Fairest
Title: Fairest
Fandom: Disney: Snow White And The Seven Dwarves
Prompt: Hatred
Medium: Fic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Torture
Summary: He did not understand, at first, that what he thought was love was in fact hate.
Disney_Kink prompt: Here
They found her in the base of the valley, with blood on her beautiful face and her arm broken. Snow White's lips trembled, and she averted her eyes, but then she whispered, "Bring her to the castle." At first, he was uncertain, wary of what they might find, but Snow White whispered that she does not want it to end this way, and he nodded.
It took some time for the Queen to be nursed back to health, in one of the chambers of the old tower with a healer watching over her night and day. Sometimes when she was asleep, Snow White would take flowers into the room: lavender with its sweet scent; marigolds with their bright splashes of colour; pretty, trembling aspen leaves.
Later, much later, he would think back on those flowers and remember that in the same days, she had given him a bouquet of jewelweed flowers, and kissed him on the cheek, and whispered that they were, “Impatiens for my impatience for our wedding”. Then he would go back to the books, and look up what those flowers she had put by her stepmother’s side had meant, and wish that he never had.
Almost every day, she would go to the healer and ask, “How is she? Will she be recovered in time for the wedding?”
At first the answer came back, “I am not sure,” but in time it became, “I hope so,” and finally, “Yes, your highness, I believe that she will.”
Colour came to the white-as-snow cheeks at the reply, and he was relieved to see his young bride smiling with a light in her eyes. It only struck him as strange that her smile did not seem to be quite the same as it was when she spoke to him, but he supposed that with everything that had happened, with the way that the Queen had lost her mind, it was only to be expected.
True to the word of the healer, the Queen was indeed risen from her bed by the time that the wedding came to pass, and dressed in red clothes upon which Snow White had insisted, she was allowed to stand within the hallowed stone of the church as they exchanged their vows, drank from the bridal cup, and as he placed a wreath of silver and gold flowers upon his sweet wife’s brow. She looked radiant, dressed in red and gold, and as the dwarves played their music she danced upon the green grass beneath the sunlight, her hand in his, and none of the rest of the world could have mattered.
If like Atilla he could have passed away that night, perhaps it would not have hurt so much.
One of his friends was congratulating him when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Snow White smile and accept the help of the dwarves to climb up onto one of the great wood tables, the hem of her skirt in one hand, shining curls against her cheeks. He turned to listen, enraptured, as she clapped her hands for the attention of her guests and then turned to her stepmother, that same smile on her face that he had seen before only when the two came together.
“And now,” she said, her voice as clear as crystal and as sweet, “I would like to... repay my stepmother, the Queen, for all that she has done.”
The Queen was bought towards her by two unsmiling guards, one on each of the woman’s arms. She had grown still paler with her illness, weak and fragile. Something ached in his heart, and he frowned, but before he could say anything a chair was produced and the Queen forced backwards into it. She gave a cry, but none of the guests moved - it seemed, none dared to move - as the dwarves hurried forward with chainmail gloves and, in their hands, red shoes.
No, he realised, looking close. Red-hot shoes.
His throat tightened, but he found himself rooted to the spot, watching in open-mouthed horror as Snow White smiled, serenely.
Coldly.
The Queen screamed as the shoes were placed upon her feet; screamed as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. He felt himself grow nauseated by the smell alone, never mind the blood that seeped from her scalded skin, the piteous shrieks that came from her throat. She was thrown to her feet, staggered barely a step, and fell to the ground again, curling into the foetal position.
“Get up,” said Snow White, and he did not think that she had ever heard her speak so firmly. “Get up, and dance for me, and perhaps I will let you live.”
“Please...” Perhaps the lack of screaming meant that she had simply lost the strength in her throat.
“Come on.” Snow White started clapping her hands, the sound bright and merry, and smiled round brightly at the guests to do the same. The dwarves started up their music again; one guest, fear written on her face, clapped once, twice; more began to join in until there was a shaky beat reverberating around the glade. He felt his knees go week. “Dance for us.”
Clapping, over and over. The Queen was sobbing as she stumbled to her feet, fought to keep her balance, the hem of her dress smouldering as the skin of her feet blackened and melted. He felt vomit rise in his throat.
Snow White stood, clapping, her eyes fixed on the Queen and the faintest of gleams in her eyes as she smiled.
She stood to watch the Queen dance.
She stood to watch her die.
Then, and only then, did she step down from the table and, with a nod to the dwarves, dance herself again, little circles around the smouldering body that lay stretched out on the grass with its shoes cooling to grey upon its feet. Her bright laughter shivered in the trees, trees from which the birds had long since fled, and she held her hem high to let her feet twinkle in the grass as, with horror, with tears starting in his eyes, he watched as her new husband and could not respond to the bright wave which she gave him.
Fandom: Disney: Snow White And The Seven Dwarves
Prompt: Hatred
Medium: Fic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Torture
Summary: He did not understand, at first, that what he thought was love was in fact hate.
Disney_Kink prompt: Here
They found her in the base of the valley, with blood on her beautiful face and her arm broken. Snow White's lips trembled, and she averted her eyes, but then she whispered, "Bring her to the castle." At first, he was uncertain, wary of what they might find, but Snow White whispered that she does not want it to end this way, and he nodded.
It took some time for the Queen to be nursed back to health, in one of the chambers of the old tower with a healer watching over her night and day. Sometimes when she was asleep, Snow White would take flowers into the room: lavender with its sweet scent; marigolds with their bright splashes of colour; pretty, trembling aspen leaves.
Later, much later, he would think back on those flowers and remember that in the same days, she had given him a bouquet of jewelweed flowers, and kissed him on the cheek, and whispered that they were, “Impatiens for my impatience for our wedding”. Then he would go back to the books, and look up what those flowers she had put by her stepmother’s side had meant, and wish that he never had.
Almost every day, she would go to the healer and ask, “How is she? Will she be recovered in time for the wedding?”
At first the answer came back, “I am not sure,” but in time it became, “I hope so,” and finally, “Yes, your highness, I believe that she will.”
Colour came to the white-as-snow cheeks at the reply, and he was relieved to see his young bride smiling with a light in her eyes. It only struck him as strange that her smile did not seem to be quite the same as it was when she spoke to him, but he supposed that with everything that had happened, with the way that the Queen had lost her mind, it was only to be expected.
True to the word of the healer, the Queen was indeed risen from her bed by the time that the wedding came to pass, and dressed in red clothes upon which Snow White had insisted, she was allowed to stand within the hallowed stone of the church as they exchanged their vows, drank from the bridal cup, and as he placed a wreath of silver and gold flowers upon his sweet wife’s brow. She looked radiant, dressed in red and gold, and as the dwarves played their music she danced upon the green grass beneath the sunlight, her hand in his, and none of the rest of the world could have mattered.
If like Atilla he could have passed away that night, perhaps it would not have hurt so much.
One of his friends was congratulating him when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Snow White smile and accept the help of the dwarves to climb up onto one of the great wood tables, the hem of her skirt in one hand, shining curls against her cheeks. He turned to listen, enraptured, as she clapped her hands for the attention of her guests and then turned to her stepmother, that same smile on her face that he had seen before only when the two came together.
“And now,” she said, her voice as clear as crystal and as sweet, “I would like to... repay my stepmother, the Queen, for all that she has done.”
The Queen was bought towards her by two unsmiling guards, one on each of the woman’s arms. She had grown still paler with her illness, weak and fragile. Something ached in his heart, and he frowned, but before he could say anything a chair was produced and the Queen forced backwards into it. She gave a cry, but none of the guests moved - it seemed, none dared to move - as the dwarves hurried forward with chainmail gloves and, in their hands, red shoes.
No, he realised, looking close. Red-hot shoes.
His throat tightened, but he found himself rooted to the spot, watching in open-mouthed horror as Snow White smiled, serenely.
Coldly.
The Queen screamed as the shoes were placed upon her feet; screamed as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. He felt himself grow nauseated by the smell alone, never mind the blood that seeped from her scalded skin, the piteous shrieks that came from her throat. She was thrown to her feet, staggered barely a step, and fell to the ground again, curling into the foetal position.
“Get up,” said Snow White, and he did not think that she had ever heard her speak so firmly. “Get up, and dance for me, and perhaps I will let you live.”
“Please...” Perhaps the lack of screaming meant that she had simply lost the strength in her throat.
“Come on.” Snow White started clapping her hands, the sound bright and merry, and smiled round brightly at the guests to do the same. The dwarves started up their music again; one guest, fear written on her face, clapped once, twice; more began to join in until there was a shaky beat reverberating around the glade. He felt his knees go week. “Dance for us.”
Clapping, over and over. The Queen was sobbing as she stumbled to her feet, fought to keep her balance, the hem of her dress smouldering as the skin of her feet blackened and melted. He felt vomit rise in his throat.
Snow White stood, clapping, her eyes fixed on the Queen and the faintest of gleams in her eyes as she smiled.
She stood to watch the Queen dance.
She stood to watch her die.
Then, and only then, did she step down from the table and, with a nod to the dwarves, dance herself again, little circles around the smouldering body that lay stretched out on the grass with its shoes cooling to grey upon its feet. Her bright laughter shivered in the trees, trees from which the birds had long since fled, and she held her hem high to let her feet twinkle in the grass as, with horror, with tears starting in his eyes, he watched as her new husband and could not respond to the bright wave which she gave him.