I Hate When They Call Me Snow White

It was the night before her eighteenth birthday as Arabella snuck through the castle. As many times as she attempted to escape before, this was the closest she had ever gotten to succeeding.

Her existence in the castle was comparable to a parasite on a dog. The dog being her stepmother, pun intended.

When she was younger she imagined scaling down her tower and freeing herself from the marble prison she lived in. Only sheer determination kept her from withering away under the hate of her stepmother. Determination and her memories. Arabella held on to the memories of her parents with all she had. They acted as her talisman against the cruelty of her circumstances.

Arabella’s mother, the Queen, passed when Arabella was ten years old. The day still haunted her. Her father soon became weak with grief. Only after a few weeks did he regain his strength, but he only did so for the sake of his daughter and kingdom. He was a strong man. Arabella had loved her parents dearly. When her father had remarried Annis, Arabella’s stepmother, the King’s health began to deteriorate again.

Her father had gone missing three years ago, the day after her fifteenth birthday, and in that time Annis wasted no time in making Arabella’s life absolute hell.

Even though she was left locked in a cellar at the top of the tallest tower, often chained by her feet, Arabella was remained strong. Only sucummbing to her tears in the cloak of night, when her only companion was the moon. Over the years, she had attempted to escape many times and had always been caught and severely punished.

It was safe to say that she adopted more of her fathers warrior mentality, as opposed to her mother’s famously gentle nature. Arabella wished she could make her stepmother believe her when she said that she did not want the throne. She wasn’t able to smile in the face of unpleasantness. Arabella’s quick temper and brash personality only fueled her own beliefs that she would not be a good royal.

So with all that said, when Arabella was told that she was to be exiled the night of her birthday it was not shock that led to her current situation. It was her for the sake of her survival. Arabella knew that she wouldn't just be tossed into the woods and left. She was to be murdered.

Arabella quickly moved through the corridor as quietly as she could. Using her dark green cloak to hide. She slid behind a column as she heard two guards walk past.

“Shame bout de princess, ey?” One guard said to the other.

“Very, very shameful. Where will she go? The lil’ gal’s lived wid a silva spoon in ‘er mouf since she wasa youngin,” the other guard responded sympathetically.

“Yeah, poor Snow White,” the guard responded, causing them both to chuckle.

*First person*

I felt my hands curl into fists. If I wasn't attempting to escape, I’d knock both of those buffoons head’s together in a heartbeat.

This only made me more determined to escape, and more importantly, survive. The silver spoon had long been ripped from my mouth.

I hated it when they called me Snow White. It was a nickname my stepmother coined after my father went missing. She used it to besmirch my reputation. She told tales of my haughtiness to my kingdom. That my skin was pale and white as snow because I was too disgusted by the “common land” to ever leave my own living, and the people never saw me, so why wouldn’t they believe it?

It didn't matter. I didn't want to rule. I couldn’t. I wasn’t like my mother. She would never be in my situation. She’d probably have overcome Annis’ cruelty with an unfaltering kindness that would have eventually won over the old hag’s heart. I unfortunately was not in possession of such grace. In fact, Annis probably hated me more because I never could keep myself from responding. Even when she wouldn’t give me food or water for days and I was too weak to stand. I’d always defend myself against her anger.

I heard the guards chatter move farther down the hall. I moved from behind the giant column and across the hallway. I could feel myself breaking into a sweat. I wasn’t exactly stealthy. I got too anxious and that made me clumsy.

I went through the servants entrance into the kitchen. I walked in the room as quietly as I could. I pulled the satchel that Mary had given me tightly against my body.

Mary had been my mothers maidservant and was the only person left in my life who loved me. She often snuck me food when she could, and upon the news of my exile and my plan, she had given me one of her dresses, a cloak, and a satchel filled with supplies. The dress and cloak were a bit big, as Mary was fuller than my own malnutritioned form, but they were better than the rags I’d been forced to wear. I would have died from the cold if I attempted to escape in those.

My heart was beating quickly and my palms were sweating. I had to stop myself from sprinting to the door. I knew I’d do something awful like trip. That’s what happened last time I tried to escape and I got my leg broken for it.

I finally made it to the door and I prayed it wouldn’t be too loud. I lifted the lock and pushed the door open as slowly as I could. It made a terrible groaning sound as I did so. I paused for a moment to listen. I was thankful that I didn’t have to open it much farther to slip out.

I ran out into the snow and the biting cold greeted me with victorious prickling tingles. I didn’t stop. I kept running until I made it to the woods and kept going. Of course I didn’t even run for more than five minutes before tripping on a damn root. I picked myself up and wiped the snow and dirt off. I immediately looked around my surroundings. It all looked similar, and the darkness didn’t particularly help in differentiating.

After a while, I turned and looked back. I was able to see the top of the castle over the massive trees, but I was still too close. I had to keep moving. I was exhausted, but the exhilaration, fear, and desperation gave me the energy I need to keep moving.

Clinging to my satchel and my freedom, I continued into the dark forest and into the unknown future.