Snow White. The True Story.

The queen happened to glance to the side and saw the nobleman and his slave. For a moment she simply admired the figure and form of the raven headed woman. As fate would have it, Snow White turned to look up at her nemesis and recognition shone like a ray of the setting sun through the mind of the queen.

What aforementioned fate had decided and fortune determined, came to pass and the queen took possession of the one person she most desired to have in her power. The nobleman found himself staring upwards at the dim flickering light of torches through the opening in his bottle dungeon while the princess was confined in a cage at the foot of her enemy's bed.

*****

It now remains, dear reader, to bring to a conclusion the histories of the characters that have populated this history of the kingdom. The tale tells of the futility of fighting providence, for, when the three norns decide to cut the strands of the web of a person's path through life, they do so with a small snick of their mistletoes-handled silver blades with finality that no individual or divinity can undo. The tale has a moral, no matter how others have tried to twist the history with false significance. The moral is that women rule more fiercely than men and that resisting them is futile.

*****

The nobleman who stared upward from his prison at the flickering of torches, hearing only the cries of the victims of the hell in which he was confined, was forgotten, as all insignificant people are. One day the prison guard simply stopped lowering food and sustenance to his already starving frame and he ceased to live. He expired, neglected and ignored, with a small sigh of breath that signified his last words. It was heard only by the spiders and earwigs that infest the deeps of dungeons as they carried on their lives unaffected by his demise.

The woodsman and his wife discovered an important truth. That they missed the female slave that had been theirs for a while and regretted selling her in a fit of sheer tedium. In a short while they bought a young man as a slave, to help the woodsman do the work that was increasingly becoming beyond his capabilities due to his constant drinking. The woodsman took the rest of the coins from the nobleman and spent them on strong drink, so his wife never got to experience the fine clothes that she had longed for. One bright morning, the day after a bout of intemperate drinking that left him insensible and comatose, his wife smothered her insensible husband with a pillow so that she could be more often with her young slave and spend more time enjoying erotic exercises that sent her into raptures of sensual pleasure.

Deep in the forest of Teutoburg, the seven miners continued their quest for riches. They gathered gems and refined gold, never realizing that they had riches enough for a fuller life. They did not understand the manner of departure of their little love mannequin and returned to pleasuring each other as they had done before her arrival. One day a passing troop of Frankish troops captured them and uncovered the hoard that they had accumulated. To cover their crime they cruelly murdered the miners and left the small house in the glade a smoking ruin. This hoard of gold and gems passed to their king, in part anyway, and became newly forged scepters, swords and a delicate crown that was placed on his head in a ceremony in Rome as he became the new Emperor of the West.

The unfortunate king of the kingdom was already a shattered man. His manhood stripped from him in a delightfully trivial game in the queen's bed the night before. He died in a stupor of agony on a stake. Nearby was the brazier that supplied the white hot irons that finally expunged the last thoughts in his royal head. Wielded by that odious Empress of the dark, the queen's chief tortures. The king died on the very night that Snow White first awoke to the queen's tender mercies, chained to her bed. The last thing that the king saw was the beautiful queen that he had married. The last thing that he ever heard was her dainty laughter as his sight faded. As he died he was cursed by the people who had loved his justice and integrity. They hated and blamed for all the doings of his wife, the queen of pain. It was indeed a fitting end for a monarch that failed his people.

The fate of the princess, foreordained by the fates, was to become the mannequin of the woman who had become her nemesis. It would not be unjust to say that the role of plaything to so many men during her captivity was a thousand times gentler than the touch of the queen. The queen used all of her considerable skill and expertise to create a delicious bauble from her that was the final artistic creation in a long career in the conception of anguish. The queen nursed the princess back to the full bloom of health with gentle words and gestures, generous actions and gifts of nourishment that would allow her to exact a perfect revenge on the princess that had challenged her sovereignty by trying to escape her malevolent clutches. Like a mother she dripped honey in word and deed, like a friend she nurtured and restored, until there remained just the striking off of the fetters and chains that bound Snow White living in the small room at the top of the tower that was her prison. But, that was not to be! No! All the while she showed false fondness, the queen rubbed her hands in glee and prepared for the final dénouement that would be her most creative stroke. The queen sent to her home city of Byzantium for masters in the art of medicine and sought as far as Egypt for the men who had the knowledge of the frail human physique.

Finally, when all was ready, Snow White was flensed of her shapely limbs in one evening as the birds chanted their evensong and the peasants returned to their dwellings with melody in their hearts. Shapely legs like carved ivory and slender arms like willow branches were detached with the skill of ten centuries until all that was left on the queen's bed for her erogenous pleasure was those broad shapely hips, those perfectly formed alabaster breasts and a face that could not cry out because Snow White's voice had been seared from her very throat. Furthermore, what remained for the queen's enjoyment were those full lips that could satisfy her mistress and the delicate openings of Snow White's body that could be filled by the queen's latest paramours or simulacrums of manhood as the queen pleasured herself with her own long fingered hands or caused the princess to kiss the bud between her strong thighs.

So the queen in turn nurtured and tormented the princess, making Snow White devoted to her and then suddenly causing the acid sting of pain and fear to bewilder her little amatory plaything. A subtle work that both perplexed and confused Snow White until, eventually, twisted love was what emerged. Like a distorted perfect bloom which flowers from a damaged bud. This, then, was the final fate of Snow White, to become an adornment in the queen's pleasure-bed for her perpetual enjoyment. A reminder of the queen's dominion on which she could expend her most guileful erotic torments, night after night, day after day as the years wended along their slow course.

After many years, the queen died peacefully in her sleep, her cruel whip in her aged hand, her amatory plaything mewling quietly by her side, in a fit of grief that her cruel mistress had passed away. Tears of sympathy that the queen's callous passion had passed away from the world and would torment no more.

The kingdom itself was subsumed first by the Franks and then swept clean by the hordes of wild horse-borne Magyars that followed and so the story of Snow White faded to become just an endearing fairy tale, as the real history of those times faded into the pages of the Dark Ages that followed. Like ink finally fading on a Pergamum parchment until just irrelevancies are discernible to the learned scholar.

The End

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