“You may leave,” the Queen said to Verona with as much composure as she could gather.
Verona put her hands on the Queen’s shoulders.
“Please let me stay with you.”
“No, Verona, I need some time to myself.”
The moment Verona left the room the Queen felt the great weight of grief and anger. She could not breathe. Surely she wouldn’t survive this pain. One cannot hurt so profoundly and live on, she thought; it was unfathomable to spend the rest of her days in such agony, without her dearest love by her side.
It was better to die.
But then what of Snow White?
And how could she even face the child? Tell her such horrible news? It would crush her—clearly break her heart. The Queen stood up on weak knees, and, clutching the walls and railings, she made her way slowly down the stairs, which seemed to sway beneath her.
Out in the courtyard, Snow was sitting at the well. The Queen felt an unusually sharp pang upon seeing her now. Snow watched a little bluebird eat bread crumbs upon the well’s wall. She looked transfixed and in her own world, a world in which her father was away, but still alive.
The Queen was acutely aware that she would be changing this child’s life forever, shattering her world with a few words: your father is dead.
She played it in her mind as she approached the girl. Her daughter. She would now be all that Snow had in the world.
When she finally reached the child, she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud; if she did it would make it real, and she couldn’t face such a harsh reality. She wanted to be strong for Snow, but uttering such gut-wrenching words would cause her to break down completely.
So, she buried her grief deep within her. She choked on the words as she forced them from her throat.
“Snow, my sweet girl, my little bird, I have to tell you something.”
Snow looked up from the bluebird she was feeding and smiled at her mother. “Hello, Momma!” Snow said, smiling brightly.
The Queen struggled to remain composed as she took a seat next to the girl on the edge of the well. Snow White’s face brightened.
“Is it Papa? Is he coming home today? Can we have a party just like we did at the start of winter?”
“Little bird…” the Queen’s voice broke and trailed off.
“Momma, what’s wrong?”
The Queen shook her head, and closed her eyes tight to dam the tears.
Snow looked at her mother with sad, black eyes and said, “He’s not coming back yet, is he? Not now?”
The Queen shook her head. “Not ever.”
“I think maybe you’re wrong, Momma, he promised he would come home soon, and Papa never breaks his promises.”
The Queen’s grief intensified. She choked it down and felt it grip at her, slicing at her insides like pieces of glass. She felt broken, no longer able to contain her tears.
“I know, my poppet, but I’m not mistaken. He couldn’t help it, my darling, he isn’t coming home this time.”
The little girl’s lip quivered and she began to shake. The Queen held out her arms to her, and Snow White crumpled into her mother’s lap and howled an unearthly sob. The child was shaking so violently that the Queen felt she might crush the little girl for holding her too tightly. As she hugged Snow she wished to take the child’s grief and lock it away inside her with her own.
She was hopeless and helpless.
As she led Snow back to the castle she realized she was walking into another world altogether—a world that would be forever altered. She couldn’t imagine it. She felt lost, floating in a nightmare, numb and inhuman. She looked at herself in a mirror that hung in the grand hall, simply to remind herself she was still in the world. All of this felt as if it couldn’t be happening. And yet, it was.
Verona appeared at the end of the hall, distraught.
“Verona, please come collect Snow,” the Queen said. “No! Momma! Don’t leave me!” Snow cried. Verona came to the Queen’s side to gather the girl. But Snow clung tightly to the Queen’s legs. “No! Momma! Don’t leave me! I’m scared,” she screamed as Verona pried her off her mother.