Snow White, a retelling, Part 1

So this is odd.

I have felt the urge to retell Snow White and that's what this is. I don't have time for new projects and I did not intend to start this one, so if you'd like to hear more, please leave a comment. I have recently finished a nonfiction book called Sacred Homemaking and naturally that has been taking up a great deal of my energy. The last thing I have wanted to do is to start a new fiction project, but what’s funny about writing is that the muse dictates what I do and not the other way around.

There is a new Snow White movie out that looks pretty bad that I'm not going to see. To be honest, the new Snow White movie has become a thrust block for me and it is part of why I have decided to put this on my plate. I have always loved the Snow White story and against my better judgement and lack of time, I am feeling called to put my own spin on it. Many of you may not realize I started my writing career via my series of vampire novels, the Forever Fifteen trilogy, which is available on Amazon.

I want to do my best to flesh out this story, to not leave out the gory and scary parts, and to give both Snow White and the evil stepmother the depth they have always deserved and seldom received. In the original Grimms Brothers tale, Snow White comes off as a ditz because it is never explained why she keeps falling for the Evil Queen’s traps. I am going to try to give her behavior some grounds via an exploration of her mommy issues. As for the Evil Queen, she needs to become the ultimate cautionary tale about vanity and an illustration of why it is crucial to let go of youth before it lets go of you.

Here we go, it’s Snow White. I hope you enjoy, and like I said, if you want to hear more, please comment as it helps in every way.

 

Once upon a time there was a peaceful, prosperous kingdom ruled by a beautiful queen and a good king. The kingdom was like many of its type that were common back then: a stone castle with a large keep sat upon the edge of a river alongside a church. The miller’s house and its attendant granary lay slightly downriver next to the blacksmith. Fields of wheat and rye swayed heavily in summertime in the cluster of farms surrounding town. The town between the castle walls and its outlying farms was boisterous and lively. You may think in all your modern splendour that the people of the town were primitive and unclean, but you who have rarely known a good night’s sleep and a life spent in harmony with the rhythms of the land are the one who is missing out. The peasants of that fine town labored fewer hours than you in any given year, and due to the good management of the king’s forbears, they had not frequently been sent to war.

The king and queen were happy except for the matter of having children. Despite having been married for nearly ten seasons, there was no offspring. At first, there seemed to be plenty of time and the king and queen joyfully engaged in the act that creates babies. As time wore on, anxiety and rumors grew that one or both rulers were barren. The king did his best to brush off the insinuation that he would not produce an heir. The queen was far more heartbroken, blaming herself and stewing with worry. Winters were the worst, as the days grew short with only the crackling fire and the occasional skitter of cat’s feet across the floor breaking the silence of the castle. The queen dragged her heavy robes across the stone to sit on an embroidered stool at a tiny window with a tiny pane of colored glass embedded within a deep recess like a jewel. She stitched at a quilt she had been working since the trees dropped their leaves. The king, wanting to give her some cheer, told her a silly joke about a knave and a brothel. She chuckled but her smile did not touch her eyes. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she burst into tears.

“Oh Johannes! How I long to give you an heir! I have failed you and I have failed our kingdom.”

“No, Maria, you haven’t. It must be me.”

“We cannot know unless we break our marriage vows, and neither one of us could fathom that.”

“Of course. We have talked about this. Look, Maria, it’s not the end of the world. My cousin Ferdinand’s sons will inherit Karlsburg.”

“Your cousin is insane and so are his sons.”

“Maria, it isn’t as bad as all that.”

“Yes, it is.”

Johannes sighed heavily, daubing at his wife’s eyes with one long sleeve.

“They will have to cross those bridges, provided they don’t burn them first, Maria. We have to leave it in God’s hands.”

Maria smiled. “Friar Albert is so tired of me. I think I try his patience.”

“No Maria, it is I who try your patience.”

“I think he is exhausted by my fantasies of sons and daughters. Just when he thinks he has soothed me, I start up again.”

“He would never admit it — he is a living saint.”

“We are lucky to have him. How many times have I tried to send my wishes to God through him? Perhaps God is tired of my litanies.”

“Maria…”

“But I see her, Johannes. I see her. A girl who is the fairest in the land, with skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood, with hair…”

“As black as oiled iron.”

“As black as a raven’s wing.”

“As black as the ebony wood of the table in the great hall.”

“I know, my love. Sometimes I see her too, and I don’t know what to make of it.”

“You see her too?”

“Yes, she is like a ghost, except she has not yet been born.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. I just know I love her with all my heart. Her beauty is more than skin deep! The reason she is fair is because she is kind. She is almost as innocent as the Holy Lamb himself. She has wit but no guile. If only I could have such a blessed daughter, it would make up for my inability to have sons!”

“Maria, shhh….”

“I would call her Snow White.”

She was crying again. Tears fell onto her crewelwork as snowflakes drifted to the precipice of the window and alighted upon the town walls.