In the dimly lit chamber of the Evil Queen’s castle, shadows danced wickedly across the cold stone walls. The air was thick with an eerie silence, broken only by the echoing footsteps of the Queen as she approached her enchanted mirror.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, where is the fairest of them all?” she demanded, her voice dripping with malice.
The mirror gleamed, responding in a voice that held an otherworldly beauty,
“Not in this castle, nor in the realms afar,
Hidden in the woods, where dreams and reality blur.
Skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood,
hair as black as ebony, she lies in a slumber deep.
In an enchanted trance, Snow White, fairest of all,
lies awaiting her prince’s call.”
The Queen’s ruby lips curled into a malevolent grin as she stared into the mirror, relishing the image it conjured. She witnessed Snow White lying motionless on a bed of satin, her ebony hair cascading like a waterfall around her porcelain face. Prince Charming stood beside the comatose beauty. His handsome face was etched with horror, witnessing the princess in her unconscious state. Desperation fueled his gaze as he leaned in, whispering promises of true love’s kiss to break the cursed slumber.
“Such naïveté” The Queen chuckled darkly, reveling in the scene unfolding. She sauntered toward the glass, her eyes fixed on the desperate prince. “Ah, the futility of their endeavors,” she sneered. “Watch closely, mirror, as I orchestrate their demise.”
Drawing near to the unconscious Snow White, the prince bent down, his lips poised to break the curse with a kiss of true love. A wicked laughter echoed through the chamber as the Queen recited words of enchantment. “By powers dark and magic deep, entwine this prince in slumber’s sweep. Twist his fate, his will enthrall, within my castle’s shadowed thrall.”
The incantation resonated with severe authority, weaving through the air like a solemn yet frightening verdict. A magical vortex enveloped the prince, swirling around him with an ominous force. His head spun, the world becoming a dizzying blur until consciousness slipped away. When he awoke, he found himself lying on the cold floor of the castle’s empty throne room.
***
Confusion clouded his mind as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. The Queen, adorned in regal malevolence, sat upon the throne, her eyes fixed on the unsettled prince. He tried to fathom where he was and who she might be, a sense of vulnerability reflecting in his lost gaze.
The Queen’s laughter, subtle and haunting, echoed through the emptiness. She observed him like a predator savouring the weakness of its prey—a little lost lamb in the clutches of a cunning wolf.
The prince, disoriented but gradually regaining his senses, scanned the empty throne room. As clarity dawned in his mind, he pieced together the puzzle before him, and a scowl etched across his face. “The Evil Queen,” he groaned, his anger surfacing. His eyes narrowed as he attempted to lock his eyes on the malevolent orchestrator behind their curses.
“Evil Queen? Is that how she calls me?” she chuckled. To his surprise, there was no hint of fear in her eyes, only an unsettling amusement.
“How else, monster?” he screamed, drawing his sword and assuming a fighting stance. His voice, tinged with resentment, betrayed the simmering fury within. The Queen, however, responded with nothing more than an eye roll, displaying a concerning calmness. “How barbaric,” she commented with disdain, her tone dripping with contempt.
Unfazed, she made a subtle motion with her finger, and as the prince advanced with determined steps, a magical aura emerged from the cold stone floor. Without warning, ethereal chains materialized out of thin air, seizing the prince’s wrists. His sword clattered to the ground as he struggled against the magical restraints, futile in his efforts. The chains swiftly wound around his wrists, securing them behind his back. Another magical chain slithered from the locks on his hands, crawling over his back and locking around his neck, pulling him uncomfortably backward. The collar, made of a chilling metal, pressed against his throat, limiting his breath if he kept his head straight, forcing him to bend his neck backwards.
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