow. Her sleeves are rolled up and puffed on her shoulders as she giggles, clumsily washing the dishes. Your eyebrows crease as you peer further into the mirror.
She's humming a sweet tune, scrubbing some plates and constantly looking back behind her shoulder to laugh at something. Your heart nearly stops when you see another pair of hands enveloping Snow's, guiding her to clean the dishes properly. You could recognize those dwarfish hands anywhere.
Snow turns, huffing petulantly at Jungkook's attempt to help. "But I'm doing fine, Kook!"
Kook. That had been your nickname for him; no one else was allowed to call him by that—Jungkook had made that exceptionally clear before.
"If you're doing so fine, you wouldn't have missed that spot, right there!" Jungkook teases. He has to hop on his very tiptoes to lightly bop Snow White's perfect, pointed nose. It hurts to see.
You stumble backward, massaging your head. But it's like a trainwreck that you can't look away from. All too soon, Snow and Jungkook have forgotten about the dishes. They begin prancing about the dwarves' cottage, laughing warm-heartedly when Jungkook's brothers join in.
They all love her.
Somehow, she'd weaseled her way into their home and their hearts.
You'd done everything to help everyone. You sacrificed your soul for Jungkook and his brothers. You sacrificed your home and life at the village to serve a shallow, inconsiderate king. You sacrificed your happily ever after to marry a gross man nearly three times your age. You sacrificed your teen and young adult years to raise an ungrateful child who wasn't even yours. You even sacrificed a peaceful life—a life that you wanted—to rule a fucking kingdom. You never wanted any of this.
And after everything you've done, you're still met with misfortune.
Something inside you boils. When the heat becomes too much, you snap.
No one deserves your kindness. And especially not Snow White. You raised her, changed her diapers, played with her when her father was too busy, dealt with her crazy antics and she repays you by stealing the only man who makes you happy?
For years, you stopped yourself from ever visiting the dwarves' cottage in the deep forest. Everyone in the kingdom knows that the forest is off-limits in fear of it being laced with dark magic. Only those as careless and reckless as Snow could dare to entertain themselves with it. But then again, something tells you that the Enchanted Forest is not dangerous at all. Snow could've never survived it if it was. The forest may be enchanted, yes, figuring that dwarves inhabit it, but it's definitely not threatening. They only say that to keep the common folk out of it. You aren't afraid anymore. So you demand the mirror for its exact location, and with a heavily cloaked disguise, you leave the castle walls for the first time in fourteen years. Even while ferociously trekking into the forest, you have no idea what you're going to do when you reach the cottage. Will you demand justice? Confront Snow? Confront Jungkook? But would he even believe you?
He wouldn't.
It's too late.
He's in love.
What's more, you're a stranger to him. When he sees you, he won't see the girl he grew up with, the girl he's cried, laughed and loved with; he'll see the late queen.
You freeze in your tracks, eyes watering and your thick hood falling down as you peer through the cottage's little window. Jungkook is sitting on Snow's lap. They're close—so close that if Snow leaned down a little, their lips would meet in a kiss. Their foreheads begin to move closer and closer. Jungkook places his tiny hands against her cheek. Snow's eyes flutter shut.
You look away.
After everything you've done for her. For him.
Pulling your hood over your face, you retreat into the shadows, tears dripping down your chin as you run. Within hours, your tears of sorrow have morphed into tears of anger. Of vengeance.
Your vision is blurred, but you march on through the green fields that you'd once run around in, hand in hand with Jungkook. These are the same fields that you were on when you fell in love with him. And that apple tree... Your eyes trail up to see a few ripe apples hanging on the branches. Instinctively, you reach out to pick it.
The fruit is a glossy red and feels smooth against your softened hands. It reminds you of Snow. It's infuriating that even a memory that you shared with Jungkook can be tainted by that ungrateful brat.
But an ultimate plan begins to unfold before your very eyes. Your hands grip the apple. This is perfect. It's exactly what you need.
The doors of your chambers slam shut, rattling your walls and frightening the young maids who had been walking past. Swiftly you turn the lock, ignoring the worried whispers outside.
You approach your mirror, eyebrows arching as you roll the plump apple around in your hand. The engraved purple edges seem to glow, matching your anger quite perfectly. Running your fingers along the side, you stare at your reflection. You've grown over the years. You were once a child in these castle walls, unable to do anything but serve everyone—even as the queen of the kingdom. But now, your eyes are dark and brooding. Your appearance has always been intimidating, while your personality has always been subservient. But the days of you running around and completing everyone's errands is over.
Only when you're furious can you finally be confident in yourself.
Your lips stretch into a sneering smile. You're beautiful. Much more than that pesky Snow White. There's a depth to your beauty, a deeper, unfathomably profound soul. She's a shallow child, doing everything and anything for attention. It's finally time for her to meet her consequences.
The words slip naturally off of your lips as if you'd just simply breathed them out. It's too easy. "Mirror, mirror on the wall..." you pause, fingers lifting gracefully from the edges of the mirror only to place them thoughtfully on your chin, "give me... a weapon; a weapon of eternal sleep, make Snow fall."
The glass ripples, but instead of displaying an image, it glows a dark purple and delineates the outline of a cylindrical glass filled with bubbling green liquid. Your soul calls for you to reach out for it and you do, hands enclosing around the cold glass through your mirror.
It's a sedative.
The next steps require precision. You order a few fine brushes to be brought to your room, and with that, you dip the bristles into the green, viscous liquid, painting half of the apple with the potion. Your creation sits happily by your windowsill as you wait for it to dry. The plan is perfect.
You'll go back to the cottage in a foolproof disguise—some kind of potion that your magic mirror will gift you. Then, you'll give Snow her apple, taking the unsedated half for yourself to show her it's safe. She'll fall into a death-like slumber for several hours. Jungkook will find her, believe that she is dead and give her a rightful burial. Once he leaves, you'll swoop in, dig Snow up (who should still be sleeping) and take her back home to stop the king from worrying himself sick. Everyone wins, including you. Well, except maybe Jungkook. But he should be thanking you anyways. You've saved him from the plague and from a delusional little girl.
For once, you'll be looking out for yourself.
It's painful to be ugly.
There are warts dotting your balloon nose, your skin wrinkly and rough. Your hands are calloused and shake from old age. You can no longer stand up straight as it seems like your back is permanently curved. But this is the foolproof disguise you asked for. No one would ever know you did this. Not when you look like an old hag.
Your hardened hand knocks on the small, mahogany door of the familiar cottage. With your calculations, Snow should be the only one home—the dwarves are off to gather fruits and nuts from the forest for their little picnic dinner. And true to your estimation, Snow is the one who opens the door.
She gasps at your sight. "An old lady?" she shrieks. "What are you doing here??"
You grimace at her words but manage to stay in character. "I'm an old peddler, my dear one. I'm here to sell some apples, my child," you say in your gravelly voice. To prove yourself, you hold up a wicker basket filled to the brim with ripe apples. "But you're so beautiful, dear child. I'll let you have one, free of cost."
Snow giggles. "I get that a lot! That I'm beautiful! Yes, I'll take one!"
It's almost too easy.
You hide your grin under the thick hood before plucking the sedated apple out of the bunch. "Such a pretty child like you should be careful about poisoned treats," you say in your gravelly voice.
"Poison??" Snow gasps. "Are your apples poisoned??"
"Oh, of course not, child," you say, taking care to sound as kind and innocent as you can. "You may trust me. But others... not so much." You perfectly halve the apple, taking the unsedated side for yourself. "Here, my dear one, I'll prove that my apples are safe to eat." There's a giant crunch as you bite into the apple and the sweet juice spurts onto your tongue, leaving a tangy aftertaste. It's delicious. Reminds you of your childhood and simpler times.
Snow doesn't need any more convincing. She reaches out and takes the other half of the apple—the sedated portion—and takes a gigantic bite. There's an enormous crunch as she sinks her teeth through the glossy skin of the apple. "Mmmm!" she says, eyes widening at the taste. "Mmm...?"
Almost immediately, young Snow's eyes roll up to the back of her head, showing her whites. Her body turns limp, losing its control and she begins to fall. You quickly reach out to catch her, your back cracking painfully as a reminder that you're not as able-bodied as you were before. Fighting off your stiff muscles and joints, you carefully splay the sleeping child across the floor. Even to you, she looks quite dead. It's perfect.
When you hear the crunch of leaves, you realize the dwarves must be back. The timing couldn't have been better. You take the bitten apple—getting rid of the evidence—and quickly hide behind the bushes to witness the chaos unfold.
Jungkook's sobbing, crying out incoherent words as his brothers are whispering and weeping by his side. You roll your eyes. Get over it. It feels like hours have passed by the time they put her in a coffin. You pray they'll leave Snow's side soon, in fear of her waking up. But it seems as though they have no intentions of leaving. And one peek from out the bushes, you realize they've put her in a decorative casket made entirely of glass. The glass glitters in the sunlight, revealing nothing up to the imagination. Leaving you feeling vulnerable.
Your perfect plan doesn't seem so perfect anymore.
It becomes worse when you hear rowdy horses pulling a carriage down the road. You glance from behind the bushes, only to see a royal emblem hanging on the sides of the vehicle. An emblem from a kingdom not so far away from the Enchanted Forest.
Snow's going to wake up any time now. If you don't create a diversion quickly enough, your plan will be foiled. All of this would've truly been for nothing.
But you don't have your soul with you to conjure up magic potions and tools. You're helpless again. There's nothing you can possibly do without risking imprisonment for the rest of your life.
Things take a worse turn when an attractive, young prince steps out of the carriage. At once, he spots Snow in her glass coffin and quickly rushes to her side. You can see him ask the mourning dwarves what had happened, and you can see Jungkook try to explain. The prince looks towards Snow, reaching out to touch her ebony curls and pale face.
"A true love's kiss!" the young prince proposes loudly—loud enough for you to hear him as clear as day.
What a fool.
Even at your worst naïvity, you never believed in the works of a true love's kiss. But you peer out from the bushes to see whether the prince would follow through with his foolish words. You're not at all surprised that he does.
The prince painstakingly slowly leans into sleeping Snow's face, his hands reaching to cup her cheeks. It's like he's savoring the moment before the unconsented kiss. You scoff lightly, turning away momentarily from the scene. Royalty is all the same; things become more desirable when they aren't sure whether they may have it. It's disgusting and reminds you too much of your own life.
So you busy yourself watching the dwarves' reactions instead. They, too, look at the prince with disdain marring their kind, round features. It seems like you're not the only one who hates the crown.
Your eyes fleet back to the prince just in time to catch sight of his lips softly grazing over Snow's. When he pulls away in half a second, Snow coughs. Her fingers twitch. She coughs again. And your heart subsequently sinks as her large, innocent eyes flutter open.
It had worked.
You resist the urge to scoff. A fucking true love's kiss could defeat you? How truly insulting.
"Oh!" Snow shrieks, looking at the sheepish prince and the wide-eyed dwarves. "I was poisoned!"
"My dear!" the prince exclaims, immediately crouching by her side. "We must punish anyone who would dare to do such a thing to a fair maiden."
"I know who it was!" Snow gasps, her hands flying to her lips.
Your blood runs cold.
"It was Y/N!"
Your heart nearly stops.
Had she seen through your disguise?
"The queen of the kingdom of the Enchanted Forest?" the prince gasps. "Why would she do such a thing?"
"She's always envied me!" Snow begins to sob. You know her too well to realize those are crocodile tears. Tears she'd used to cry as a child to get what she's always wanted. "She would feed me delicious porridge in bed, but I never knew it was poisoned! I suppose all that arsenic finally caught up to me."
Bullshit.
She's making up lies to incriminate you! She doesn't know what had actually happened.
"It's a good thing my true love's kiss saved you, my dear," the prince soothes.
"Oh, my prince!"
From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook, still looking quite shocked, staring forlornly at Snow White flirting with her prince. She'd left him and the dwarves off to the side—after everything they've done for her. They'd taken her in, fed her, gave her a place to sleep and stay safe in. She'd lured Jungkook in, stolen your love, only to toss him aside for royalty.
Anger boils inside of you. It won't be long until you snap again.
"We must get married, my princess," the prince declares. "Today!"
"Today!! Yes, yes! After we imprison my stepmother!"
You've snapped again.
The dagger sits heavily in your palm.
They're looking for you everywhere.
Word's gotten out that you've tried to kill the kingdom's Little Blossom, too jealous of her youthful beauty. It's wrong. It's all wrong in all the wrong ways. You've gone from subservient to criminally misunderstood.
The king is ferocious. He wants your head. The whole fucking kingdom wants you dead. Little do they know, you won't die with a simple stab to your heart. You won't die with a beheading or a hanging. You won't die in your cell from infected wounds. You're immortal—a vessel of which is affected by excruciating pain but never death itself—as long as your soul remains trapped in that damn mirror.
But the wedding commences amongst the chaos anyways. It must be a running tradition in this family. To force weddings in the hardest of times.
You weigh the heavy dagger in your hand. Just one stab in the heart and she'll be dead. It's so easy. But that's what you had thought last time, and things hadn't worked out. Your pretty face stares back at you from the reflection of the blade. You want Snow to see you, her attempted murderer, when you succeed in your second attempt. It's almost too crude to think—even for you—but you want her to see you, the true beauty of the kingdom as she takes her last breath.
And when she's dead, everything will be better. You'll finally be able to rest. You'll finally find justice.
You hide away in the corner of the blinding white ceremony, waiting for the perfect moment to lash out. Snow begins to walk the aisle, her arm linked with her father's. Jungkook and his brothers were invited last-minutely, mainly thanks to Yoongi's threatening words to the palace guards. Snow had been too busy ogling at her new love to care.
Jungkook's heartbroken. You can tell by the way he looks at her.
Anger bubbles inside of you and you clench your fist around the handle of the dagger. Any moment now...
Snow and the prince begin to take their vows. You watch, waiting for the perfect timing. Then, with a running start, you lash out, aiming with your whole strength to plunge the dagger through her heart. Snow's turned halfway, her eyes widening in fear and shock as her mouth parts open in a yet-to-be screamed shriek.
But a vice grip on your leg stops you.
When you turn around and look down, you see him. He's got your leg, eyes ferocious and angry. "I got her!" Jungkook yells. "I got her!"
Someone slips the dagger from your hand. They restrain you in their arms, but you're so hurt that the man you love betrayed you that you can't react. Your eyes remain trained on Jungkook who's clapping and cheering like the rest of the folks that you've been caught. Tears begin to well in your eyes.
Except now, they're not tears of anger. They're tears of sorrow.
"Tears of a crocodile!" the audience jeers. "Kill her! Burn her at stake! Hang her! Cut off her head! Witch!"
They're barely insults to you.
Snow, in her snow-white wedding gown, descends daintily from the altar to look at you with pity. "Oh, hello stepmother," she smiles with false friendliness.
"Snow, she deserves to die for her crimes against you," her three-hour fiancé urges. "She deserves to be burned at the stake like all witches are."
"No, no," Snow says, shaking her head. "My stepmother was kind to me when she could be... She raised me after all." She lifts your chin up with her neatly manicured finger. "But one of us was always more beautiful. And sometimes, vanity and jealousy cause the demise of many."
How dare she make such shallow, vain assumptions of you?
"She will not be killed," Snow says decisively.
The crowd praises her. "Oh, kind Snow! Merciful Snow!"
Your tears blur your vision. It's no use now. There is no future ahead of you.
"I was waiting for her capture," Snow admits sheepishly. "I have the perfect present waiting for her! Oh, thank you," she says as two guards hand her metal tongs gripped around glowing orange shoes. "Beautiful, aren't they?"
The shoes are made of iron. And it looks like they've been kept in a blazing fire for hours.
This is cruel. Even for Snow.
It's a death sentence but with added torture.
You glance around the room. It looks like you're the center of attention; every man, woman, animal, creature is staring right at you with looks of hatred and disgust. Your eyes fall on the dwarves. Jungkook looks especially angry at you. In fact, you've never seen him so angry in his whole life. He was always so kind to you. Teasing and outgoing, yes, but still somehow gentle.
He'd caress your face, hold you in his arms, carry you to bed when you were too tired to walk... Whisper quiet songs in your ear when he thought you were asleep... Bring you piping hot porridge if you were feeling under the weather...
Now, he wants you dead.
So maybe you'll give him what you want.
You'll fucking give everyone what they want.
"Thank you for your mercy," you tell Snow, bowing down to her. Your voice is interlaced with faux gratefulness but no one seems to detect it.
"Please," Snow grins. "Be my guest."
She plops the iron shoes on the stone floor and gestures for you to try them on.
You grit your teeth, bracing yourself. Everyone holds their breaths as you slip the red-hot iron shoes on your feet.
It's instant pain.
You can barely stay standing.
You're screaming, but it's drowned out by the happy cheers of the audience. They love to see you burn. They laugh at your pain, your distress.
Your throat feels raw as your screams tear through your vocal cords. The audience parts like the Red Sea and lets you across the ceremonial hall. They're clapping along to the beat of the clatters of your iron shoes, singing folk songs and acting as if you're giving a festive dance performance—as if you're not taking a walk to your death.
The heat has melted your skin, eating away at your bones, too. Everything feels numb. Even the sweat that drips from your forehead isn't bothersome. Or maybe your physical pain can't equate to the heartbreak that has culminated inside you for years on end.
You burst into your room, your feet unable to stop moving, stop dancing. Your eyes catch your magic mirror. It's glowing a shade of light lilac. Of sadness.
There's only one thing that you can do now.
With your feet flailing behind you, you grip the edges of the mirror and with all your strength, you force your head against the glass. The mirror shatters into a thousand glittering pieces, the sharp shards impaling your body.
You've broken your soul. Ended the torture that had been tormenting you since you were fourteen, a child.
The last thought you have before the sadness in your eyes dulls into an emotionless void is, I should've done this sooner.
You're dead before you hit the ground. There's an empty thud, and your debilitated body lies in your own puddle of blood, seeping through the stone tiles. It's a violent scene. Thousands of shattered glass fragments litter the floor, tainted with scarlet blood. Your feet have been charred, but the red-hot iron shoes still glow a bright orange, sizzling on the cold floor. But amidst the brutal display, your eyes stay closed and your lips rest in a straight line. If it weren't for your surroundings, it would've looked like you were in an eternal sleep—a peaceful one too.
A sleep of which you would never wake up from. Your own prince despises you. You're no pretty princess. You're a wanted attempted murderer, and everyone you used to love wants you dead. It looks like even in your last moments, you die to appease the people who will never repay you.
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