Queen Grimhilde's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Grimhilde walked through the workroom adjoining her chamber, past shelves lined with jars and bottles. The poison was already prepared, a thick liquid the color of honey that would stop a heart within minutes. But standing there with the vial in her hand, she saw the problem clearly. Snow White would not accept a bottle from a stranger. She would not drink from a cup offered at the door. The girl was trusting, yes, but not foolish enough to swallow something unknown. Grimhilde needed something the girl would bite into without question, something that looked innocent and whole. She set the vial down and walked to the window. Outside, beyond the castle walls, she could see the old tower at the forest's edge where she kept her most dangerous work hidden from the court. That was where she would finish this. The carriage waited in the courtyard below, ornate and weathered, the kind a traveling peddler might use to carry goods from village to village. She had prepared it weeks ago, filling its drawers with dried herbs and tonics, building the disguise layer by layer. Now she climbed inside and guided it toward the tower, the wheels creaking over the dirt path. Inside the tower, she pulled an apple from the basket she had brought. It was perfect. Red and flawless, with skin so glossy it caught the light. She held it over the workbench and pierced the skin with a needle, then let three drops of poison fall into the flesh. The puncture sealed itself as if it had never been touched. Grimhilde turned the apple in her hand, watching the way it gleamed. Snow White would see this and reach for it first. Not because she was hungry, but because it was beautiful, and the girl had never learned that beauty could hide death. Grimhilde placed the apple in the basket with the others, covering it with a cloth. The delivery method was chosen. The plan had no gaps left. She locked the tower door behind her and climbed back into the carriage, her disguise folded on the seat beside her. Tomorrow she would wear the old woman's face and knock on the cottage door. Tomorrow the threat would end.