Disclaimer:No recognizable characters and/or magical whatnot belong to me (unfortunately); they are the property of Ms. Rowling. Neither do I own the lyrics; Evanescence does. I ALSO do not own the original story of the Snow Queen. Hans Christian Andersen does, brilliant man that he is (well, was). I just own the plot. =3
Prologue - Fairytales
“Dear, my love, haven’t you wanted to be with me?
Dear, my love, haven’t you longed to be free?
I can’t keep pretending that I don’t even know you;
at sweet night you are my own.”
As a child, his mother would, on very rare and very secret occasions, as his father looked down upon such things, read to him from a great, dusty old tome that contained Muggle fairy tales. This massive volume contained accounts of wicked stepparents and knights that used swords instead of wands to duel. He’d been disgruntled with the dragon slaying, skeptical of the happy endings, and scoffed at the general sentimentality of it all. But there had been one, just one Muggle fairy tale that for reasons unknown had fascinated him.
It was a rather dark telling...
A dark sorcerer once possessed a mirror, a mirror that was shattered in to a thousand million pieces, very long ago. The many shards flew up, up into the heavens, then came raining back down, showering the entire world with the tiny slivers of darkness. Some of these shards that fell, slipped into people’s eyes, rendering them unable to see anything but a twisted, repulsive distortion of anything they observed. These people saw only reflections of the flaws and faults of the world. Other pieces sank into people’s hearts, corrupting their very being. These were the wicked, the malformed, the amoral ones who delighted in evil, and the suffering of others, reflecting the hatred that lay deep within their own blackened hearts –
He had grown to believe that his father was one of those people.
There were two children that lived a small, cozy village: Elizabeth, who was as Autumn and Summer combined; some called it Indian Summer. He hair was long, and untamed, as flaming red as the sunrise, and fair, flushed skin smattered with a constellation of freckles. Her smile and laugh matched her hair in their radiance; they could heat the coldest of hearts when sent their way. Paul was a thin, fair boy, with hair like spun moonlight and steady pale eyes that seemed to look into your very soul. He did not smile or laugh very often; they were almost exact opposites in every way. They were also best friends. They lived across the street from one another, and played together every day of their lives, many times in their ‘hidden place,’ a small, neglected garden overflowing with wild roses of every hue.
One glorious summer day, as they were outside in their garden, a mirror shard came falling down, unnoticed by both of them, landing in Paul’s eye. Soon after, he left for home, saying that he did not feel well. In the days afterward, he became withdrawn and spiteful, no longer wishing to play with Elizabeth. He said many unkind things to her; calling her ugly and boring. Hurt and sad, she stayed in her house, watching his house across the street from a window in her room.
Summer soon faded into Fall, and then it was suddenly Winter. Elizabeth stood watch by her window determinedly, ever hoping that her best friend would come to play with her again in their rose garden, even though the roses had wilted and turned to dust by now.
That winter was the harshest many had seen in a long, long while. And with it, unknown to the villagers, came the Snow Queen. She was a magnificent creature, cloaked in the fur of a snow leopard, and dripping with ice-cold diamonds. They studded her flaxen hair, glittered and glinted on every long, elegant finger, and lay twinkling at the base of her milk white throat. She was beautiful, and she was heartless. And she wanted Paul.
Soon, too soon, she had mesmerized him, and late one frosty eve she bade him to come away with her, to the far North that was her home. And willingly, all too willingly, he complied. Elizabeth, who had been diligently watching his house for some time, saw everything. She cried out softly in alarm, but could do nothing but watch helplessly as her best friend climbed up to sit beside the Queen in her sleigh, and disappear in a whipping whirl of snow, into the night.
The next day, Elizabeth, packed, ready, and determined, set off after him.
She traveled for eternity. Seasons passed; Winter melted away into nubile Spring, and Spring grew into Summer. Along the path of her travels, she came across a small, weathered cottage, in a clearing in the woods.
An old woman appeared at the door, adorned in a hat that was covered with flowers of every variety. The strange but kindly old woman bade her come in. Gratefully, Elizabeth did so, and was soon well fed, comfortable, and in a real bed for the first time in months!
The crone looked after her for many weeks; she would keep making up one more excuse for Elizabeth to stay, if only for a bit longer. Elizabeth was soon quite content and helped her friend in the flower garden that grew behind the cottage. During this time, the hedge witch – for that is what she was - was very careful to hide every single rose from Elizabeth’s sight, for fear that the girl would remember her quest. It worked very well; Elizabeth grew to forget how and why she had come to be here. The old woman had always wanted a daughter of her own; the time had long since passed since she had been able to bear children, and she was very lonely.
But one warm Indian summer’s day Elizabeth caught a forgotten, familiar scent, and followed it out to where the old woman knelt pruning some berry bushes. She still wore the funny flower hat she had created for herself. And there, tucked shyly between a bold-faced sunflower and a merry, bouncing bluebell, was a red, red rose.
Elizabeth felt strange…it was if she had suddenly woken up from a dream! She gazed at the rose. She remembered everything; she remembered the Snow Queen…and Paul! In a flurry of panic and guilt, she hurried to gather her supplies. The old woman, surprised and disappointed, begged her to stay, for only a little while longer. Elizabeth, moved by compassion for the lonely woman, but steadfast in her mission, had to refuse. The old woman surrendered, and let her go.
Months passed. Her feet were very blistered and sore, but her spirit never flagged as she continued North. One day, while walking down the side of a country road, she met a little girl in a torn and muddied dress and wearing a solemn expression. Elizabeth, concerned, knelt before the child and asked what was wrong. The child did not speak, but looked at her in reticence with clear eyes. Then the little girl spoke.
“You will prevail. You do not require any armaments, nor armies; the warmth of your heart will see you through to the end.
“Now go; he is waiting for you, though he does not know it.”
And then she was walking quietly past Elizabeth, continuing her journey down the deserted country road.
Without looking back, Elizabeth pressed on, her heart and spirit steady.
More weeks passed, and the land grew more barren, and the air distinctly chillier, for he could see her breath come out in puffs of fog. But she was not to be hindered by the cold; indeed she could not feel it at all.
The landscape soon looked as an exquisite, desolate ice sculpture, but there was no life here, no sunlight or warmth to take away the coldness. She knew she was now in the realm of the Snow Queen. Later that night, she came to a great, sprawling castle, carved completely from ice…the Snow Queen’s palace! Elated, she slipped silently in, and hid in the shadows to wait to see if she could get a glimpse of her friend. Her patience was soon rewarded when he came into view; he was behind an enormous block of ice, pushing it! He looked malnourished and frostbitten, his skin a deathly shade of frosted blue.
She crept up behind him, and touched a shoulder. With a pained yelp, the boy whirled around. His eyes were narrowed, dull and almost lifeless, safe for the hateful spark buried deep within his gaze. Gasping, Elizabeth drew back, tears forming in her eyes. With a cry, she reached for him again, and wrapped her arms around him. Her hot tears were rubbed against his icy cheek as she held her dearest friend to her.
He cried out in pain and alarm – he was so frozen that her very touch burned him. She let go, startled, and saw that her tears had not evaporated from the cold, but instead lingered there like liquid diamond droplets. It was then that Elizabeth noticed, for the first time, that the corner of one of his eyes was red and swollen – it looked infected!
Just as she was noticing this, something incredible happened – the boy cried out again, holding his dripping face; her tears were melting the cold away! Tears of his own were welling in his eyes, and the wounded eye glistened for a moment...and then a tiny sliver of mirror slid down onto his cheek. Gasping, she reached out and plucked the shard from his face, staring at the small fragment that lay so innocuously on the tip of her finger. Then, with an angry cry, she turned and hurled it as far as she could, and it flew with a last defiant flicker before disappearing into the haze of moonlight and frost. Then she turned back around.
Paul was staring at her – no, behind her - seeming as if he had just awakened from an unpleasant dream. Frightened, Elizabeth whirled around...only to come face to face with the Queen!
She stared at the Queen in anger, shaking. “He does not belong to you anymore!” She cried in defiance, hardly aware of what she was saying.
The Queen for her part was livid, trembling with rage. “Just who do you think you are, little girl? You are nothing! You cannot hurt me, and you will not take him from me!” With that, she reached around her for Paul. Furious, Elizabeth grabbed one diamond-covered hand and thrust it away, feeling the gems bite into her palm painfully.
The Queen fell back, stumbling, incredulous. Her hand felt brittle and cracked and scalded; as though it was on fire! How dare she! “How dare you touch me, you rabble!” she snarled, holding her burning hand close against her protectively. She was beautiful no longer, but a bristling, cornered savage beast. For a mirror shard had fallen into her heart, very long ago, on the day of her birth, rendering her unable to reflect true, untainted beauty.
Elizabeth sneered at the Queen elegantly; her head clearer than it had been a few moments ago. “He was never yours. I cannot take him from you; he does not belong to you. And,” she added softly, tears stinging her eyes, “I could not take him anyway; I cannot touch him for fear of breaking him. See what you have done to him! You have frozen him!” She flared again, motioning angrily at the still, pale boy behind her.
Then, with one last contemptuous look at the Snow Queen, and without another word to her, Elizabeth turned back to Paul, and beckoned to him with a trembling hand. “Do you wish to go home?” she whispered. He was quiet, and simply looked at her, eyes wide and pained. “I cannot force you; I would not even if I were able to touch you. Do you...wish to stay here?”
She saw him start, and a muscle in his jaw tightened. “No,” he grated out, as if he were not used to speech. His breath hung in the air between them. “I wish...” He looked away for a moment, unable to meet her warm, honest gaze. “Can you...take me...?”
“Where do you wish me to take you?”
Home, Spain, a rupturing volcano. Did it matter? “Anywhere. Take me anywhere; I will follow you, friend.” He reached out then, and put his icy hand in hers. His lips trembled; he looked as if he were in deep pain. But he clung to her, although he burned where she touched him. Determinedly, he gripped her hand tighter. A tear glittered for an instant in his eye, unnoticed, before drying abruptly in the frozen air.
She gazed at their joined hands; one small and soft and very freckled, the other long and elegant and touched with frost. She slowly closed her fingers around his, hoping she wasn’t hurting him too badly. Then she looked up at him, to find him looking at her as well. She smiled her glorious, sunrise smile then, and he glimmered back, just a little. “Then...let’s go anywhere.”
They left the palace of the Snow Queen that night, hands still joined, and no one stopped them.
“We’re leaving here tonight;
there’s no need to tell anyone,
they’d only hold us down.
So by the morning’s light
we’ll be halfway to anywhere,
where no one needs a reason...”
“Dear, my love, haven’t you wanted to be with me?
Dear, my love, haven’t you longed to be free?
I can’t keep pretending that I don’t even know you;
at sweet night you are my own.”
As a child, his mother would, on very rare and very secret occasions, as his father looked down upon such things, read to him from a great, dusty old tome that contained Muggle fairy tales. This massive volume contained accounts of wicked stepparents and knights that used swords instead of wands to duel. He’d been disgruntled with the dragon slaying, skeptical of the happy endings, and scoffed at the general sentimentality of it all. But there had been one, just one Muggle fairy tale that for reasons unknown had fascinated him.
It was a rather dark telling...
A dark sorcerer once possessed a mirror, a mirror that was shattered in to a thousand million pieces, very long ago. The many shards flew up, up into the heavens, then came raining back down, showering the entire world with the tiny slivers of darkness. Some of these shards that fell, slipped into people’s eyes, rendering them unable to see anything but a twisted, repulsive distortion of anything they observed. These people saw only reflections of the flaws and faults of the world. Other pieces sank into people’s hearts, corrupting their very being. These were the wicked, the malformed, the amoral ones who delighted in evil, and the suffering of others, reflecting the hatred that lay deep within their own blackened hearts –
He had grown to believe that his father was one of those people.
There were two children that lived a small, cozy village: Elizabeth, who was as Autumn and Summer combined; some called it Indian Summer. He hair was long, and untamed, as flaming red as the sunrise, and fair, flushed skin smattered with a constellation of freckles. Her smile and laugh matched her hair in their radiance; they could heat the coldest of hearts when sent their way. Paul was a thin, fair boy, with hair like spun moonlight and steady pale eyes that seemed to look into your very soul. He did not smile or laugh very often; they were almost exact opposites in every way. They were also best friends. They lived across the street from one another, and played together every day of their lives, many times in their ‘hidden place,’ a small, neglected garden overflowing with wild roses of every hue.
One glorious summer day, as they were outside in their garden, a mirror shard came falling down, unnoticed by both of them, landing in Paul’s eye. Soon after, he left for home, saying that he did not feel well. In the days afterward, he became withdrawn and spiteful, no longer wishing to play with Elizabeth. He said many unkind things to her; calling her ugly and boring. Hurt and sad, she stayed in her house, watching his house across the street from a window in her room.
Summer soon faded into Fall, and then it was suddenly Winter. Elizabeth stood watch by her window determinedly, ever hoping that her best friend would come to play with her again in their rose garden, even though the roses had wilted and turned to dust by now.
That winter was the harshest many had seen in a long, long while. And with it, unknown to the villagers, came the Snow Queen. She was a magnificent creature, cloaked in the fur of a snow leopard, and dripping with ice-cold diamonds. They studded her flaxen hair, glittered and glinted on every long, elegant finger, and lay twinkling at the base of her milk white throat. She was beautiful, and she was heartless. And she wanted Paul.
Soon, too soon, she had mesmerized him, and late one frosty eve she bade him to come away with her, to the far North that was her home. And willingly, all too willingly, he complied. Elizabeth, who had been diligently watching his house for some time, saw everything. She cried out softly in alarm, but could do nothing but watch helplessly as her best friend climbed up to sit beside the Queen in her sleigh, and disappear in a whipping whirl of snow, into the night.
The next day, Elizabeth, packed, ready, and determined, set off after him.
She traveled for eternity. Seasons passed; Winter melted away into nubile Spring, and Spring grew into Summer. Along the path of her travels, she came across a small, weathered cottage, in a clearing in the woods.
An old woman appeared at the door, adorned in a hat that was covered with flowers of every variety. The strange but kindly old woman bade her come in. Gratefully, Elizabeth did so, and was soon well fed, comfortable, and in a real bed for the first time in months!
The crone looked after her for many weeks; she would keep making up one more excuse for Elizabeth to stay, if only for a bit longer. Elizabeth was soon quite content and helped her friend in the flower garden that grew behind the cottage. During this time, the hedge witch – for that is what she was - was very careful to hide every single rose from Elizabeth’s sight, for fear that the girl would remember her quest. It worked very well; Elizabeth grew to forget how and why she had come to be here. The old woman had always wanted a daughter of her own; the time had long since passed since she had been able to bear children, and she was very lonely.
But one warm Indian summer’s day Elizabeth caught a forgotten, familiar scent, and followed it out to where the old woman knelt pruning some berry bushes. She still wore the funny flower hat she had created for herself. And there, tucked shyly between a bold-faced sunflower and a merry, bouncing bluebell, was a red, red rose.
Elizabeth felt strange…it was if she had suddenly woken up from a dream! She gazed at the rose. She remembered everything; she remembered the Snow Queen…and Paul! In a flurry of panic and guilt, she hurried to gather her supplies. The old woman, surprised and disappointed, begged her to stay, for only a little while longer. Elizabeth, moved by compassion for the lonely woman, but steadfast in her mission, had to refuse. The old woman surrendered, and let her go.
Months passed. Her feet were very blistered and sore, but her spirit never flagged as she continued North. One day, while walking down the side of a country road, she met a little girl in a torn and muddied dress and wearing a solemn expression. Elizabeth, concerned, knelt before the child and asked what was wrong. The child did not speak, but looked at her in reticence with clear eyes. Then the little girl spoke.
“You will prevail. You do not require any armaments, nor armies; the warmth of your heart will see you through to the end.
“Now go; he is waiting for you, though he does not know it.”
And then she was walking quietly past Elizabeth, continuing her journey down the deserted country road.
Without looking back, Elizabeth pressed on, her heart and spirit steady.
More weeks passed, and the land grew more barren, and the air distinctly chillier, for he could see her breath come out in puffs of fog. But she was not to be hindered by the cold; indeed she could not feel it at all.
The landscape soon looked as an exquisite, desolate ice sculpture, but there was no life here, no sunlight or warmth to take away the coldness. She knew she was now in the realm of the Snow Queen. Later that night, she came to a great, sprawling castle, carved completely from ice…the Snow Queen’s palace! Elated, she slipped silently in, and hid in the shadows to wait to see if she could get a glimpse of her friend. Her patience was soon rewarded when he came into view; he was behind an enormous block of ice, pushing it! He looked malnourished and frostbitten, his skin a deathly shade of frosted blue.
She crept up behind him, and touched a shoulder. With a pained yelp, the boy whirled around. His eyes were narrowed, dull and almost lifeless, safe for the hateful spark buried deep within his gaze. Gasping, Elizabeth drew back, tears forming in her eyes. With a cry, she reached for him again, and wrapped her arms around him. Her hot tears were rubbed against his icy cheek as she held her dearest friend to her.
He cried out in pain and alarm – he was so frozen that her very touch burned him. She let go, startled, and saw that her tears had not evaporated from the cold, but instead lingered there like liquid diamond droplets. It was then that Elizabeth noticed, for the first time, that the corner of one of his eyes was red and swollen – it looked infected!
Just as she was noticing this, something incredible happened – the boy cried out again, holding his dripping face; her tears were melting the cold away! Tears of his own were welling in his eyes, and the wounded eye glistened for a moment...and then a tiny sliver of mirror slid down onto his cheek. Gasping, she reached out and plucked the shard from his face, staring at the small fragment that lay so innocuously on the tip of her finger. Then, with an angry cry, she turned and hurled it as far as she could, and it flew with a last defiant flicker before disappearing into the haze of moonlight and frost. Then she turned back around.
Paul was staring at her – no, behind her - seeming as if he had just awakened from an unpleasant dream. Frightened, Elizabeth whirled around...only to come face to face with the Queen!
She stared at the Queen in anger, shaking. “He does not belong to you anymore!” She cried in defiance, hardly aware of what she was saying.
The Queen for her part was livid, trembling with rage. “Just who do you think you are, little girl? You are nothing! You cannot hurt me, and you will not take him from me!” With that, she reached around her for Paul. Furious, Elizabeth grabbed one diamond-covered hand and thrust it away, feeling the gems bite into her palm painfully.
The Queen fell back, stumbling, incredulous. Her hand felt brittle and cracked and scalded; as though it was on fire! How dare she! “How dare you touch me, you rabble!” she snarled, holding her burning hand close against her protectively. She was beautiful no longer, but a bristling, cornered savage beast. For a mirror shard had fallen into her heart, very long ago, on the day of her birth, rendering her unable to reflect true, untainted beauty.
Elizabeth sneered at the Queen elegantly; her head clearer than it had been a few moments ago. “He was never yours. I cannot take him from you; he does not belong to you. And,” she added softly, tears stinging her eyes, “I could not take him anyway; I cannot touch him for fear of breaking him. See what you have done to him! You have frozen him!” She flared again, motioning angrily at the still, pale boy behind her.
Then, with one last contemptuous look at the Snow Queen, and without another word to her, Elizabeth turned back to Paul, and beckoned to him with a trembling hand. “Do you wish to go home?” she whispered. He was quiet, and simply looked at her, eyes wide and pained. “I cannot force you; I would not even if I were able to touch you. Do you...wish to stay here?”
She saw him start, and a muscle in his jaw tightened. “No,” he grated out, as if he were not used to speech. His breath hung in the air between them. “I wish...” He looked away for a moment, unable to meet her warm, honest gaze. “Can you...take me...?”
“Where do you wish me to take you?”
Home, Spain, a rupturing volcano. Did it matter? “Anywhere. Take me anywhere; I will follow you, friend.” He reached out then, and put his icy hand in hers. His lips trembled; he looked as if he were in deep pain. But he clung to her, although he burned where she touched him. Determinedly, he gripped her hand tighter. A tear glittered for an instant in his eye, unnoticed, before drying abruptly in the frozen air.
She gazed at their joined hands; one small and soft and very freckled, the other long and elegant and touched with frost. She slowly closed her fingers around his, hoping she wasn’t hurting him too badly. Then she looked up at him, to find him looking at her as well. She smiled her glorious, sunrise smile then, and he glimmered back, just a little. “Then...let’s go anywhere.”
They left the palace of the Snow Queen that night, hands still joined, and no one stopped them.
“We’re leaving here tonight;
there’s no need to tell anyone,
they’d only hold us down.
So by the morning’s light
we’ll be halfway to anywhere,
where no one needs a reason...”
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