SNOWRED

Snow eventually takes me to a lookout of his secret castle, a small but steep incline with many beautiful trees. From our place, I see the retreat and the workers maintaining the property, all of it in one snug little corner of nowhere.

Snow puts me down on my feet and I step away from him, while he holds his hands behind his back and rolls a small pebble into the dirt with his boot, rather relaxed.

When I glance at him sideways, Snow is watching me.

“It’s a nice view,” I state, quietly, “…you know… you were so…”

“Dare I say, speak up –?” Snow is quietly amused, but I quickly cut him off.

“Before all this. Rough. Mean. Nasty,” I turn to him, “Horrid and brutal. Therefore, I do not trust you entirely like this…” Snow isn’t fazed by my talk. He just shakes his head in denial and looks over his secret domain, the last slice of it, anyway, “…you were very… rough with me… you wanted my legs… remember?” I do quieten down and I see his ear twitch in annoyance.

“I was proposing your hand in marriage just before, Ellie,” Snow speaks blunt, head held high as he awaits the reality to sink into my thick skull.

I had no idea.

And now I have every idea.

Yet; none at all.

The heck?

“Why on earth –?” I ask it swift and angry.

Snow clearly doesn’t expect fury. He turns to me in stark disbelief, narrowing his eyes as he speaks bluntly, “I wanted to ravage you. Getting to know you, Ellie, I decided to be more courteous since you’re so… mildly grown. You act the child. You are only growing into a woman at your age. A late bloomer. You’re a virgin in so many ways more than physical. An innocent through and through. I decided; why would I ruin that, when I can make it special for you–”

“You thought you’d have a better chance getting into my under garments if you were sweet –?” I try not to scoff, but I do with my tone.

“Do you prefer a rough fuck, then, Ellie?” Snow can’t even look at me, he’s staring away, directing his fury elsewhere. He seems disappointed in something.

But I am – I am not sure what I feel, but, I feel that I – I feel – argh.

“You may be shocked to know this,” I just say all my insecurities at once, “But I do not want to marry you. I don’t even know you, proper,” the way he said he’d kill Barney if I asked him too, the way he burned my house, the way he killed mercilessly, and his murderous past, why, oh why, would I marry him? “…and what even happened to your first w –” wife and child. I catch myself just in time. Even I’m shocked at my own audacity, speaking every thought without thought of consequence until I see Snow stiffen completely with my turn in direction, “Oh! I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and then I turn and walk off, ashamed of my turn in language about his tragedy, even though I meant the truth in it. I was cruel to bring it up but – look, I could not marry him.

I don’t know what Snow feels, only that he is frozen stiff by my answer to his proposal.

Snow lets me run from him back to the castle.

We do not see each other again, until that night.

By then, our strange dynamic finally reaches a climax.

Dinner.

After spending all day cooped up in the green guestroom, I eventually agreed to be escorted by a butler to the dinner set for the castle household.

Everyone eats in a solemn silence. Everyone’s plate is filled but mine.

I sit in an awkward silence at one end, while Snow sits on the very far end opposite me, ripping into a rack of glistening ribs. He uses sprigs of herbs to clean his teeth, while he stares at me and I stare at him.

So, I was not to be fed? It seemed the servers were told to leave my plate empty.

Whence everyone else has been fed, the men and women of the upkeep of the castle eventually excuse themselves with a silent bow in Snow’s direction.

One by one by one, they all leave.

The table is cleared of food.

And I am left with an empty plate.

It is beyond rude not to feed a guest.

So, at this point, I can assume I am a guest no longer.

I do not break composure. I sit in an evening gown, plain and cream. My neck is covered. As is most of my skin, except for my head and my hands, “Snow. Do you hate me?” I ask once we are truly alone, I am genuinely worried about this, “I meant no offense earlier t–”

“Don’t lie. You meant every offense,” Snow watches me with that one ice blue eye, chilled and judgemental, “I want to know why you really declined my offer, Ellie,” his voice echoes in the small dining room, and I feel under interrogation.

“Because I barely know you –”

“That’s not why.”

I close my mouth. Snow wanted an emotional answer. A… the ‘real’ answer that made my gut flip.

“Well. Because… you are a legendary killer… you’re a monster,” I gulp, “But you are my friend –”

“There we have it, monster,” Snow picks apart my words like he picked apart his dinner, “Scaredy cat. Or a rabbit being hunted by the wolf. That is you, Ellie. Yet… you’re not on my plate, served for dinner,” Snow pushes his plate back from him and he stares from the scraps, to my frozen eyes, “So why hasn’t the monster you see me as, cut out your heart yet?” I do not answer that, “Tell me, Ellie –”

“Mm –”

“…and do not mumble,” Snow warns me while he picks up a candle and seems to consider the wax pooling at it’s base, giving me a moment’s break from his penetrating gaze.

Why hasn’t he cut out my heart?

“Friend,” I answer.

“Try again,” Snow smirks, lightly, until I see him tilt the candle and let the wax drip onto the back of his hand, he lets out a sssts of pain through his teeth and smiles brighter, “Perfect,” Snow twirls the candle and watches the wax wobble, while the burning liquid turns to a solid on his skin.

I gulp at that.

What the heck –

“Am I an unlikely ally?” I suggest, “Forged by unlikely events?”

“Ok, just stop, idiot,” Snow slams down the candle, but is careful not to spill the wax onto the table, “You are in need of a thorough splitting and an entire night of ownership, including some forms of torture; all for the purpose of…” Snow pauses and then answers me on a humoured note, “…enlightenment.”

I understand him, I think I do, but I am also falling back on what I know, which isn’t much to begin with.

“If I am not bride, nor friend nor ally… what am I again?” I blink.

“A woman –”

“What am I to you?” I try to redefine my question.

“A woman,” the same answer, as Snow starts twirling the candle again, collecting more wax.

“What are you thinking, Snow?” I ask, innocently.

“Are you that daft, girl… I speak of splitting you open, and you ask me what am I thinking? Instead of saying it, Ellie, I’d much rather show you,” Snow blinks from the candle, to me.

“But why did you pour hot wax onto yourself, Snow?” I murmur, still distracting from his big threats. He was always words. I try to ignore it when he does that. It’s a form of denial, but; okay, it was what it was.

“Testing the burn, sweetheart,” Snow answers politely, before he stands, candle in hand as his light source, I guess… and then he holds out his spare hand towards me, curling his fingers, “Come with me; it’s a King’s command, not a question.”

Still, I ignore all the pre-warnings.

“You’re dethroned,” I say as I stand and walk towards Snow, taking his hand, I add, “And there will be no splitting of any kind.”

“Oh, Ellie. Of course not, I was planning to read you some bed time stories and kiss you goodnight, my love,” Snow tugs me along.

Oh, that was rather – I say it.

“That is so sweet of you –” and I mean it.

Snow is taking me quickly on a walk out of the dining room, towards the stairs, but by the time I’ve replied, he speeds up so that I am left focusing on my steps, rather than my speech.

“Are you not hungry at all, Ellie? You were meant to beg me for dinner…” Snow adds on lightly as we head up the stairs, and I step two at a time to keep up.

“I know! That is why I didn’t beg you, I do not beg,” I squeeze his hand, smiling at him, “You really like that candle, Snow…–?”

Snow doesn’t answer me about the candle.

“You do not beg?” Snow guides me to his room, “Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

“Really?”

“Why would you ask so many times? I do not beg,” I turn to him as we reach his door and I step into his chest, genuinely annoyed I have to keep repeating myself, “Really,” I press a hand to his chest, “Really. Snow. I do not. Are you satisfied with my answer?” I speak loud, firm and confident.

While Snow holds his candle to the side, he uses his second hand to cup the side of my face, and he sweeps some hair off my cheek.

“You think I mean begging for mercy,” Snow murmurs, “Ellie. The kind of begging a woman does is not… about mercy… it’s about desire for my approval, and for my skill as a man.”

I blink.

Skill as a man… he must… he must mean…

“Sticking your stick into a hole is barely a skill someone needs to learn, it can’t be that difficult to rut, I’ve seen the farm animals, and we’re animals, it’s no different,” I think I sound smart as I blurt all that out in one sentence, I even smile arrogantly, “I am not daft, Snow.”

But by this stage he is made speechless by my response.

Snow’s one eye skims over the top of my head to his bedroom door and he reaches an arm past me to push it open, before ushering me in, hand on my lower back.

I falsely assume his submission.

Really, I have no idea what I actually conjured in the moment, or leading up to this moment.

But it wasn’t a sweet bedtime story and then a kiss goodnight.

Nor was it dancing.

Nor flirting.

Nor anything tame or proper.

Nor was it a punishment.

For better or worse, I walked into a lesson.