Fairest of All (Villains 1)

“Oh Momma, I’ve missed you so much!” the girl cried. Uncle Marcus and Aunt Viv waved from the sidelines as the Queen took Snow in her arms and the gathered crowds cheered.

The day was filled with festivals, banquets, and merriment. And as evening fell and the Queen retired to her room, she found herself armed with a new confidence. She approached the mirror in her chamber and said to her reflection, “I am the fairest of all.”

She felt renewed, not just by the kingdom’s embrace of her, but something else entirely. All those years ago, after her father’s death, she had thought she had exorcised his ghost from her mind. But it wasn’t so. Not until she watched his face tell her how beautiful she was—the fairest in the land, in fact—did she feel such a weight lifted. She had power over him now, the way he’d had it over her for so many years. And she was going to exercise it.

She called forth the Slave in the mirror, just as the sisters had taught her. When he appeared in lapping tongues of flame and plumes of purple smoke, she recited the sisters’ incantation, then continued, “Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

The Slave, who was bound by honesty, admitted to the Queen that she was the fairest of them all, and the Queen was put at ease. The fear that she had grown into the haggard witch her father once labeled her melted away. Any insecurities she might have had vanished. Even her deep sorrow over the loss of her king was allayed when she heard and saw the Slave in the mirror—the soul, the very face, of her father who once battered her with demeaning and disparaging words—admit that she was beautiful; that she was the fairest in the land.

The Queen soon found that on days when she had forgotten to consult the mirror, she was ornery, bitter, and anxious. She snapped easily at her attendants, even those people closest to her—Verona and Snow. She would find herself short of breath, with a tightness in her chest. And she knew that the only way to cure these ills was to relent to her obsession and return to the mirror—to her father’s face, to hear him say that she was lovely. That she was beautiful. That she was fairest of all.

And so, it became a ritual for the Queen. Each day she consulted the Magic Mirror, engulfed and possessed by her vanity, still bereft over the death of her husband. She used her father’s validation to cure all her fevered nightmares of loss, of growing old, of being the thing, the terrible ugly woman, her father had always told her that she was.

The mirror, for its part, always told the Queen the truth. That she was the fairest in the kingdom. And then, unexpectedly, it gave the Queen a different answer.

“Famed is your beauty, Your Majesty, but another lovely maid I see….”

A terrible rage boiled within the Queen. She felt transformed. She had never experienced a feeling like this before. It felt terrible and absolutely wonderful all at once. She never knew such jealousy, or that such an emotion could stir up such anger, perhaps even hatred. And with that hatred, an undeniable power.

“Who? Who is it? Speak, Slave!” the Queen barked.

“Grief and loss, my Queen, have not diminished her beauty; her face is not lined with tragedy. Nor is she marred with pain and suffering as you have so clearly been. This maidservant—”

“Maidservant?” the Queen said sharply.

“I cannot deny that you are beautiful, my Queen. But I also cannot lie. You are outshined by Verona. She is the only woman within the kingdom who outstrips you in beauty.”

“How I wished for your love when I was a girl, how I would have thrived if you had just shown me one little bit of approval! And now, you use it to destroy me and the woman I care for most in this land, the only family I have left? No, I do not believe you. In fact I do not believe that this is happening at all. I must be dreaming or under some spell, I am sure I will awake and find this was all a horrid dream conjured by my suffering and grief!” the Queen said.

“Would you be happier then without me, my Queen? It was your calling me that brought me here in the first place; but if my being here causes you pain, I will happily leave you, until you call upon me again,” the Slave told her. And her father’s image disappeared from the mirror.

Just then, Verona walked into the room, holding Snow by the hand and glowing with blissfulness. Verona was so fair and so lovely. And for the first time in her life, the Queen hated her for it.

“Apologies for disturbing you, Your Majesty,” Verona said. “But the reception celebrating an entire moon since your return to us is about to begin, and we thought we would accompany you to the great hall where everyone is waiting to receive you.”

“Yes, of course; thank you, Verona,” the Queen said. But she suddenly felt none of the sisterly love she’d always had for Verona.

“Then shall we proceed?” Verona asked, clearly growing uncomfortable from the Queen’s stares.

“Not until I’ve kissed my lovely daughter, Snow. And how are you on this day, my lovely little creature?”

“Happy to see you, Momma. I missed you while you were sick and am so happy you’ve been well for so long.”

“I missed you too, my little bird, I’m sorry I didn’t see you as often as I should have while I was unwell.”

“I’m happy to see you now, Momma. You look very pretty today, and so does Verona. Don’t you think so, Momma?”

“Yes, she looks quite lovely,” the Queen said flatly. “Very well then, let’s proceed and enjoy this day the way it was intended.”

And the three beauties made their way to the great hall. Could it have been the Queen’s imagination, or were many eyes truly upon Verona as they arrived? The Queen attempted to banish all thoughts of what the Slave had said about Verona. But it was impossible to distract herself from his words. And as the evening and the following days passed, the Slave in the mirror always answered the same way.

Verona was the fairest of all.

The Queen felt torn between her love for this woman who had been like a sister to her, and her—was it also love?—for her father. No, it was something more terrible than love. His approval was an obsession and an addiction. And Verona, simply by being in the court, was preventing the Queen from receiving the daily affirmation from her father that she so needed.

And why would she want such approval from her father? What would it say about his nature that he would find her beautiful again simply for acting on jealousy? What would it say of hers?

So, the Queen told herself it wasn’t for vanity’s sake when she finally decided to send Verona away to a neighboring kingdom on a diplomatic assignment. No, it was merely for the sake of the Queen’s own peace of mind, and in the interest of preserving the women’s friendship.