Snow White, Part 2

Who is she? They all asked. This fancy maiden, bloodied and dirtied, who appeared in their kitchen? Finding no answer, they carried her to the small couch in the room off the kitchen, and laid her on it. They cut off the sleeve of her gown, cleaned and wrapped her wounded arm in bandages. They covered her with a blanket, and watched over her while they made supper. They stayed the night downstairs, waiting for signs that she was alright. They woke early and quietly set about making breakfast, checking on her periodically.


She could barely open her eyes, they felt so heavy. Her face was on a soft, goose down pillow. I am home in my bed, I am home in my bed, but she knew it wasn’t true. Her pillows were softer at home, and why was her arm bandaged? She remembered, and her eyes flew open with a cry. She looked around her and took in the miniature chairs, the miniature table, the miniature house.

There was no one in the house at present, but she knew they had been here, for there were dirty dishes in the sink, and her wound was bandaged and washed. She had no memory of walking to the couch, either, so her tenders must have done that as well.

Her arm ached, but for the most part, her pain was minimal. Slowly, carefully, she sat up on the couch. The room circled repeatedly to the left, twirling over onto itself and turning her sight to a blur. Finally the dizziness receded, and she felt average, almost. She put her uninjured right arm on the side of the couch, hoisted herself to her feet, and immediately regretted it.

White-hot pain trilled up her arm, and into her head. The floor rushed up to meet her as she fell again into painful blackness.


She woke up a few hours later, sweating from the pain in her head and arm, unable to get up, unable to move.

That was how they found her, sweating and shivering from pain, not moving, just lying there on the floor.

There were four of them: Juan, Rupert, Ethan, and Aden, and they were each about four feet tall. Walking in today was reminiscent of the day before, with her on the ground. They helped her back onto the couch.

“I’m sorry we left you today,” Aden said. “But our businesses aren’t doing so well, and none of us could afford to take a day off. I’ll stay with you tomorrow. I’ll not leave you again.”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispered.

“Think nuthin’ of it, lady,” Rupert replied. “It was the least we could do, m’dear. You were getting’ blood all over this here floor.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Nuthin’ ta be sorry ‘bout, dear. But I ‘spect ya won’t be feelin’ too well for a day or so. So just sit on this here couch and you’ll be fine.”

Rupert had dark brown hair and green eyes with flecks of amber in them. He was rail thin with lots of lean muscle and seemed to be the eldest.

“Well, it’s late enough,” said Juan. “Let’s get supper on the table.” The dwarves busied themselves with preparing the meal. Soon enough, five plates filled with boiled potatoes and cooked rabbit were served. She sat up on the couch and Aden handed her a plate of food, then sat next to her. Rupert claimed the chair, and Ethan and Juan took the floor.

“Are you feeling well enough?” Aden asked anxiously.

“I feel quite well, thank you.” She had started picking at her food disinterestedly, not in the mood to eat at all.

“We’ve given all of our names,” Ethan said. “But what should we call you? This is the first time you’ve been awake enough to tell us.”

“You may call me what you wish. Who I was, no longer matches who I am.” She curled her feet under her and shivered.

Aden put his plate of food down. “Would you be wanting to tell us about that? Would it help your hurt go away?”

She looked off into nowhere, into a place that they could neither see nor hear, and weren’t sure they wanted to. “Not today, no.”

Aden picked up his plate of food again and returned to eating. “We must call you something, surely. Well lads, what do you think?”

They all thought for a moment, then Rupert said, “How ‘bout Snow White, on account’a her skin’s white as a new fallen snow.”

Aden nodded. “It’s perfect. Is it good for you?”

She nodded as well. “Any name other than the one I had is good for me.”

“That’s a fine name, Snow White,” said Juan, nodding his head so his ear-length black hair flopped around his mocha-colored skin.

“May I know about you, my saviors?”

“Of course, Snow White,” said Aden. “I am a carpenter down at the village a few miles away. Juan is a jeweler, Ethan is a potter, and Rupert is a blacksmith. Do you have a profession?”

“I do not, but many times I have painted a pot or watercolor for a birthday gift. Recreationally, of course, but I do love it so. Although I have never tried to sell them. I prefer to give them to those who are worth it. Where I come from, there are few. There are those who would want it for something other than its beauty, and that I do not wish to happen.” A painting by the princess of the realm would have created a chaotic boasting.

“Perhaps you would like to sell a few at the market. I am certain no one here would overlook their beauty.” Aden turned his melted-chocolate gaze in her direction.

She looked down, away from those oh-so-honest eyes. “I would sell them there, but I do not wish to return to where people may see me. It . . . would not feel right.” Panic rose to the back of her throat at the very thought of talking pleasantries to someone unknown.

“Why is that, Snow White?” asked Juan, somewhat bitterly. “Why waste your beauty here with us?”

She looked at him carefully. “I do not believe my beauty is wasted. And if it is, a good riddance to it. I no longer have need of it, and I no longer wish for something to come of it.”

“As you wish, Snow White.” Aden got up, and carried her untouched plate to the kitchen.


Snow White awoke the next morning, far before dawn, hungry and feeling better than she had since he had . . .

She sat up, listening to the muffled house, straining to hear a whisper in the dusky silence. Hearing nothing, she carefully stood and, feeling no dizziness and only a slight twinge in her injured left arm, started to shuffle quietly to the kitchen. Halfway through her effort, a rough hand from nowhere gripped her forearm tightly.

She gasped and dropped herself to the floor, covered her face with her arms and curled her body into a tight ball. Someone was whimpering “Please don’t, please don’t” and it was she.

A hand combed itself through her hair, settling protectively on the nape of her neck. “I won’t let you be hurt,” said a softly smooth voice. Aden combed his hand through her hair again, separating the thick silk strands. Her whispering had stopped, but she was still curled up in a tight ball. He started rubbing her back in small circles, and talked comfortingly to her until she had uncurled herself, and was lying face down on the cool, wood floor. He kept rubbing her back, and laid his head next to hers. “Do you want to talk about it, Snow White?”

She was silent for a log time, so long that he thought she may not speak at all. But she told her story. “I was asked to take a quiet walk into the woods with one of my father’s huntsmen. He was kind and gentle to me, asking me about what I was wearing to . . . somewhere. When we got far away, he attacked me.” Her hushed voice got even lower. “He said . . . he said that my stepmother–a kind, loving woman–had asked him to ‘dispose’ of me.” Her voice quivered, and she started to cry softly. “We–we had always gotten along really well, friends since her age was only a few years beyond mine. I ran. He came after me again, and I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what to do. He got in front of me, and I threw a rock him, and ran. I ran until I couldn’t anymore, and I came to here . . . I’m sorry,” she said, letting out a sob. “But I can’t go back, not when she wants me dead.” Her sobs got thicker.

He combed his hand through her hair until she grew quiet once more. “It’s alright,” he whispered softly. “You don’t have to return if you don’t wish to. You may stay here, if you like.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. After a while she whispered. “What were you doing here, Aden?”

He looked at her carefully in the almost-light. “I was here to keep you safe through the night, in case . . . anything was to come.”

“Thank you for watching after me. I ...I don’t know what I would have done if he . . .” She stopped, choking back a sob.

He rested his hand on the side of her face. “Do not fear. I will keep you safe.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” she whispered, her eyes dripping.

They lay in silence a while before Aden said, “The others will be up soon, I fear. Perhaps we should start breakfast.” But he didn’t move.

“The others–please don’t tell them about what I said.” There was a note of hysteria in her voice, and she flew up to one elbow. “I–”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “Your secret is safe with me.”


An hour later, Snow White and the dwarves were sitting around the couch. Aden had made breakfast with Snow White looking on, for she knew nothing of cooking.

“I am going to my studio today,” said Ethan. “As Rupert’s going to his forge and Juan to his separate forge. But Aden will accompany you today. If you have needs, do not be afraid to ask.”

“I will be sure to ask if there is anything I need.” Snow White gathered all the plates and took them to the sink. She poured the water to wash them into the stopped sink. She had watched Juan do them last night, and it hadn’t seemed so hard then. After the three had left, Aden came and dried the dishes with a worn blue towel. “I am thinking that today I will carve you a chair, so we may all eat at the table once more. I have a piece of oak that I have been wanting to create something out of. It will be perfect. I will need to measure you for it though, for I want to make an individual fit.”

He led the way to a workroom attached to the house. He explained why get had gotten the workroom attached to the house on the way: Ethan needed to be closer to the river so as to get clay, and Rupert needed to be closer to firewood for his forge, as did Juan. The wood near the house was too fine to be used as firewood. Aden pushed back a wood block that served as a lock, and walked in. He proudly waved her into his workroom.

There was wood everywhere. Fine-grained and rough, sturdy oak and cedar, beautiful ash and mahogany. A colorful array of paints stood against one wall, while carving and cutting tools occupied the other. There was a small stool next to a cutting bench, and an area that must have been for carving; there were curls and chips of wood scattered on the ground.

“It’s beautiful.” And it was. There was something about this room, this well-loved golden warm room that was like a whisper in the dark; comforting, quieting, surprising. As though it had been soaking up all of the long, silent, careful hours he had worked; the patient ticking of the clock in the corner.

“I’m glad you like it.” He led her over to one of the wood stacks and showed her a large block of oak. “I plan to carve it straight out of this. I will be wanting a measure of you first, though.” He unrolled a worn knotted rope, frayed from use, and started measuring her from heel to knee, knees to high thigh, and hip bone to shoulder blades. He wrote all the measurements on a scrap piece of wood with charcoal. “There is no need for you to wait while it is being completed. You may wander, or, if you wish, paint on the plywood there in the corner. I know you said you like to paint.”

“I would love that,” Snow White said, elated. Aden smiled and handed her a medium piece of plywood, and let her choose her colors and her brushes.

He carried her paints and plywood as she ran to get a chair from the kitchen. He set her materials on the ground, and filled up a cup with water and soap. After she was settled, he returned to his workroom to carve. He left the door open and watched her as she started a few strokes.

Hours later, Aden came out of his workroom to make lunch for Snow White and himself. Snow White was sitting on the ground now, painting details with a tiny brush. “How’s it going?” he asked.

She smiled up at him. “Wonderfully. I had forgotten how much I love to paint with acrylics. Mostly I used watercolor. How is the chair coming along?”

“Very well. I should have it done late tonight or early tomorrow. What are you painting?” He sat down and leaned over her shoulder to see.

“The forest.” The painting was filled with tall, dark trees casting even darker shadows. Golden sunlight poured through the leaves, turning them into a vibrant, brilliant green. There was a red tinge to the light, casting an artful tint over the entirety of the picture.

“It is . . .beautiful.” He looked up at her, wrenching his gaze from her scene. “How did you ever learn to paint like this?”

She blushed and shrugged. “I just–paint. I’ve done it for so very long, I don’t really think about how I’m doing it, or how I learned to do it.”

“However you do it, I congratulate you. Now, you know, I must insist that you sell some of this at the village, regardless of whether you make an appearance. I cannot believe you’ve kept others from this beauty for so long. In fact, I would be honored if you painted a piece of mine, a chair, maybe.”

She looked down. “Thank you, but I’m not sure I want to release any of this to the public, now. Perhaps later, but now, I don’t think so.”

“Snow White,” he whispered. “How could he find you here, in the middle of the forest, in the middle of nowhere?” She just shook her head. He sighed sorrowfully. “Well, if you don’t feel comfortable doing it, then it will not be done. I do wish that you would paint something of mine, whether it go to the market or not.” She nodded. “Well then, I will go get lunch ready. If you’re done here, you may help me, if you like.”

“I . . .I don’t know how to cook.”

He looked at her, astonished. “Not know how to cook? Then how do you eat? Who does your cooking for you?”

“Well . . .others.” She looked down. How had she come this far without learning? How could she have lived only knowing how to embroider, paint, and eat properly? How could she have not learned anything useful, living for nineteen years?

“No matter, I’ll teach you, if you like.” But he wondered. He wondered where she had come from, where even the woman need not cook. Where she dressed in silk and frills; where she had never washed a dish.


They ate a lunch of stew and bread. After their meal and the washing of dishes, each went back to their tasks, Aden constantly looking out his door to make sure she was safe.

That night, when the dwarves came home, Snow White put her plywood and paints away without showing the others. Aden left that to her; if she didn’t want to show the rest of them her talent, that was her decision.

After dinner, they sat in the room off the kitchen. Snow White curled her feet up under her, with Aden sitting opposite her on the couch. They were supposed to be talking, but no one could find anything to talk about; each person’s day had been told over supper. Snow White broke the silence. “I painted a block of wood today. I was wondering if I could paint something different tomorrow . . .Perhaps one of your chairs, or a cabinet, or a chest. If it is okay with you, that is.”

“If all you wish to do is add beauty to our home, how could we oppose?” asked Ethan.

“Yes, we would be wantin’ your beauty inside this house. You said you painted today. May we see it, or would you be not wantin’ ta show us?” Rupert asked.

“It would be fine with me,” she said, and left the room with a swish of skirts.

The night was a cool darkness opposed to the house. Silence settled around her, more an oppression than a comfort. Fear drilled through her stomach at the sudden thought that it was dark, and she was very, very alone. She froze halfway to the workshop, too scared to move, too scared at the thought that he might be out there, right now, and she would never see him in time. Her footsteps could have given her away already . . .he could be hunting her now, surrounded in the cover of darkness, sneaking around her.

Her eyes flitted from side to side, trying to see behind the darkness without moving. Her breath came in short pants of fear, magnifying the quiet. Was that a rustle to the right? Was He really out there, could he be? That sound to her left, that crunch, was that him? Her heart was beating wildly, convincing her that he could find her by that alone. He was out there, waiting for her. Waiting for her, waiting for her . . .

“Snow White?”

She whirled around, letting out a muffled shriek, so scared that tears had worked their way into her eyes. They blurred her vision, and she fell on the ground, hard. When her eyes cleared He was kneeling over her. She let out a scream, and scrambled back from Him. “Please go away, please go away” she was whimpering.

“Snow White, Snow White, listen to me. I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. Do you hear me? I would never hurt you.”

She stopped whimpering and squinted her eyes open just enough to look at him. It was Aden. It wasn’t Him. It was Aden, it was safe. Safe.

That word penetrated through her fear, and she clutched at Aden, crying. She whispered, “I was so frightened.” Her back wracked with sobs of relief. He held her and comforted her until she quieted.

It was then that he made the vow. A vow to himself that he would do all he could to protect her. To keep that panic-stricken fear out of her voice, to keep her eyes from the rides of pain they were put through. He didn’t know how anyone could reduce such a strong girl into a whimpering mess, but he vowed that he would not let it happen again.

Aden brought her wood out from the workroom, holding onto her as he did so, so she could not disappear into the night. He walked with her into the house, not letting go until she was seated safely on the couch. He carefully overturned the plywood, and showed it to the others.

Autumn skies lit up the top of the painting, glancing through the sun-kissed trees. Emerald glinted off of the leaves; golds and greens and blues and that tinge of red sparked to life in the little well-lit room.

All four of them were incapable of speech, Aden for the second time that day. Finally, Rupert said, “I can’t believe you were wantin’ ta ask whether you could paint for us. We should be beggin’ ya.”

“It is . . .amazing.” Ethan shook his head. “I mean, I don’t have an adjective great enough for this.”

“It’s very beautiful,” said Juan. “I cannot believe you can do this. It is a rare talent to possess such beauty inside oneself.”

“You are all too kind,” she said, a slow blush creeping over her pallor.

“Well, I’d be honored if you’d paint my chair,” said Rupert.

“And mine as well,” said Juan.

“Please, help yourself to mine. I do not think that anyone would protest if I said you may help yourself to any wood in the house, including the walls.” Ethan looked around for agreement, and met it from all.

“Thank you, all of you. Now, I am very tired. Is it possible for us to retire now?” She yawned, covering her mouth gently.

“It is far time to retire to bed.” The three dwarves went to bed, and Aden took his blanket and pillow to the chair beside her.


The next night, Snow White helped Aden cook dinner, peeling and chopping the onions for the stew, and setting the table. Aden had told her that if she kept a candle going while she chopped, the onions wouldn’t make her eyes tear. Slowly she was learning the basics of cooking.

That night, sitting in the room off of the kitchen with the dwarves, she showed them what she had created that day. It was Juan’s chair. Hidden beneath the table as they ate in the room they now sat in, it had stayed a secret. On the seat of his chair strode a leopard. A wild, feral look ran through his eyes and the line of his body. His muscles bunched under his skin, ready for anything, ready to pounce. He locked secrets in those eyes. He locked many, many secrets, and he wasn’t sure how many he could let out.

They were all breathless for a moment, looking at this masterpiece, the power of the leopard, the wild of the jungle behind him. Finally Juan spoke. “It is beautiful. It has to be the most beautiful painting I have seen in my entire life. I do not understand how you can put that . . .potency into a painting. You are . . .amazing.” And he smiled at her, the first time he ever had in her presence.


The remainder of the week passed quickly, Snow White painting during the day and learning to cook at night. She had almost run out of things to paint; she had painted all of their chairs. Along Aden’s seat ran a stag on a moonlit night, its dark eyes portraying a mystery and an intelligence not known to stags. Tree leaves and moon vines spiraled up the back poles. Rupert’s held an emerald roaring dragon; his scales gleamed in the sunlight, deflecting different colored lights, icy hot fire flaming from his mouth up the stalks of the back. Ethan’s held a wolf, howling to the moon, his eyes glowing like little moons reflecting the brilliance of the sun. His furred tail scurried up one back pole, while the night trees occupied the other two. The cabinet offered ornate red and orange flowers that flowed gracefully over the pale wood. On the bottom of the table (which no one could see, but made the house feel more beautiful) was a faerie. She was perfection; from her riotous red-purple locks to her wild lavender eyes, she was by far the best painting in the house. Her wings were curved and an electric blue; sparks of glitter sprang off of them, shooting into the air around her, dazzling the onlookers, and spraying the air with a mystery that only she could answer to, and only she knew. Her eyes smoothed out her reactor appearance; they were gently amplifying, glowing with their own inner light and shining through her masquerade of shimmering air.

Her pictures may have shown a great beauty and wonder, but Aden saw beneath them. He saw the trapped, caged look in the leopard’s eyes, although he was free. He saw the panicked fear in the eyes of the stag. He saw the darkness of the night, the fright, behind the wolves. He saw that in the fire of the dragon, there was a face, a man’s face, burning, blazing. He saw the look in the faerie’s eyes; they were sorrowful, as though she had seen things many had not, and weren’t sure they wanted to. They looked . . .betrayed.

View the next chapter: "Snow White, Part 3"