Die Schwester

Our dysfunctional little family lived in a wooden cottage in the woods off of Schongau, Bayern.¹ My mother, Holle, was widowed in the Thirty Years’ War in 1631 due to the plague, mere months after my twin sister, Rose Red, and I had been born.

My sister, in a word, was ethereal. She was entirely lovely, with blazing hair, dark eyes, red lips, and fair skin, in contrast to my gold locks, ice-blue irises, and cupid’s-bow mouth. She was clever and witty, though she never spoke a harsh word in her life. Mother admired her greatly, even more than she loved myself; the result was that I developed intense feelings of enmity towards her, and it was apparent she reciprocated.

Rose suffered from ennui, residing with us for every one of our eighteen years. The year was now 1649, and the war had been over for ten months. Sometimes it seemed as if we lived in a ghost world; so many had died: men, women, and children alike. Knights had pillaged the towns, whether it be Munich or Magdeburg. They killed the weak. They killed the poor.

The plague finished off the rest.

Rose Red wished to help. She wanted to go to Schongau and see the executioner, Johann Kuisl, as the village was nearly in a frenzy about witchcraft once more, and she hoped to stop the aldermen and the burgomaster from doing anything rash. He had burned over sixty innocent souls during the course of those trials.

Then we met the bear.

He was not truly a bear. In all honesty, he was once Prince Heinrich of Bayern. One day after serving a single year – not a day more or less – in the War, he had retired to hunting. He was out with his copper stallion, Bucephalus, when he had the misfortune to encounter a dwarf: A portly, grouchy little man by the name of Düsseldorf. (Düsseldorf’s long, silky white beard was his pride and joy.)

All dwarves are naturally thieves at heart, the reason behind the Schrazellöcher², which are found all over Bavaria. Düsseldorf was no exception. Like all others of his kind, he was evil and cruel. His eyes were a fiery red, beady and unblinking. He turned Prince Heinrich into a large black bear and stole all of his treasure. Heinrich could only return to his human form with Düsseldorf’s demise.

We met the bear-prince in the wintertime, and he was our friend until spring arrived. On several occasions afterwards, Rose Red and I had the pleasure of meeting Düsseldorf himself (and also cutting off his beard). The very last time we saw him, we were on our way home from the market in Schongau after rescuing him from a hungry eagle. The knave was, as always, ungrateful for his life.

This time, he was arranging his horde on the grass. In the setting sun, the jewels he had were glittering so beautifully, that my sister and I couldn’t help but gaze.

“Why do you stubborn ninnies stand gaping there?” cried Düsseldorf when he noticed us. “How stupid can you be? First you cut off my lovely beard, practically reduce it to stubble, then you tear my damn jacket, and now – ”

But whatever he was going to say next, he never finished it, for our friend the great black bear now approached. The dwarf’s ashen face turned a violent shade of scarlet as he stared at the large white teeth in Heinrich’s mouth.

“You – you’re – ” he stammered. He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands. “Oh, please, Mr. Bear, spare me,” he begged, “and I shall give you all my treasures that lie there. Give me my life! You would scarcely feel me between your teeth! No, seize those two wicked girls over there – they are fat as young quails!”

I gasped and looked imploringly at the bear. “You wouldn’t do that, dear friend, would you?”

Our friend didn’t answer; with one swipe of a gargantuan paw, Düsseldorf was struck down. Beside me, Rose Red bit back a scream. He turned to us, but instead of devouring us limb-by-limb, he was engulfed in a shimmering golden haze.

When the light faded away, he was revealed to have been transformed into a handsome young man not much older than ourselves. “Snow White, Rose Red, do not be afraid: It is still I, the bear, only in my true form,” he said gently. “My name is Heinrich.”



It had barely been a month before Heinrich and I announced our betrothal, and our happiness was celebrated far and wide. Rose, in turn, was introduced to his brother, Wilhelm. Mother Holle stayed with us at the castle, and so did her prized rosebushes.

Until she fell ill.

None of the physicians could tell what she had. Even Johann Kuisl didn’t know what her ailment was. The plague? An infection? Witchery, as the aldermen suspected? Whatever it was, we knew she would not live to see our weddings. And so, my sister and I spent nearly every waking moment by her side. Though, perhaps I did more than Rose Red. She preferred to run about in the trees, or ride the horses, and all the young men stared longingly after her. To myself, it was quite sickening.

But I had Heinrich, my love, to brighten my days. And though I sometimes felt as if something wrong, something terrible, was going to happen very soon (of course, that may be due to my mother slowly falling away), he was always there to comfort me and hold me. Heinrich was the light of my life.

I didn’t understand it then, but now I know: fate and destiny, they were intertwined with what was beyond our infinite wonder. What we cannot control is beyond us, and all that we have lost, we will never have them back in our possessions; for human greed, above all, is destruction.

“Snow, everything will be all right. Our wedding is in a fortnight, and perhaps Mother Holle can attend.” Heinrich’s voice was, as always, warm and soothing. He stroked my yellow hair and clasped my hand. “Don’t worry, dearest, we shall have our happy ending.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked him, my voice breaking. “R-Rose says she is going to d-die. I – I don’t see how any of this is possible.”

Heinrich moved closer and whispered in my ear:

“I just know.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. But the quiet was soon broken by a cry:

“Snow, come quickly! There’s something wrong with Mother!”