Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction website.
Rated PG-13 for: violence, sexuality, and suggestive themes
Setting: 13th century,Eastern Europe
Author's Notes: I don't know how many versions of this I have written.. I seem to never get the effect and story that I want. Always the impatient and fusterated one, I decided to make do with this one. Any constructive reviews will be appreciated to help my humble writing... read and enjoy :)
The Beauty of the Snow
-a retelling of Snow White-
P a r t I
Prologue
Her blood streamed out like rivers, forming a pool of crimson on the once pure-white snow. She moaned slightly, and laid still, her hand still upon the arrow on her breast.
"Sleep, my lady," murmured the hunter.
He gazed at her still form with a sorrowful expression, his hands tightening around a bow and quiver. He was merely obeying orders by committing such an unlawful crime, and he took no pleasure in it. The snow began to cover the maiden where she fell. Such a beauty, thought the hunter. What a pity. With no glance back, he trudged out of the forest and away from the mournful sight.
The princess was dead.
Chapter 1 - Solita
seven years before
King Jethro was at Death's door, and he closed the door behind him swiftly and quietly. For weeks the kingdom of Nivalis grieved for their noble king, and murmured prayers for both of them, for the king had gone to rejoin his beloved wife. The people moved about in hushed whispers and clothed in black, to show their solemn respect.
It was the poor princess which everyone pitied and worried about. A quiet, fragile little thing, only ten years of age and already an orphan. How would she survive so much sorrow at this tender age?
Yet Solita was not glass. She would not break but so easily. Clad in a soft dress of black, she walked boldly to the mourning ceremony and boldly did she return. She shed no tears for her father.
For years, his presence was always distant to her. Her father offered but a stern word and emotionless greeting every now and then, and not once had she ever received a kiss or a sign of affection from him. It seemed that he had never quite forgiven Solita for causing the death of her mother, Queen Odessa. His new marriage to Queen Napea thickened the cement wall between them.
Queen Napea was a young, fierce lady from a distant kingdom. Her glittering green eyes, pale olive complexion, and lustrous black hair made her the most beautiful, and the most vain of the ladies in court. She was not cruel to Solita, rather, her politeness stretched with her sweet smiles, which she cast carelessly about the kingdom, even at such times of deep mourning.
From her high tower window, Solita watched Queen Napea glide down the streets with her usual chain of servants trailing behind her.
Solita came to her locked chamber often, for it was her own sanctuary. Through her tower window, she would absorb all she needed to know about her surroundings. She watched as her father and stepmother held hands while walking through the West Wing Garden. She watched as her stepmother admired her jewelry, and the precious stones encrusted upon the palace walls. She watched as the people had a funeral march for her father.
And soon, she would be watching her new stepbrothers arrive.