So Rot Vie Blut {1/3} {Repost}afterandalasiaMay 20 2014, 11:20:41 UTC
Reposted with some minor edits. The names Grimhilde and Humbert come from old promotional material for the film.
Pairings: Snow White/Various, minor Prince/Snow White. Warnings: Assassination attempts, dark Snow White, impending madness with the Queen.
"You might be Queen, you know, but you will never rule this land."
Grimhilde turns, startled, at the words. The young princess Snow White stands at the doorway to the room, arrayed in red and gold in preparation for her father's wedding. Even at the age of nine, the beginnings of beauty are visible in her face, high cheekbones and red lips and shining dark eyes. Perhaps part of the illusion is in the adultness of her expression, the coldness of it.
"I beg your pardon, Princess?" Grimhilde cannot believe that she could have heard the words.
"It is my Kingdom. When my father dies, I will be the one to rule."
The words are spoken with such collection and confidence that they take her aback. Before Grimhilde can summon a response, Snow White turns and walks away, the slightest of smiles playing at her over-red lips.
Snow White is still so young when her father dies; murdered. She looks increasingly like a woman: budding breasts and hips, flirtatious eyes, careful steps. It feels as if she sees everything, but her gaze gives away nothing. Grimhilde has tried and failed to build even friendship with the girl.
The black that she wears makes her look like a shadow, and her eyes shine but are not reddened with tears as are Grimhilde's. She stands at her father's side as he lies in state and says nothing as the priest speaks words over the corpse.
Grimhilde is named as regent, until Snow White comes of age. The venom which spills from the girl's gaze is enough to make the new Queen shiver.
The first action of Grimhilde's reign is to search for the man who poisoned the King. It takes months, but when she finally discovers him, his death is a necessity. The Kingdom has mourned their King for too long.
The trial is brief, and the man does not speak to defend himself. The night before his execution, she visits him in the dungeon one last time.
"Do you have anything to say?"
"Your Majesty." The man's voice is hoarse. In an instant, he is pressed against the bars, reaching out to her pleadingly. "You must understand. She paid me. She promised me that when she was Queen..."
"You accuse a girl of murdering her own father?"
His eyes bore into hers. "Do you not see it in her? She seduced me for his death."
With a look of disgust, Grimhilde slaps his hands away and whirls away without waiting to listen to more of his lies.
He says nothing, refuses even to repent, before his beheading. A flicker of movement catches Grimhilde's eye, and she looks round to see Snow White standing at one of the castle windows. Her expression is cool, perhaps even... slightly victorious. She does not look away, though Grimhilde must for her own jolting stomach, as the man's severed head is held up, blood dripping from it, features slack.
So Rot Vie Blut {2/3} {Repost}afterandalasiaMay 20 2014, 11:22:44 UTC
There are three assassination attempts against Grimhilde before the next two years are out. They terrify her; she starts to see a figure in every shadow, the glint of a knife in every light, the swirl of poison in every cup. She changes her guards, hires tasters, but cannot turn away the fear that clenches ever tighter around her.
Snow White does not help. She does not speak to Grimhilde much, and when she does talk it is in restrained tones, superficially respectful but with a mocking tone just below the surface. At dinner, she holds her knives too easily. More than once, Grimhilde sees her talking to the guards, pink-cheeked and parted-lipped, pressing forward her tremblind youthful bosom and brushing her hands over her arms. Grimhilde dismisses the guards, knowing she cannot be seen to talk against Snow White, but it keeps happening time and time again.
Spring blooms, and Grimhilde catches Snow White in the stables with one of the clerks, her back to the stone wall, legs wrapped around the man's thighs as he thrust into her, gazing glassy-eyed and transfixed upon her. Behind his head, Snow White holds a knife in her hands, turning it so that it caught the sun, her expression more thoughtful than lust-filled.
Somewhere between transfixed and horrified, Grimhilde flees.
It is not the last time. Over and over, Grimhilde finds snow in flagrante delicto: her red lips stretched around a knight's cock; her legs spread wide for the chamberlain; even the chaplain's head buried between her alabaster thighs. Never once did Snow White seem to notice, but Grimhilde would swear that the moan she gave grew louder, her panting more breathless, only once she was in sight.
Grimhilde dismisses the girl's tutor after she finds him buried to the hilt in Snow White as the girl drapes herself across her desk, and only later thinks to check what books are being taught. Some of them talk of poison, and witchcraft, and others contain lewd drawings, and she hurries them away to a hidden library where the princess might never find them again. She strips the girl of her fine clothes and her free time, demoting her to the status of a servant, and the noblemen who try to speak out against Grimhilde find themselves banished or worse.
It does not ease the fear. Less than three years from the coronation, another assassin makes his attempt, actually slicing open Grimhilde's arm before her guards can intervene. Snow White does not seem concerned by the darkness that walks the castle.
Nor do the changes stop the girl's lasciviousness; if anything, they worsen them. One month, Grimhilde catches the girl straddling one of the squires, a knife to his throat as she fills herself with his cock. The next, it is two guards that Snow White claims, one in her ass and one in her cunt to judge by how they lie in the very gardens that Grimhilde had once thought so beautiful.
Grimhilde does not enter the gardens now, does not often leave her chambers at all. When the princess's red lips and ready cunt seem to have the whole world enraptured, she fears there are none left that she can trust.
It feels like Humbert is the only one left without guile. He is a huntsman, a friend of hers since her childhood, when once they walked the woods together; he taught her to ride a horse, to wield a knife. The knife has saved her life in recent years, though she has not told him that for fear of how it would hurt him.
"I need her gone," she tells him, softly and with the weariness of years. "I need her dead. She is destroying me. Destroying this castle."
It goes unspoken that she is already hurting the Kingdom. Grimhilde does not wish to think of what Snow White would do as Queen.
Humbert takes her cold hands in his warm ones. "I will do what I can, my lady," he replies.
Snow White disappears, and the fear Grimhilde feels for them being discovered fades to relief, to freedom. She finds herself better able to think of how to run the castle, of how to balance the treasury. The Kingdom stabilises beneath her hands again.
So Rot Vie Blut {3/3} {Repost}afterandalasiaMay 20 2014, 11:23:44 UTC
It is six months before she receives the letter.
It appears beside her bed one morning, and none claim to remember how it came to be there. Grimhilde recognises the calligraphy in an instant, and she feels as if her heart might stop in her chest.
Know that you are an imposter upon my throne. I will have your blood, and your beauty will mean nothing when it spreads upon the ground.
At the bottom is a kiss of dried blood. The letter falls from her trembling hand, and Grimhilde stares at her own ghostly reflection in the mirror. All of her life she had been told of her beauty, but it was a mere fact, nothing more. Memories of Snow White's sharp looks and angry behaviours, her flaunting of her sexual appeal, suddenly crystallise into the knowledge that the girl was jealous, of Grimhilde's looks and of her role as regent.
Revealing the threat to her court would mean revealing that the girl is alive. Her courtiers are pressuring her to remarry, proffering her princes and noblemen who are old enough to not be fools and young enough to still be handsome. Though none of them spur love in her, she had already decided that she would find one suitable to marry, that before she is too old she might have a child to rule after her.
But Snow White should have been dead.
"I'm sorry," Nikolaus whispers, when he finally breaks. His back is whipped to ribbons by then, salt water stinging in the wounds. "I'm sorry. I let her go."
"Why?" There is fear in Grimhilde's words.
"She was so beautiful." There is blood in his mouth from where he has bitten his lip, his tongue, his cheeks. "So ripe, so wanting..."
Grimhilde knows that Snow White will return before too long. She simply does not know how to prepare a defence for that day.
It is over a year from Snow White's disappearance when she reappears at the gates. Her womanliness is still growing in; her dress is too tight, too short, flashing an inch of ankle and straining at her full breasts. At her side walks one of the princes to whom Grimhilde was introduced some months before, his hand protectively around her, that fiercely defensive look that she knows so well in his eye.
Snow White offers one of her blood-red smiles to the gatekeepers.
Pairings: Snow White/Various, minor Prince/Snow White.
Warnings: Assassination attempts, dark Snow White, impending madness with the Queen.
"You might be Queen, you know, but you will never rule this land."
Grimhilde turns, startled, at the words. The young princess Snow White stands at the doorway to the room, arrayed in red and gold in preparation for her father's wedding. Even at the age of nine, the beginnings of beauty are visible in her face, high cheekbones and red lips and shining dark eyes. Perhaps part of the illusion is in the adultness of her expression, the coldness of it.
"I beg your pardon, Princess?" Grimhilde cannot believe that she could have heard the words.
"It is my Kingdom. When my father dies, I will be the one to rule."
The words are spoken with such collection and confidence that they take her aback. Before Grimhilde can summon a response, Snow White turns and walks away, the slightest of smiles playing at her over-red lips.
Snow White is still so young when her father dies; murdered. She looks increasingly like a woman: budding breasts and hips, flirtatious eyes, careful steps. It feels as if she sees everything, but her gaze gives away nothing. Grimhilde has tried and failed to build even friendship with the girl.
The black that she wears makes her look like a shadow, and her eyes shine but are not reddened with tears as are Grimhilde's. She stands at her father's side as he lies in state and says nothing as the priest speaks words over the corpse.
Grimhilde is named as regent, until Snow White comes of age. The venom which spills from the girl's gaze is enough to make the new Queen shiver.
The first action of Grimhilde's reign is to search for the man who poisoned the King. It takes months, but when she finally discovers him, his death is a necessity. The Kingdom has mourned their King for too long.
The trial is brief, and the man does not speak to defend himself. The night before his execution, she visits him in the dungeon one last time.
"Do you have anything to say?"
"Your Majesty." The man's voice is hoarse. In an instant, he is pressed against the bars, reaching out to her pleadingly. "You must understand. She paid me. She promised me that when she was Queen..."
"You accuse a girl of murdering her own father?"
His eyes bore into hers. "Do you not see it in her? She seduced me for his death."
With a look of disgust, Grimhilde slaps his hands away and whirls away without waiting to listen to more of his lies.
He says nothing, refuses even to repent, before his beheading. A flicker of movement catches Grimhilde's eye, and she looks round to see Snow White standing at one of the castle windows. Her expression is cool, perhaps even... slightly victorious. She does not look away, though Grimhilde must for her own jolting stomach, as the man's severed head is held up, blood dripping from it, features slack.
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Snow White does not help. She does not speak to Grimhilde much, and when she does talk it is in restrained tones, superficially respectful but with a mocking tone just below the surface. At dinner, she holds her knives too easily. More than once, Grimhilde sees her talking to the guards, pink-cheeked and parted-lipped, pressing forward her tremblind youthful bosom and brushing her hands over her arms. Grimhilde dismisses the guards, knowing she cannot be seen to talk against Snow White, but it keeps happening time and time again.
Spring blooms, and Grimhilde catches Snow White in the stables with one of the clerks, her back to the stone wall, legs wrapped around the man's thighs as he thrust into her, gazing glassy-eyed and transfixed upon her. Behind his head, Snow White holds a knife in her hands, turning it so that it caught the sun, her expression more thoughtful than lust-filled.
Somewhere between transfixed and horrified, Grimhilde flees.
It is not the last time. Over and over, Grimhilde finds snow in flagrante delicto: her red lips stretched around a knight's cock; her legs spread wide for the chamberlain; even the chaplain's head buried between her alabaster thighs. Never once did Snow White seem to notice, but Grimhilde would swear that the moan she gave grew louder, her panting more breathless, only once she was in sight.
Grimhilde dismisses the girl's tutor after she finds him buried to the hilt in Snow White as the girl drapes herself across her desk, and only later thinks to check what books are being taught. Some of them talk of poison, and witchcraft, and others contain lewd drawings, and she hurries them away to a hidden library where the princess might never find them again. She strips the girl of her fine clothes and her free time, demoting her to the status of a servant, and the noblemen who try to speak out against Grimhilde find themselves banished or worse.
It does not ease the fear. Less than three years from the coronation, another assassin makes his attempt, actually slicing open Grimhilde's arm before her guards can intervene. Snow White does not seem concerned by the darkness that walks the castle.
Nor do the changes stop the girl's lasciviousness; if anything, they worsen them. One month, Grimhilde catches the girl straddling one of the squires, a knife to his throat as she fills herself with his cock. The next, it is two guards that Snow White claims, one in her ass and one in her cunt to judge by how they lie in the very gardens that Grimhilde had once thought so beautiful.
Grimhilde does not enter the gardens now, does not often leave her chambers at all. When the princess's red lips and ready cunt seem to have the whole world enraptured, she fears there are none left that she can trust.
It feels like Humbert is the only one left without guile. He is a huntsman, a friend of hers since her childhood, when once they walked the woods together; he taught her to ride a horse, to wield a knife. The knife has saved her life in recent years, though she has not told him that for fear of how it would hurt him.
"I need her gone," she tells him, softly and with the weariness of years. "I need her dead. She is destroying me. Destroying this castle."
It goes unspoken that she is already hurting the Kingdom. Grimhilde does not wish to think of what Snow White would do as Queen.
Humbert takes her cold hands in his warm ones. "I will do what I can, my lady," he replies.
Snow White disappears, and the fear Grimhilde feels for them being discovered fades to relief, to freedom. She finds herself better able to think of how to run the castle, of how to balance the treasury. The Kingdom stabilises beneath her hands again.
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It appears beside her bed one morning, and none claim to remember how it came to be there. Grimhilde recognises the calligraphy in an instant, and she feels as if her heart might stop in her chest.
Know that you are an imposter upon my throne. I will have your blood, and your beauty will mean nothing when it spreads upon the ground.
At the bottom is a kiss of dried blood. The letter falls from her trembling hand, and Grimhilde stares at her own ghostly reflection in the mirror. All of her life she had been told of her beauty, but it was a mere fact, nothing more. Memories of Snow White's sharp looks and angry behaviours, her flaunting of her sexual appeal, suddenly crystallise into the knowledge that the girl was jealous, of Grimhilde's looks and of her role as regent.
Revealing the threat to her court would mean revealing that the girl is alive. Her courtiers are pressuring her to remarry, proffering her princes and noblemen who are old enough to not be fools and young enough to still be handsome. Though none of them spur love in her, she had already decided that she would find one suitable to marry, that before she is too old she might have a child to rule after her.
But Snow White should have been dead.
"I'm sorry," Nikolaus whispers, when he finally breaks. His back is whipped to ribbons by then, salt water stinging in the wounds. "I'm sorry. I let her go."
"Why?" There is fear in Grimhilde's words.
"She was so beautiful." There is blood in his mouth from where he has bitten his lip, his tongue, his cheeks. "So ripe, so wanting..."
Grimhilde knows that Snow White will return before too long. She simply does not know how to prepare a defence for that day.
It is over a year from Snow White's disappearance when she reappears at the gates. Her womanliness is still growing in; her dress is too tight, too short, flashing an inch of ankle and straining at her full breasts. At her side walks one of the princes to whom Grimhilde was introduced some months before, his hand protectively around her, that fiercely defensive look that she knows so well in his eye.
Snow White offers one of her blood-red smiles to the gatekeepers.
"Tell the Queen that I have returned."
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Particularly nice touch with the "kiss" signature. I'm going to remember that one...
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