The Final Confession of a Queen

The Final Confession of a Queen

Mother,


         Do you even care that I write you after so many years? Perhaps not. Why else would we never have communicated as the present slips into the form of history and life dwindles down the path that leads to the grave? Burn this letter if you will, but I beg you to at least read it—hear my words before you destroy them. Though this is the first time I've written, it will also be the last.

         I know you disapprove of me, and all I've done. I don't know your mind. Heaven above, I don't know that you even care for me any longer, considering all that has happened since we swore we would never speak again. If you—for reasons I cannot grasp in my mind—feel responsible for me, please banish those notions. My decisions are my own responsibility, just as what you do is your own choice. You have no reason to feel guilt for what I have done.

         Doubtless you've heard of my capture and imprisonment and sentence to death three days hence from the date of this letter. I won't tire you with professions of innocence, because they would be false. Yes, I killed the girl. I wanted to tell you why, why I did what I did. Please hear me out—aye, I have no way of making you, but I beseech at least your curiosity.

         My stepdaughter was so fair, I envied her: Beautiful black hair, fairest skin like cream—or snow, as some have compared it to—and sensuous red lips. Cosmetics and potions could only go so far to keep me beautiful—she did not even have to try. Some said it was the innocence and kindness of her heart that kept her so fair—and that damned woodsman disobeyed me when I told him to bring me her heart. Perhaps, on hindsight, I was so bitter because I had no one who loved me or wished to befriend me—aye, because of my actions, I know—and everyone and thing seemed to love her. In my bitterness and envy, I wanted to hurt her, so I did.

         Twice I failed to kill her, with bodice and comb, and then finally the apple did her in. Or so I thought. So naive, so trusting, she took the poisoned half of the apple and ate it. Aye, but I refused to chance that those meddling little men would find a way to revive her once more. So I hid and I waited. I saw the seven little men forge a coffin of glass for that girl; I smirked while they bemoaned her. They were rude, abrasive specimens, I still think it a wonder she retained her virginity living with them. Is it not shocking that a young girl should live alone with seven males? I shake my head at the thought. Perhaps she is not as innocent and pure as she would have everyone think.

         Then I saw the prince, from a kingdom far from my own, ride up and plead with the little men for the girl’s corpse.

         You can scarcely imagine my horror, my rage, when the prince picked up the girl and the poisoned bite of apple fell from her lips! She revived and agreed to marry the man who had saved her. I had no need to ask that mirror who was the fairest in the land. How could I have been so foiled three times? I smashed that mirror when I returned to my castle. I could not stomach its truthfulness.

         Waiting, I did far too much waiting while I besought a plan to rid the world of that girl. When an invitation to her wedding arrived, I accepted and attended. Nothing would stop my vengeance. Those seven little men were there, too, and the girl looked so happy… I hated her more than ever. No one should be fairer than I. The jealousy within all but choked me, yet I endured. Death I would not submit to until that wench was dead.

         When the festivities were over, I crept up to the girl’s chamber, where she slept with her newly wedded husband. Can you picture it, Mother? How much I loathed to see them happy and without any cares? It forged in me a hatred, a bitterness, that has never been equaled. I, a queen in my own right, snuck through the darkened halls like a common assassin, and no one beheld me. The girl never woke. A dagger through her heart could not be undone. I killed her prince as well, severed his head, before he could save her. Murder is not new to me, though you know this.

         Oh, you can imagine how those seven dwarves chased after me, howling for revenge. I led them to my own castle. It was their mistake to follow, the fools. I laughed as I ordered my soldiers to riddle them with bolts from a thousand crossbows. My men obeyed, and when I approached the twitching carcasses, they were hardly recognizable. Revenge is a sweet wine that sours all too soon.

         Perhaps it was a mistake to kill them all. No. Once more in hindsight, I'm so bitter and lonely that I simply have no more wish for life. I may now be the fairest of the fair, but there is no joy or satisfaction in that any longer. My husband turned against me when he learned what I had done, and I had no strength to kill him as well. Yes, that it the truth. I have no wish to continue this life, so I let my husband deliver me to the prince's father, I let his guards arrest me, I let the law try and condemn me. I will let them kill me. I have my one wish, to be the fairest in the land. There is no point in living longer, when another might come and usurp my beauty.

         I've little doubt there will be celebrations upon my demise, perhaps also from you? I have no pretense of regret. I would do it all again. History may look on me with mocking, with contempt—let them portray me as an evil queen. I care not.

         Do not think that if you had been more caring, more supportive, I would have been a different woman. Mother, you did all you could, my own choices led me down this path. I have no one to blame but myself.

         It chokes me to say it, Mother, but I think that deep in my black heart, I do still care for you. I wished to impress you when younger, so I married a king, and that led to folly. I sought to shame you when older, when I used my position as queen to take your lands and send you into exile. Please know I'm sorry. You see? Tears now seek to smear the ink of my pen. I doubt you will forgive me, but I ask it of you nevertheless. In my last days, I wish I could have reconciled with you earlier.

         I hope with my death you will feel some peace, if there is indeed any turmoil in your heart about me. I hope you are well, I hope you have found peace and a satisfactory life. I have no more to say.

         Good-bye, Mother.

~ Her Former Majesty the Queen, Your Daughter