I hear the people in the streets calling out to me, their voices ringing out in joyous celebration as they celebrate the fall of my wicked step-mother.
The poor dear was burned up by those shoes, and while it was not my choice to put her in them, I said nothing as it was done.
In my heart I felt something stir, something that demanded that she pay for what she did to me, something to make her feel as scared as I had during those years while she was free.
But that is over now, the villain has fallen and I am free to reign as I was meant to.
Standing in front of the mirror, I adjust the cloth I placed of it, my fingers itching the pull it away.
For awhile, I had managed to avoid looking, but in time my anxiety grew too much and I had to look.
Thankfully, the mirror showed nothing but what I had wanted to see, a face white as snow with lips red as blood and hair black as a raven's wing.
Running my fingers through my hair, I feel a sense of relief for the most part, but sometimes find my fingers tracing the thin barely noticeable scar on my neck.
The doctor did a wonderful job of cutting that little bitch's head off, but it was my magic that allowed her head to rest upon my shoulders.
The scar is the only thing left to remind me of what I did that night.
The dwarves assumed poor Snow had died from the poisoned apple, and did not bother to watch her body once it was placed in the coffin.
It was no bother to bring her back and put her head upon my shoulders and then return to the crypt to await my prince.
The apple only paralyzed her, but she was very much aware of the pain as her head was severed. But I would not allow her to die, that would be too easy.
However, it was rather convenient for her to arrive at my wedding and try to convince everyone that she was me.
The dwarves, those simple little men assumed as I wanted them to and killed her for me. Now I reign in her place, wearing her face, and there is no one left to challenge me.