Snow White (Enchanted Fairytales)

  Snow White

  by

  Cindy C Bennett

  Copyright 2012 Cindy C Bennett

  USA All Rights Reserved

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Design: Cindy C Bennett

  Cover Photo: dreamstime_m_19354031 copyright Heather Rushton | Dreamstime.com

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  Snow White

  She hurried through the pouring rain, hunched over her books as she tried to keep them dry. She'd known it would rain today, had felt it in the air, seen it in the low hanging dark gray clouds. But she'd been running late and thought she might miss the storm.

  Thunder rumbled through the sky, shaking the ground beneath her feet. She'd never liked storms, could never figure out what others found so romantic about them. She was cold, wet, and miserable. Her feet squished with each step, water ran in her eyes, and she felt as if she might never be dry again. There wasn't anything remotely exciting about the rain.

  She finally rounded the corner toward her house. With immense relief she slid through the front door, grateful to be out of the deluge.

  "Snow!" her mother chided her as she came down the stairs and saw her dripping in the entry. "You're getting water everywhere."

  "I know, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'll clean it up." Her mother—stepmother if she were being technical—smiled at her. A chill fingered down Snow’s spine. She couldn't say her mother had ever treated her poorly, or done anything to make Snow doubt her affection. And yet, every time her mother looked at Snow, she felt that same chill. There was something in her mother’s face, in her eyes, that just felt . . . off. About to graduate high school and Snow felt like a little child when it came to her stepmother.

  She quickly slipped her sopping shoes and jacket off and wadded both up in a tight ball. Then she looked across the gleaming and dry expanse of tiled floor between herself and the laundry room which sat at the rear of the house. Well, there was no help for it, she had to get her clothes to the dryer. She hurried across the space, ignoring the lifted brow of her mother. Once in the laundry room, she was able to slip out of all of her wet things and place them in the dryer. A towel folded on top of the dryer gave her something to wrap in while she ran to her room. There, she only took time to wrap in a robe before she went back to the entry, rags in hand to clean up her mess. Her mother was a stickler for absolute perfection in the cleanliness of her house, and since Snow was at her mercy, she couldn't really complain.

  Katarina was so beautiful looking at her was like trying to look at the sun. It had been years since her father had died, and Katarina had married him three years before that. Yet her stepmother didn’t look a day older than when she’d married Snow’s father. In fact, she could easily be mistaken for Snow’s sister rather than mother.

  Her mother was no longer where Snow had passed her. She cleaned until no traces of her rain incident remained before daring to shower herself back to something resembling warmth. The shower was the kind of rain storm she could withstand. Once the hot water had her feeling less like a cadaver and more like a human, she dressed and went back downstairs.

  "Snow, come in here, would you?" her mother called from her office. She entered the forbidding room which was done up in heavy mahogany and dark colors. She supposed it was meant to be elegant and sophisticated, but it just felt cold and daunting to Snow.

  Her mother sat behind the large ostentatious desk, which had her nameplate sitting on the edge. Katarina White. Snow never knew exactly why her mother insisted on sitting behind the desk whenever she had something to discuss with her. She suspected she did it for the sake of intimidation. With a sigh she sank into one of the overbearing chairs across from her mother, preparing for the lecture on dragging muddy rainwater into the house.

  "Snow, darling, I have a surprise for you." Katarina smiled at her expectantly, and it was the closest to genuine pleasure she had ever seen on her mother's face. Snow waited patiently, knowing better than to interrupt. Her stepmother had a way of stopping you in your tracks with nothing more than a look. Snow couldn’t decide if she hoped to achieve such control—or dreaded that she might.

  “I’ve arranged for a friend to take you into the forest to hunt.”

  Snow’s mouth dropped and she quickly snapped it closed. “H—hunt?” she asked.

  “Well, yes. I know that hunting was dear to your father, and that he promised to teach you when you were old enough.”

  Her words were true enough. Her father had been an avid hunter, and as a child who adored him, Snow had constantly begged him to take her with. But she’d been a child at the time, without much idea of what hunting entailed. For her it had been nothing more than a chance to spend more time with him, travelling the world. He didn’t hunt locally. As far as she knew, he’d never been in the forest near their home.

  “But, I—”

  “Do you not like this surprise?” Her mother’s cold voice cut her off. Snow was smart enough to recognize the sharp warning.

  “I . . . yes, mother, I do. Thank you.” Her mother nodded once, looking pleased with herself. And then, as if someone else was controlling her actions, Snow spoke again. “Surely you don’t mean the Neru Forest?”

  Her stepmother’s eyes hardened. “Please don’t tell me you believe the stories. I thought you more intelligent than that, Snow,” she chided, her tone making it clear that if Snow were to say she did, it would only prove her lack of intellect.

  She felt herself shaking her head, though inside she was quivering with fear at the thought of stepping within. The Neru Forest had been named centuries ago by a Corsican explorer who claimed that the forest would take anyone who entered and make them its own. There was some truth to the story.

  “Good.” Her stepmother stood, as if their business was concluded. “He shall pick you up on Saturday morning. And, Snow.” She turned her dark eyes on Snow, telling her clearly that she would not be defied in her coming request. “This is our secret. You know how silly the villagers can be about Neru.” Snow nodded. Her hesitation must have shown on her face, because her mother laughed, placing an arm across her shoulders. Snow supposed it was meant to be a gesture of comfort, but instead it felt like a warning. “You know the stories are only told to keep children from wandering in the forest and getting lost. My hunter is well versed with the forest. He will keep you safe.”

  Snow nodded, her stomach tightening at the thought of entering the forest with a stranger, no matter how “well versed” he was with it.

  *****

  “Are you kidding?” Snow’s best friend in the world, Chandler—or Channy for short—lay sprawled across Snow’s bed on her stomach, flipping through the pages of a magazine. Channy was beautiful. She had brown hair that hung to the middle of her back, brown eyes that always sparkled with laughter, and an infectious smile. As always, Snow felt a rush of gratitude when she looked at her friend. Snow was an outcast, to put it lightly. Channy wasn’t just her best friend, she was her only friend. Channy could easily be the most popular girl in school if she wanted. But she didn’t, and in fact went out of her way to make sure that no one put her into the “popular” girl camp.

  “The Snow Queen is making you go hunting with some dude you’ve never even met?” She grinned at Snow, as if it was funny, but Snow could read the compassion and concern in Chann
y’s brown eyes. She always called Snow’s stepmother “the Snow Queen.” To Channy it had double meaning. Not only did her stepmother feel she was the queen over her stepdaughter Snow, she was as cold as a queen of snow would be.

  “Yeah.” Snow flopped down on her bed next to Channy. “Crazy, huh? And the worst thing is, I don’t have a choice.”

  Channy glanced sideways at her. “When are you going to tell her to go jump in a lake?”

  Snow shuddered at the thought of saying those words aloud to her stepmother. “She hasn’t ever done anything bad to me,” she said, the words weak to her own ears.

  “Oh, really?” Channy’s words were thick with sarcasm. “She constantly tells you you’re ugly.” Snow opened her mouth to argue but Channy held a hand up to stop her. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” she said, waving a hand toward the magazine open on the bed in front of her. “You make all of the girls they put in these magazines look like plain Jane’s. But the Snow Queen is so obsessed with her own beauty she can’t stand the thought of anyone realizing how pretty you are. So she makes you wear ugly clothes that don’t fit, refuses to let you cut your hair or wear any makeup—not that you need it. And she keeps you here like her prisoner and personal slave. How is that not treating you badly?”

  Snow shrugged. She’d heard this argument from Channy before. Channy was blind where Snow was concerned. Snow had a mirror; she could see for herself how plain she was with her long, dark hair that hung in a single thick length to her waist and blue eyes that were unremarkable. There wasn’t anything about her that was more than that—plain. All the cool clothes and makeup in the world wouldn’t change that. Of course, that didn’t stop her from longing for just one thing to wear that didn’t look like it belonged on an old grandma.

  “She doesn’t beat me,” Snow argued. “And she stayed here with me after my dad died. She could have sent me to a foster home or something. He left everything to her, so she had no obligation to me, especially since they were married such a short time.”

  “Well, give her the mother-of-the-year award then,” Channy drawled. “Of course she kept you. It would make her look bad if she didn’t, and she’s nothing if not all about appearances. What do you think is going to happen when we graduate in two months? Or maybe even next month when you turn eighteen?”

  Snow shrugged again. She worried about that, to be honest. Her father had been extremely wealthy. Even at a young age, she’d recognized that the money they had was beyond what anyone else in town had, and more than many people in the world. But he’d left everything to his young bride, and nothing to Snow. She couldn’t fault him, really. How could he have known he’d die at such a young age? He’d probably figured he’d be around long enough for Snow to get an education and make her own way in the world.

  Snow stood and walked over to her window. Her room faced the Neru Forest. It looked as black as its name indicated. Channy followed, standing next to Snow, an arm around her waist, her gaze also locked on the forbidding trees.

  “People go in and they don’t come out,” Snow whispered. She wanted Channy to argue, to tell her it was all a load of crap. But she wouldn’t. Snow knew why. Channy’s sister had gone in on a dare, and never come out. Of the rescue team who had gone in searching for her, only half had come back out, refusing to speak of what had happened within the close knit trees, refusing to ever set foot back within. They weren’t the only ones.

  “She said he knows the forest, right?” Channy asked, voice trembling. Snow nodded. “Maybe you can get a migraine on Saturday.”

  Snow glanced at Channy. “That’s a good idea. I’ll be in so much pain she’ll have to refuse to have me go.”

  Channy turned to face her, grasping both of her hands desperately. “Don’t go, Snow. Whatever you have to do, don’t go.” Snow felt the genuine fear rolling off Channy, a fear she shared. “Promise me,” Channy urged desperately.

  Snow glanced back at the trees, cold dread in the pit of her stomach. “I promise,” she said, wondering how in the world she was going to keep her promise.

  *****

  Katerina had never stepped foot in Snow’s room. Not before she married her father, and not since. She had servants who took care of each part of the house, including Snow’s wing. Lying in her bed, eyes closed, dreading the fact that Katarina was now on her way for the first time ever nearly brought on the migraine that Snow was claiming. The fact that Katarina was coming to her room spoke volumes about how angry she was with Snow for upsetting her plans.

  “Leave.”

  Katarina’s harsh voice boomed in Snow’s ears as she commanded the maid to leave. Snow knew the maid would scurry from the room in terror without as much as a backward glance at Snow. Snow’s heart dropped. She’d hoped the maid would be here to give her the courage to stand up to her stepmother.

  She kept her eyes tightly closed. She and Channy had Googled the symptoms of migraines to make sure that Snow would have her story right. Even with them closed, she felt the presence of her mother standing next to the bed.

  “What’s this about, Snow?” Katarina demanded.

  Snow winced—that wasn’t a put on—and turned her eyes toward her mother. She knew her eyes were red. She’d been unable to sleep, terrified of facing Katarina this morning. She hoped they helped back her story.

  “Horrible headache,” she whispered, physically unable to raise her voice any louder in her choking fear. “I think it’s a migraine.”

  “You’ve never had a migraine before,” Katarina said, her dark eyes burning with fury. “How very ironic that you would get one on the very day you’re to go hunting. One would think you subscribe to the suspicions of the silly villagers.”

  Snow’s eyes slid closed. She hated it when her mother referred to the townspeople as “villagers,” as if they were primitive and lacked any intelligence. “No, of course not.”

  Her stepmother leaned down, placing her face close to Snow’s. Snow opened her eyes at the intrusion and saw the blackness swirling within the depths of Katarina’s eyes. Panic gripped her, and she forced herself to remain calm. She couldn’t go into the forest. She suddenly knew, without a doubt, that if she did she would never return.

  “Well, then,” Katarina drawled menacingly. “I’ll excuse all of the servants for the day to keep it quiet for you.” Her words were of comfort, but her tone promised something much more sinister. “Can I bring you something to eat?”

  Filled with poison, Snow thought. She was shocked at herself. Why would such a thought enter her mind? But she knew from the internet that nausea quite often accompanied migraines so in spite of the fact that she was hungry, she shook her head.

  “No, thank you. I don’t think I could keep anything down right now.”

  Her stepmother straightened to her full, impressive height. She stood half an inch shy of six feet. She looked down on Snow, and Snow shuddered involuntarily at the expression on her face.

  “I’ll come and check on you in a while,” her mother said, the words holding threat. She turned and strode quickly from the room, her perfume wafting behind her, turning Snow’s stomach.

  Snow breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Katarina. She knew this was but a temporary reprieve. They’d have to come up with something else for next time. A slow smile crossed her face. She wanted to call Channy and tell her they’d succeeded. It was better to wait a while, until she was sure she was completely alone.

  *****

  Snow jerked awake. She wasn’t sure what had disturbed her as she glanced toward the window. She couldn’t see out of it from her bed, but a chill crawled up her spine at how close she’d come to having to enter to forest today. She reached for her bedside phone to call Channy.

  “Feeling better?” The cold voice stopped her hand mid-reach. She turned. Her stepmother sat in a chair near the door. Fear trilled down her spine.

  “Oh, mother, there you are.” She tried to act as if she had been expecting her. “I was
going to call . . . you . . . to see if you’d bring me . . . soup,” she finished lamely. Lying was something she’d never been good at.

  Katarina stood, regal in her every movement. “It seems we think along the same lines.”

  She moved to a small table where a tray rested. Snow hadn’t noticed it before. Katarina lifted the tray and brought it to Snow, who sat up.

  “It isn’t good for you to go so long without food,” she said, placing the tray on Snow’s lap. “I was about to wake you and urge you to eat.”

  How long her mother had watched her before she’d woken? The idea of being watched by Katarina while she slept creeped her out.

  She glanced down at the soup, wondering who made it if her stepmother had truly sent all their servants home. She’d never seen Katarina lift a finger in the kitchen. It was tomato, Snow’s favorite. Did her mother know that, or was it coincidence? She lifted the spoon and tentatively tasted it. It was delicious, a slightly tangy taste she couldn’t place. And she was starving. She forced herself to eat it slowly, since her stepmother stood and watched her eat.

  When she was finished, she took a large gulp of the water. Katarina walked over and lifted the tray from her lap, replacing it on the table. She turned back to Snow, and stood watching. Snow leaned back against the head of her bed, uncomfortable beneath Katarina’s gaze. It was weird, the way she continued to watch her. As if she were waiting . . .

  It began in her fingers, the numbness. She flexed her fingers a few times, pins and needles beginning. The feeling quickly climbed up her arms and into her chest, traveling down her legs into her feet. When her cheeks began to go numb, she looked up at her stepmother in horror. Katarina continued to watch her, her expression steely.

  “What did you do . . .” She fell silent as her throat numbed and she slid sideways on the bed. Katarina moved then, stepping forward and catching her before she fell to the floor. She pushed Snow back up onto the bed with a strength Snow didn’t know she had.