Snow White waits behind the carved wooden screen, listening to footsteps approach. The man has written to her for three months without asking for a portrait. He described the sound of her voice from their single conversation at the market. He quoted something she said about the weather. Now he's here, and in a moment she'll step out where he can see her face. Her hands are still. Her smile is ready. But underneath, that old stubborn thing kicks once: maybe this time. She steps out. The well sits between them, its stone edge worn smooth by a thousand wishes. On the wooden rim rests an apple so red it looks like it's bleeding light. The man stands across from her, and she watches his eyes lift to her face. They widen. Stop. She counts three seconds while he forgets to breathe. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out wrong. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined." Snow White's hand finds the small mirror in her pocket. She always carries it for this exact moment. Not to check her reflection, but to test theirs. She pulls it out and holds it toward him like an offering. "Look," she says. "Tell me what you see." He takes it, confused, and she watches him glance at his own face before turning it back to her. "I see you," he says, smiling like he's solved something. But he's looking at the glass, not through it. She takes the mirror back and drops it in the well. It falls without a sound, and she doesn't wait to hear it land. The apple stays on the rim, perfect and untouched. She walks past it, past him, back toward the forest where the trees don't stare. He calls after her, asking what he said wrong. She doesn't answer. She's done testing for today. Maybe for longer than that.