Before she could speak, utter the words, to explain herself. She was bound and gagged by the new queen’s guards. Guards that once served her, “Take her away,” the young king concludes, “To the darkest dungeon.”

She struggled to free herself, to speak, to finally tell the truth, “My queen,” the mirror greets warmly, “My king, I am the mirror that hangs on the wall.” It watched her with hollowed eyes and that ever present cold bright smile. It had warned her about this, about what would happen and she tried to break the cycle, “I served the evil queen, and now I serve the both of you.”

If she could, she would have laughed, served her, that glass mirror didn’t, and has never served her, instead she served it, “Step-mother,” the young queen speaks calmly, “I still hold a great love for you. Always know that.”

The mirror’s bright smile grows and a gleam of amusement appears in it’s hollowed black eyes as I am dragged from the room.

“The cycle will continue,” the mirror had told me once, “you are the evil queen, and she is Snow White.”