Snow White looked up at the mature and elegant woman who was approaching. She had never seen anyone more fascinating:in the small green space located near the castle it was as if silence had fallen with the arrival of the queen, and even the birds had stopped chirping. Snow White, or Bianca, as her father always called her, blushed and felt embarrassed. She stood up to welcome the majestic figure into her space. She had never spoken to that woman alone, but she was still her stepmother and the queen, and she had to show reverence. "Your Majesty..." Bianca lowered her head. The queen observed her without saying anything else: she stopped a few steps away. Near them stretched a small pond dotted with flowers.
"How can I help you?" Snow White's face turned even redder. Her flushed cheeks were now a clear sign of her shyness. Her wonderfully white skin, which had earned her the nickname Snow White, was a double-edged sword: it was the hallmark of her beauty, but it was also a canvas that was easily stained. If she was embarrassed, she couldn't hide it.
"Snow White..." Queen Grimilde said her name in a whisper, processing those letters, forming that word with hesitation. It was her first time. She had never called the daughter of the old, deceased king. For some reason, that man had hidden her from her for years, but he was no longer present in that world, and Grimilde could do as she pleased in her kingdom. She had married the king at the age of fourteen, knowing nothing of love back then, much less the reality of adulthood. The king had welcomed her but had never allowed himself to touch her; it was almost as if the ghost of his deceased wife had eternally haunted his chambers, and he didn't want Grimilde to come near her. From then on, Snow White existed only as a name for Grimilde. The queen suspected the old man believed he was protecting his daughter from his new wife's envy, but that wasn't the case. Grimilde would have liked to know her stepdaughter as she grew older; perhaps she would have found comfort and warmth in that cold and, all too often, silent castle. So Snow White had grown distant from her, and Grimilde had done the same.
The queen looked at the young girl: soon she would be eighteen and there would be a party at the palace to welcome her into adulthood. It was strange to think that there were only six years of difference. It seemed so little and so much at the same time. They could have been friends in another reality, not stepmother and stepdaughter. Although, truth be told, they weren't even that.
Grimilde, however, wanted to know her, to connect with her. She understood why the court spoke only of Snow White's beauty, and finally had proof that her magic mirror was telling the truth. Undoubtedly, Snow White was truly the most beautiful in the entire kingdom of Arran. She was enchanted to see her snow-white skin and her lips as red as a lush rose. Her eyes were dark but alive, innocent and joyful, like a child's.
How could she be envious? She even felt honored to witness that enchanting sight. What struck her most was the striking contrast between Snow White's skin and her jet-black hair.
Suddenly, she imagined her hair braided, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile. Grimilde had long blonde hair, which she was proud of, but she found herself believing that with those beautiful ebony locks, she could have been even more attractive. It wasn't envy, it was curiosity, it was a kind of infatuation.
For Grimilde, it was like looking at a painting by a renowned artist or witnessing a wonderful landscape, the kind that inspires romance and deeply comforts you.
"May I call you Bianca?" The question had been involuntary. The queen hadn't even thought about it, but she remembered the late king referring to his daughter in that way. The girl in question seemed surprised, but soon a bright smile appeared on her face:
"Your Majesty, you may call me whatever you wish."
At those words, Grimilde allowed herself to lean even closer, suddenly seized by the desire to touch the fabulous creature. She found herself caressing Snow White's right cheek with her fingertips, and when her lips closed, fading her previous smile, Grimilde felt guilty. She didn't want to frighten her; she had to be gentle.
"I wanted to speak to you, Snow White."
The queen stated, sliding her index finger under the girl's chin to lift it toward hers. The young woman was slightly shorter than her. They were very close, and Grimilde could clearly see every detail of her face: Snow White's long, thick eyelashes gave the young woman an almost ethereal look, as if she were an angel hidden under human clothes or a fairy caught undisturbed.
"I am at your disposal, Your Majesty. You could have called for me... I wouldn't want to interrupt your duties." Snow White's voice was just as Grimilde expected: pleasant, sweet and warm, like the caress of a loved one, like a fire on a winter's day, or like a soft, enveloping blanket.
"Don't worry, I wanted to come to you. And now I'm pleased, because I find myself before a wonderful vision." Snow White listened to the queen with rapt attention, no longer intimidated by her unparalleled elegance. Her curious eyes flickered to the robes she wore, the long white dress adorned with golden floral decorations. It was as magnificent as the person who wore it. Snow White would never admit it, but she envied all that beauty: she would have loved to wake up every morning having Grimilde's face. She was simply enchanting.
Snow White recalled the rare occasions she had seen the queen before her father died. For some reason, he had never allowed any contact between the two. And yet, Snow White had repeatedly asked to converse with her stepmother, but her tired father had always postponed the matter. Perhaps, Snow White thought, he had feared that Grimilde's beauty and composure would make her feel inadequate in comparison.
"Would you like to sit down?" The queen turned her eyes to the blanket spread out on the lawn, which Snow White had probably brought so as not to sit on the grass and soil her clothes. Only then did she notice that the girl was barefoot and stood with her bare feet right among the grass. Did she perhaps enjoy feeling nature against her skin? Grimilde found herself smiling once again.
"Oh!" Snow White noticed Grimilde's gaze and her face flushed, smiling shyly. Snow White waited for the queen to sit first, then took a seat on the cloth herself. "Maybe I should try it too..." Grimilde whispered, shifting her feet on the cloth, imagining what Snow White felt with her bare feet. The girl was kneeling, her body turned towards the queen, in a relaxed position but ready to answer any question the woman at her side might have. She still couldn't believe she was talking to the dreaded queen. How could it be possible, she wondered, that she was considered cold and mean? Queen Grimilde was truly kind! "Your Majesty..." Snow White whispered, overcome by curiosity: she really wanted to know why she had sought her out after years of distance. Could it be because of the king's death? Did she want to talk about that?
Snow White was still in pain. for the loss of her father, but since her mother's death, he had distanced himself from her, building a wall between them. The king had stopped being a true father long ago. Grimilde understood that the girl wanted answers, but instead of speaking, she found herself approaching her again. Snow White remained still, still feeling those strange shivers from being so close to the queen: after all, she was a beautiful woman and a truly important person. It was normal to feel all those confusing emotions and that uneasiness in her stomach, as if a swarm of butterflies were playing inside her.
"Do you know what a magic mirror is?" The queen's question was accompanied by a playful smile. Snow White looked at those rosy lips and those sky-blue eyes, shaking her head. Grimilde continued speaking: "It's a mirror that can answer any question. Today, for example, I asked the name of the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. What name do you think the mirror gave?" Snow White parted her red lips and didn't realize she had brought her face close to the queen's: their noses were almost touching. Grimilde remained still and waited anxiously for the beautiful young woman's words.
"Grimilde..." She whispered, making the queen blush. "She said Grimilde, right?" Her dark, doe-like eyes locked with the older woman's and she was surprised by the intensity behind them. Grimilde slowly raised her hand and touched Snow White's red lips:
"No... She called your name, Snow White."