Fairest of Them All

The tall woman stood at the window, looking down at the crowd below. For the second day, a motley assortment of creatures had gathered outside the castle gates, marching, carrying placards. The odd chant wafted up on the breeze to her.

Pursing her lips, she strode to the other end of the room where a mirror was propped against the wall. She stood before it, examining herself. Lush curves, glossy tresses - she was still beautiful. The old king had married her within days of meeting her, hadn’t he? God rest his stupid soul.

“But this? This is ridiculous,” she said aloud to her reflection, gesturing at the window. “There are pigs down there blubbering about regulations for construction. Pigs! And She’s down there too, moaning about unfair beauty standards. How dare She!”

Tendrils of mist crept around the mirror as she spoke and a face coalesced in its depths, replacing her own visage. A voice - a poisonous confidant - whispered in her ear, “Snow White, O Queen, is Fairest of Them All.”

The Queen blinked.

“Oh shut up,” she said. And turning away, she stormed down the stairs into the dungeons. Two days of this incessant protesting - whining, really - was two too many. She would put an end to it.

An hour later, a ragged hag, bent with the weight of her years, approached the folk outside the castle. She carried a basket full of luscious, crisp apples that begged to be bitten into. It had worked before, hadn’t it?

Well, almost. 

This time, the poison was more potent, more devious - a delayed effect to avoid suspicion. Years it had taken to develop. Years! But it was ready now. By the end of the day, The Girl – Her skin fair as snow, Her hair black as ebony, Her lips red as rosebuds, Fairest of Them All - would be dead. All these other noisy loiterers too. And then, finally - finally! - the mirror would have happier things to say again.

She joined the crowd. The protesters, busy chanting their slogans and discussing their agendas, barely noticed her as she shuffled amongst them. As she searched the crowd for The Girl, a child in a scarlet cloak walked up to her. “Old Mother, can I talk to you about something important? Criminals are running amok! Why, my own grandmother had a run-in with an unsavoury character! If not for my keen observations and a kind woodcutter, things would have ended badly for Mee-maw. Our Queen must assemble a security force to protect the citizenry. Don’t you agree, Old Mother?”

The Queen stared at the child. Her court was always filled with people begging for justice. If fewer people came to bother her, she would have more time to work on her complexion, wouldn’t she? A security force was a fair ask. “I suppose the Queen should do something, lass,” she replied. She wouldn’t give this child an apple. 

Right. The Girl.

As she stepped forward, some house elves accosted her. “Mother, you look like you could use new shoes. But did you know the Shoemaker had us working all night, every night in return for a few clothes? Slave-driver! So no new shoes for anyone now! The Queen must pass a Fair Wage ruling. Fair wages for all! Fair wages for all!” So chanting, the elves moved on in a flurry of wings and squeals, leaving behind a very thoughtful old woman. 

No new shoes? How could she look her best without good shoes? A fair wage for all made sense. No apples for those elves either.

Intrigued now, the Queen made her way around the crowd, talking, listening, asking questions. So many interesting views. Like the man who stopped playing that haunting tune on his pipe to tell her about fair contract laws. Or the family of bears discussing the Castle Doctrine. Or the poor wee mite selling matchsticks who wanted a social safety net.

None of these folks deserved her apples, did they? There was a lot she needed to think about.

Pocketing a single fruit, she hailed a passing Fairy Godmother. A mean witch had poisoned her apples and they needed fixing, please. The wave of a magic wand later, cries of delight rang out as bottles of sweet apple cider were passed out from her basket. 

She was smiling upon the festivities when, right there, amidst the revellers, she spotted Her.

She stood awhile watching The Girl, She who was born Fairest of Them All. It had all come so easily to Her - no corsets, no schemes, no impotent husbands. Even true love had fallen in Her lap. Born fairest. The Queen’s fingers dug into the apple. It wasn’t fair.

The girl with the matches walked past and the Queen’s eyes followed her, taking in the child’s frail arms, her feeble steps. But what was fairness, anyway? Did she even know anymore? Fair and unfair. Fair and fairest. Nothing made sense. She needed to get away. The Girl could wait. She needed to think.

And so, the old woman, an apple clutched in her hand, hobbled slowly back towards the Queen’s castle. 

Over the next few months, the kingdom saw a flurry of changes as the Queen worked to make things more fair for her subjects. For the first time, she was looking outside herself and she felt…free. She thought less and less about Her - there was so much to do, so many wrongs to right.

Then one day, she decided to visit the mirror. Old habits, she mused, ascending the tower, apple in hand. Just this once for old times’ sake? Then she’d go back to the council on fair wages for workers.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is Fairest of Them All?” she asked. She closed her eyes as the mists arose. Why was she doing this to herself?

“You, O Queen, are Fairest of Them All.”

The Queen’s eyes shot open. What? But The Girl wasn’t…

Oh.

OH.

Fairest.

She threw her head back and laughed. And wept. And then, Fairest of Them All, she walked over to the window, threw out that last apple, and went downstairs to re-join the council. There was work to be done.

And then? Why, she lived happily ever after, of course.

(NYCMidnight 2021 Flash Fiction Round 1 - 3rd Place)