Snow White

Story- Prompt : Write a fairytale from the point of view of another character

She had walked into their lives like a dream. 

Years and years in the mines, haunted by the grimy, unescapable ash of coal, Grumpy's heart had jumped in his chest upon the sight of anything so white. They had found her in their bed, nested in the blankets like a frail bird. They had all stared, mesmerised, as the stranger’s chest rose up and down in harmonious rhythm. 

That night, the sight of her peaceful face had shone so clear in the candlelight. The light she had brought him had never left since then. 

Snow White had begged them the next morning to offer her shelter. And even if they had argued and frowned a little, Grumpy had known that the answer had been the same since the moment they had laid eyes on her. 

“ Alright, you may stay here and live with us,” had finally conceded Doc, “on the condition that you promise to cook and take care of the house while we are away, and to never, let anyone in”. 

From that happy decision onwards, Snow White had stayed with them, and all Grumpy had seen was light. Light like he had never noticed before. She had brought with her the warm, golden light of autumn afternoons that shone through the now transparent windows. She had brought the pure glint of the squeaky clean floor. She had depleted the light of the chandeliers onto every metal pot and tool they owned. She had even captured rays of sunlight in her freshly baked honey pies. 

He could see light everywhere he had never been able to. It was etched in the clouds and in their laughter on the dark evenings as they gathered around Happy to listen to one of his tales. It seemed it had even found a way into his heart, this bright, inexplicable, powerful force and as he carried it down into the obscure trails of the mines, his body had forgotten to shiver. 

Snow White was sweet, and helpful, and graceful. When he talked with her, she listened, and her words never carried the sharp edge of critique his brothers often had. 

“These birds always make such a ruckus. It’s far too early to be bothering everyone in that way, “ he had gruntled between his beard as he had come down to the breakfast table one morning. Grumpy had to suffer the agony of their chaotic chants by their window without a day's rest.

Snow White had been alone in the kitchen preparing tea from fresh flowers. 

“You think so ? I think there’s nothing more marvellous than their joyful celebration. It makes me remember what a wonder it is to be alive.” she had answered.  “ Once upon a time, I loved you..” she had burst out into a light tune following the birds’ melodies. 

“Hmm…” was all he had answered as he lifted his droopy bonnet from his eyes.

The next morning, Grumpy had let the nearest bluebird pick at the crumbs of his toast that had fallen on the open window’s window sill. 

“I think I love her,” his lips had slipped one night to Sleepy as they layed in bed in the dark. He had been the only one he had shared his secret with. When the words that had grown in his chest for so long had crossed his lips, each had felt like a star he was hanging up above him. In that moment, Grumpy had felt immeasurable. 

Then, everything had crumbled apart when they had found his precious princess lying on the floor, a blood red apple in her hand. Doc’s words,tragic echoes, had banged against his skull: never, let anyone in. She had been in the same position as when they had first found her, the same relaxed pale splendour. But her lips had carried the unmistakable pale kiss of death, and his heart had shattered beyond repair. 

There was no way of knowing where the apple had come from. They had not had any when the incident had occurred. But as to who Snow White could have met to receive it ….

Now, after all this sorrow, as he stood on the front porch of their cottage, waving goodbye like all of his brothers, all he wanted to do was scream. Snow White, as beautiful as ever, was sitting behind a prince, arms laced around his chest to keep herself balanced on his white horse. Florian, he was supposedly called. Prince Florian had come by and with a kiss was sweeping her away. They would live a happy life and come visit regularly, she had promised, voice trembling with an excitement that made Grumpy's hair stand on end just thinking about it. 

It was as though that kiss had been a magic spell: Snow White had awoken from her final sleep, the murderous piece of apple ejected from her throat and she had eyes only for her “savior”. 

Prince Florian was tall, at least the size of two Grumpies piled on top of each other. He had shiny brown hair parted in perfectly equal halves and a straight, slim nose, so different to Grumpy's bulbous nose and pointy beard. Was he worth more, then ? Simply because he could tower over them and reach the lowest branches without effort ? 

His vibrant, tailored clothes of silk and velvet, the absence of a speck of dust by his cheeks, or on his finger, the way he held himself firmly rooted in the ground like an oak, the way he spoke, the way he moved his limbs, everything about him cried out that he had never known a single second near the mines. 

But he had also not known Snow White. 

He was a complete stranger. Grumpy knew Snow White’s favorite tea, and the way she ate peas three by three, “for luck”. He had noticed she embroidered little marigolds by the edge of their socks. She had confided in him about her fear of the night and the way the muted drip of the rain on the stone led her mind unmistakably back to her mother. How she believed she loved to sing because she must have kept within her the memory of her mother's voice. 

All these moments could not count for nothing. 

Snow White had always seen past their attire, past his name and moodiness, past preconceptions to the heart of things. Why was this any different now ? Could she not see him for who he was ? Why could she not see the truth ?

Grumpy could feel his heartbeat drumming in every inch of his body to the tip of his fingers. If he could have, he would have jumped on the horse and pinched Mr. Prince in the face. 

She had entered their life like a dream. 

But all dreams had to end, right? 

Eventually, you woke up, and the dream shattered. 

Perhaps this was his fate. Philip married an angel and he stayed where he was, alone, unseen and heartbroken. Perhaps he could not run away from his name. He was chained to obscurity. 

He too should have listened to Doc’ s words more wisely. 

Never let anyone in.