Inspired
by Garasu no Hitsugi de Nemuru Himegimi (The Princess Sleeping in the Glass
Coffin), a song from Sound Horizon about Schneewittchen, here’s a (sort of) fanfiction
(or perhaps side story) about Schneewittchen. It’s been a while since the last
time I wrote some fictions in English, so please be generous with my grammar
(bows)
Neid
As
far as she could remember, all in her yet-still short life, Schneewittchen had
only been told one thing: that she was beautiful. They said her hair was as
black as ebony; her skin was as white as the snow; and her lips were as red as
blood. They said, being as beautiful as she was, having a ruler of a kingdom as
her father, and the most beautiful queen people ever seen as her mother, she
was the luckiest, happiest princess ever.
But—was
she, really?
“You’re
so pretty, my Dear. My precious Schneewittchen. You’ll be alright, won’t you?
You’ll be alright, you’ll live a long prosper life, because you’re my pretty
princess.”
Strange that remembering those
words gave her a sharp but lonely pain. She couldn’t remember who said that to
her, or when it was happened. The only thing that she remembered was the tender
and soft voice, whispering those words to her ear over and over, lulling her to
sleep, while embracing her with warmth and love. The warmth and comfort that
she now longed to embrace her once more, the love that was now gone, left her
empty and lonely.
Hence, although it’s painful,
she kept repeating those words over, and over, and over again, because those
words were the only thing left that had the same familiar sense with the warmth
that she missed. To remind her that she would be alright. That although her father’s
hands were always too full ruling the kingdom to hold her, and her mother was too
cold to embrace her, she was alright. Because she was pretty, she would live a
long prosper life. Therefore, she was alright.
Because, that’s what the voice
whispered to her, right?
“Schneewittchen,”
“Yes, Father?”
It was the first winter night
in the year. The King caught the sight of her daughter curling up on the big
soft cushioned armchair next to the fireplace, sheltering from the cruel and cold
winter night. The red flame danced in her obsidian eyes, the glowing blaze
illuminated her small face, and he thought, ah, never he saw any other girl as
beautiful as her daughter.
‘You’re
so pretty.’
He caressed her tenderly,
lovingly, all the while wondering why he never spent the time with his daughter
before. Warmly tucked in her father’s embrace, Schneewittchen felt content, as
if the warmth that lost before was coming back to her.
“When will your birthday be?”
“It will be on this midwinter,
Father.”
“I see. How old are you again?”
“This is my seventh winter.”
“Seven, eh? You’re growing. It
always feels like as if you were still a baby. My baby.”
She couldn’t help but wondering
whether that was the reason why her father never cared of her presence before.
“You should have your birthday
celebrated merrily. I will hold a party that anyone would never forget. Because
you’re my beautiful princess.”
Schneewittchen smiled. The
voice was right, after all. She would be alright, because she was pretty, she
would have a long prosper life. Her father started giving her the warm embrace
that she sought of, so it would be alright.
“Why are you so pretty?”
“Mother?”
The party was indeed one would
never forget. The princess were basked in countless of gifts and blessings and wishes,
all the while complimenting how beautiful she was, how she was gloated and
gleamed brighter than any jewel. She would grow up to be the most beautiful
princess we ever seen, they said.
“All the eyes were on you. They
all talked about you, about your black hair, white skin, and red lips. Never,
not even once, they looked at me, or attended me!”
Schneewittchen was confused.
Hair as dark as the ebony, skin as white as the snow, and lips as red as blood,
didn’t people say that those all were her Mother’s wishes? Didn’t people say
how happy her mother would be, when Schneewittchen was born, and all of the
Queen’s wishes came true?
“I—don’t know,” she whimpered. “Weren’t
you the one who gave me my hair, and my skin, and my lips?”
It was just the innocence of a
child. A seven year old child, who grew up being told of things by other people.
But it sparked a dark thought in the Queen’s mind, which spread quickly and
stealthily like a plague, shrouded her mind like a black cloak.
“You. You stole my beauty.”
“M—Mother!”
“Give me back my beauty!”
“Mother, please!”
Schneewittchen was crying. Indeed,
before, her mother only returned her pleaded gaze with cold eyes, so she never
dared to hope that her mother would, even at least for once, be kind to her.
She thought, ah, perhaps I could cope with this condition as the time passed
by. She thought, perhaps this was how the life of a princess should be like, the
catch of being born into the royal blood.
But now…
Wasn’t she her own mother? She
still remembered the tales told by her wetnurse, about how the mothers would
protect their children from the fright of the night. Her mother never did any
of it. Was she really her own mother?
“Why does Mother never be with
me? Is it because she’s the stepmother?”
“Hush, Your Highness! You can
never say such things anymore!”
The wetnurses always acted as
if the topic was a taboo whenever she asked. So, she thought, perhaps she was
actually her stepmother. If it’s really true, then, that’s okay, actually.
Because she’d be alright, like what the voice always whispered to her.
Or so she thought.
She was crumbled, defeated.
Like a wounded puppy, she went to her father, seeking the embrace she always
longed to have, seeking the taste of the warmth her father gave to her the
other night. She only wanted to be loved, to be cared, to be ensured that her
existence in this world was indeed desired.
“Why are you crying,
Sweetheart?”
She couldn’t tell her father
why.
“Sssh, don’t cry, my Princess.
Don’t cry. You’re my pretty Princess, my world, my precious. I’m here to
comfort you.”
But for her, at that time, her
beauty did not seem to be so precious.
“Please don’t cry. I will wipe
your tears; I will be here to embrace you, to love you. I will make you feel
good, because you’re my pretty Princess.”
But
it hurts.
It kept on going over, and
over, and over again, for the whole night. It was painful, as if her torso
would burst out anytime soon from the pain. But her father embraced her,
caressed her, and loved her. So, she thought, perhaps the pain was only the
price she had to pay for being loved, being embraced again, by the figure she
only able to see his back in the past. If she was only able to taste the warmth
when her father was drunk drowning in her beauty, then, let it be.
Because she’s pretty. That’s
why, she would be alright, and live a long, prosper life.
