"This will do," she said. It would have to do. As they were, freezing was an inevitability. Cinderella could already feel the ache of it in her fingers
where they wrapped around the dagger's hilt, the numbness of it in her feet. "Take off your dress."
Looking to her with a hint of mischief, Rapunzel did as she was asked, releasing Cinderella to work apart the frozen closures, and Cinderella dropped the
dagger at her feet, returning to the cave's entrance to gather her arms full of hard-packed snow, which she dropped in a pile between them before working
the absurd number of clasps and ties on her own garment.
Half-frozen dresses removed, they washed their hair and skin in the rapidly-melting snow, and Cinderella took off the first clean layer from beneath her
gown, and then another, feeling blessed, for once, that she had been dressed for occasion rather than function and had so many unsoiled layers to spare.
Settling Rapunzel amongst the excess pieces, made suddenly vital to their survival, Cinderella tugged a slip around Rapunzel's shoulders and returned to
their dresses in her chemise, cleaning them with the haste of one who had spent a lifetime tending to the clothing of others, and hanging them from
protrusions in the rock wall, hoping they would dry instead of freezing solid.
When she returned to the makeshift bedding, dagger placed within reach, Cinderella was pulled between the layers of her dress with Rapunzel, the chilled
skin that pressed against her own warming on contact, until, for the first time since they had entered the new kingdom, she knew comfort.
"Now what?" Rapunzel asked, breath heating the exposed skin of Cinderella's throat.
"Now, we wait," Cinderella replied, temperature further rising as Rapunzel's leg slid between her own, until the cave felt almost stifling.
"However will we pass the time?" Rapunzel questioned, fingers gently checking the wound at Cinderella's side, though she sounded as if she had the answer.
"By trying to keep warm." Cinderella tried to retain sense, but found it as fleeting as always in Rapunzel's presence.
"I can think of no better way," Rapunzel smiled, and Cinderella tried to return it, but she felt the smile catch in her throat, choking her with worry.
"Are you sorry you came with me?" she asked, and Rapunzel looked momentarily stunned by the question.
Wet hair tickling Cinderella's chest as she shook her head, Rapunzel's smile edged away. "No," she returned. "Should I be?"
"I do not know," Cinderella replied honestly. "I do not know where to go. I do not know where we might find food or proper shelter."
"We will," Rapunzel said simply.
"I'm scared," Cinderella confessed with reservation, for it was the kind of thing she had learned never to admit. Her stepmother and stepsisters had always
been so quick to jump at her weaknesses.
"I am not." Rapunzel's breath was hot on Cinderella's lips before she kissed her firmly, leaving no room for other thoughts to invade the space between
them.
Some things, Cinderella had discovered, required no instruction, or else there were things within those books Rapunzel had never read to her, for Rapunzel
always seemed to know exactly what to do to make Cinderella forget most everything, bad memories of the past and fears of the future.
Even with the world so unfamiliar and full of potential hazards, Cinderella forgot where they were, all she did not know, and knew only the feel of
Rapunzel's teeth scraping against her neck, of Rapunzel's hand slipping beneath the hem of her chemise to move slowly up her leg and steal her breath with
a single caress.
Yes, Cinderella thought, though it might have been out loud, surrendering to Rapunzel's intimate occupation. The touch of another could be good, and
knowing such touches existed, it made even less sense that anyone would waste time on those touches meant to cause pain.
Forcing her eyes open as Rapunzel pulled back from her, Cinderella stared into blue depths, breath catching as she realized it was not Rapunzel's touch
alone that was so different than anything she had known before it.
"Why do you look at me as you do?" she questioned, trailing off on a broken moan when Rapunzel's touch moved deeper inside her, as deep as anyone had ever
been, yet never quite deep enough.
"How do I look at you?" Rapunzel returned.
Touch never ceasing, Cinderella thought it cruel she was expected to respond. "As if you..." she breathed. "As if you see something amazing."
"Because I do," Rapunzel declared, lips dropping to Cinderella's jaw and trailing to her ear, her sweet breath blowing gentle across it. "I see you."
Cinderella could say nothing in return. Grasping Rapunzel's shoulder, she felt the heavens pull at her, trying to wrench her from the mortal world, and she
floated within their ecstasy for an extended moment before falling back against layers of silk and cotton.
The Earth that should have been still beneath her as she returned to its plane continued to move, and Cinderella pressed her eyes open to find Rapunzel
looking around in genuine surprise. Beside them, Cinderella's gown fell from its rock hook to land upon the cave floor, and, deeper within the cave, the
sound of stones crashed, as they held onto each other until the shaking finally stopped.
"What was that?" Rapunzel questioned, but, without answer, Cinderella could only shake her head. "Did we do that?"
"No," Cinderella returned uneasily. "I am certain we did not."
Cave settling back into dormancy, Cinderella heard another noise, softer, but far more frightening in its proximity. Glancing toward the depths of the
curving corridor, she watched orange eyes appear around the bend in the rock, a deep growl rumbling through the large, hulking body of a wolf as it slunk
into view. Equal in size to the two of them together, the animal licked its lips, and Rapunzel gasped against her.
"Do not move," Cinderella breathed, sliding her arm before Rapunzel as she felt the rock beside her for the dagger, finally finding its handle and raising
it before them, knowing it would be of little use if the creature truly wanted a winter's meal.
With a notable lack of interest, as if it had only been woken from a nap to which it would rather get back, the wolf turned and padded into the darkness of
the cave once more, and Cinderella's arm dropped weakly to her side.
"We cannot stay here," she uttered, jumping to her feet at once and blinking in confusion as she swept her gown from the cave floor and found it already
dry.
Queen Ino could depend on no one else. It was a hard lesson learned long before, but one she should have continued to heed. If she could not count on
another to take care of her Snow White problem, she would take care of the girl herself.
It was atop the last of the seven mountains that separated her from Snow White that she felt the quaking of the Earth. Feet giving way beneath her, she
felt fear for the first time since she left the castle as she slipped down the icy embankment, at last clinging to the trunk of a thin tree and staring at
the precipitous drop beneath her feet.
When the shaking settled, the queen clawed her way back up to the mountain path, the feel of cold death at her back, and sunk down in the frozen terrain,
watching the trail to Snow White blink and vanish, magic undone by the unexpected force of nature.
It was a sign, she thought. She should go back, return to the castle, leave Snow White to her existence, for, despite the huntsman's assurances, she knew
the girl still existed, had known it, and her magic had proven it as fact.
Winds kicking up, the queen could sense her ancestors amongst the spirits that swirled amidst the falling snow. Where she left them was not far. These were
the very mountains she had fled, vowing never to return, never to be one of them. That desire lingering, she did not know which way to go.
At the castle, as she painted her face into that of an old peasant, as she gave her blood to find Snow White's whereabouts, the way looked clear and true.
Now, the path solid beneath her, looked increasingly hazy.
Trust the blood
, she heard the wind whisper, and Queen Ino rose to her feet.
Hand flipping back her cloak, she pulled the dagger from beneath her skirts and pricked her finger with its tip, watching two drops fall onto the air and
streak outward to guide her, not backward to the castle, but onward to Snow White.
S
now White had not had a proper night's sleep since her first night in the little cottage.
An hour after her mother left the world again, there had been no tears left to cry. Pushing her weary body from the dirt floor, Snow White had searched for
something to restore her strength, finding nuts and a hard drink that burned her throat with other foodstuffs in a chest by the stove, and sat down at the
long oak table in the center of the room to eat.
The first sign that things were not as she was used to them was the long fall into the chair that left her knees nearly as high as her chin. Glancing
around from her awkward position, Snow White noted the place was no more than a single room, but quite generous of both length and width, making up for
that which it lacked in height. Where the roof came down to meet the walls at the edges, she would not be able to stand without a hunch, and, at the
middle, the ceiling sat only inches from her head. Reaching up, she would be able to put her hand flat against it.
A loft split the taller back wall into an upper and lower half, and Snow White had only to stand to see that the space above overflowed with tools and
fresh pieces of wood and piles of objects she could not quite make out. Below, the fire had gone untended in the hearth for several hours and was close to
sputtering out, so, as she had finished her meal, she had risen to stoke it, filling the room with gentle warmth, before turning to the row of beds along
one wall. Seven, she counted, equally spaced.
It was a charming little cottage, if a bit modest, and she thought it would serve her well for a night's rest. Giving way to her exhaustion, she crawled
into the bed nearest the fire, pulling her knees up to fit, and drifted into restless slumber.
When she had awoken hours later, it was to the sound of sharp voices and a hand trying to slip up her dress. Sitting abruptly, Snow White pushed the fabric
back down her legs and looked about in shock at the half-size men surrounding her. If she had given thought to it, she might have recognized the place as
belonging to dwarves, but having never seen a dwarf in person, she had felt as if she was still lost in dream. At least, until a large wooden spoon poked
her sharply in the stomach, and then again a second time, as if the little man who held it was checking her contents.
"Stop that," she had scolded the man, watching the lot of them rear back, the one with the spoon darting behind the back of another.
Taking some solace in the fact that they seemed more frightened of her than she was of them, and that, sitting up in the bed, she was taller than the
dwarves were standing, Snow White gave a tentative smile as she looked around at their adorably cranky faces for the first time.
"Who are you?" the one who wore the testiest expression of all had asked.
Not used to going unrecognized, Snow White did not know that she liked it. "Who are you?" she countered.
"Who are we?" Another dwarf stepped forward with a scowl. "This is our house. Our house!"
Remembering she was no longer in the village, where she was well-regarded and treated with deference, it occurred to Snow White she was, in fact, a
trespasser upon them. "I am sorry," she said sincerely. "My name is Snow White."
The announcement of her name, able to bow the entire populace within the Aulis walls, had no effect on the dwarves.
"All right then," the scowling dwarf returned. "Now get out."
"Please," Snow White uttered at once, looking toward the window where night was still deep. "I do not have anywhere else to go. I was lost in the forest. A
ghoul was after me."
The dwarves moving closer as she spoke, Snow White felt the soft poke of the spoon against her foot once more.
"Not our problem!" one shouted from amongst them.
"I do not mean any harm. Please." She felt a poke against her knee. "My stepmother wants me dead." A poke against her thigh. "I cannot go back." The spoon
poked hard into her hip, and Snow White yelped. "Would you please stop that?" she snapped, snatching the spoon from the dwarf's hand, and the others backed
away again.
"No, no," the dwarf who looked the oldest had given a sharp shake of his head, his long white beard sweeping from side to side. "You cannot stay here."
"Please," Snow White begged.
"The tall folk have not been kind to us," he stated. "You cannot be trusted."
"I will not hurt you," Snow White assured him. "Please, I have no one else."
"When you find others like you, you will betray us if need be," the old dwarf declared.
"No," Snow White promised, wondering what cause he had to think such a thing. "I have been betrayed. I would never..."
"You cannot be trusted," the old dwarf had put an abrupt end to her plea, motioning for the dwarves to part, and they had made a path for Snow White to the
door.
Throat raw and sore from cold and crying, Snow White's emotions welled again, and the dwarves looked upon her as if she was the ghoul from the forest.
"Aww, she's gonna burst all over," one declared.
"Not in here," the old one demanded. "You take your lady-cries right out in the snow."
"No lady-cries!" the dwarves shouted over each other. "No lady-cries!"
Blurry eyes going to the spoon in her hand, Snow White grasped it with all her might. "I can cook," she thought to say, withholding the tears.
"Cook, you say?" The old one turned back to her with sudden interest. "Clean?"
Snow white nodded.
"Sew?"
She nodded again.
Though he glanced to the others, and a few heads shook aggressively in response, Snow White got the distinct impression the decision was up to the old one,
and sighed with relief when he at last gave a nod.