I Hate When They Call Me Snow White

“You did not,” I gasped in between spasms of laughter.

Blaine smiled widely at my continued hysterics.

“It’s true,” He insisted.

“And she didn’t attempt to discipline you?” I asked, while wiping the tears from my eyes.

“She was a lovely woman. Well into her years, and had no thought to punish a young foolish boy,” Blaine said fondly.

“Even if he shattered her windows with a few ill thrown rocks?” I laughed again.

“Even then,” Blaine laughed as well.

“She must have been exceptionally kind,” I said, a smile still etched on my face.

“She was,” Blaine said quietly.

His voice became softer, more serious.

I paused in my steps, forcing him to stop as well.

His eyes were everywhere but my own. I felt a sharp tug in my heart.

“Blaine,” I said softly.

He gulped noticeably at the sound of his name. He suddenly looked much younger, vulnerable.

“Blaine,” I said again, my voice fervent with an emotion I wasn’t entirely sure of.

I reached out, without thinking, and pressed my fingers to his jaw.

His eyes met mine and I saw his expression turn slightly wistful before being overcome with a look of sadness, and…the tiniest bit of guilt.

“You know how,” He began, before clearing his throat, “You, of all people, must understand that we do not have a choice in the life we were born into.”

His voice was on the verge of desperation, as if he was trying to convince me. Of what I did not know.

I couldn’t help but stroke his bearded jaw lightly. The hairs was coarse, but soft. In a unique array of browns, coppers, and gold. The sun lit the forest around us, shining upon the mystery of his face. The light in his eyes reflected with a dark intensity of something buried deep within him.

My gentle touch seemed to push him forward.

“I was born into a life of relative cruelty by those, who by status, were meant to care for me,” His eyes were no longer on me, but staring over my head at an unknown sight.

“The elderly woman became a caregiver to me. A confident. A friend.” He said slightly, before adding, with voice cracking, “A mother.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but he spoke again.

“She died,” He said, pain and anger evident in his voice, “She died because of me. For taking care of me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

I felt my own eyes water at the pain and sincerity in his voice. As a person in possession of a rash nature, I couldn’t help but throw my arms around him. Expressing to him through my body what I could not think of to say.

I felt Blaine stiffen at my actions, but I did not loosen my grip. I did not hug him for my benefit. Regardless for the strange emotions swirling around my chest when I was near Blaine, I could only empathize with his misery now.

I felt his warm body relax slightly in my hold. Even though his arms remained at his side, I felt something strange pulse between us in the areas where we touched.

A strange simmering communication between the skin and clothes that suddenly connected us to one another.

I slowly released him from my death grip, and pulled back. I kept my hands on his arms and looked into his careful, confused eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but I place my fingers over his mouth.

I immediately tried to ignore the electrical shock that ran straight up my arm at the feel of his lips. I attempted to focus on the words I wanted to say instead of the plush softness of his mouth. Heaven help me, if I started stroking him.

“It was not your fault,” I repeated, “I don’t know the circumstances of your life, but I know that you could never… would never intentionally hurt someone.”

My voice was sincere because I meant what I said. I wondered how many a young women said that to their kidnappers.

His eyes were soft again, and his lips soft on my hand. He slowly reached up and took my hand. I thought he was going to pull it away from him and drop it, but he held it securely in his own.

“Thank you,” He said, his voice was gruff with emotion.

I smiled. I couldn’t help but stare while caught in his gaze. My heart began to pump too fast, and my head felt light, but his eyes rooted me to where I was.

“We don’t have a choice in the life we were born into, but we have a say in the life we choose to lead despite of it,” I said softly.

Before he could respond, Armie bounded up to me, after returning from a rabbit chase, and just about threw me to the ground in her excitement.

Blaine was still holding my hand, so he caught me as I tumbled sideways. I pulled away from him and glanced around.

“Thank you,” I said, suddenly feeling embarrassed as the intimate air around us was dispersed.

My cheeks became flushed and I began to fidget with my sleeves. I turned and patted Armie’s head.

“So are we almost where we need to be?” I asked casually, as if an emotionally turbulent scene hadn’t just unfolded moments before.

Blaine was quiet for a moment before responding in a tone similar to mine.

“Perhaps an hour or more so.”

I raised my eyebrows slightly.

“Do you have checkpoints in the forest or are you guessing?”

“The Huntsman never guesses,” Blaine said conceitedly.

I swear his chest puffed out a bit. I rolled my eyes, even though I was grateful for the return of his normal idiocy.

“I’ll bet fifty coins you’ve got little to no idea where we are right now,” I teased.

“I know exactly where we are,” He exclaimed.

I grinned and shook my head. We kept up a light banter before falling into a comfortable silence.

I felt happy. A different kind of happy than I had been with the dwarves. With the dwarves I had been safe, comfortable in the haven we created. The world only existed as far out as the pond, and the towns would disappear as we stepped into the woods.

Now, I walked through the woods, part of them, with the deathly Huntsman, who may or may not hand me over to my stepmother for slaughter, and I’ve never felt more alive. It wasn’t a wicked sense of freedom nor a frivolous affection.

Affection was too small. Too unassuming. What I felt was consuming, but not suffocating. Scary, but not petrifying. Effervescent, but not blinding.

I was often wary of love’s power to make as forget our individualism. I had watched as people lost themselves in their relationship, as my mother had. This always struck me as odd, considering it was their personalities that usually drew people together in the first place.

I was trying to be afraid of losing myself to whatever the feeling inside my chest was. But when I was around Blaine, talking to him, standing near him, or even yelling at him, I felt safe. I was comfortable and I wasn’t worried about being wrong or too angry. I could be myself without fear or worry of his response.

It was all very strange and very unorthodox. Once upon a time, I met a man, who was paid by my stepmother to bring me to my death, and he turned out to be rather amazing. That’s a wonderful story for the children.

The word sent an alarm through my body. Did I just say children? Did I truly just imagine a life where Blaine and I have…a family?

In my internal panic, I began to clumsily stumble through the roots weaving through the ground. I hardly knew the man! No. No. NO. As my heart rate spiked, my feet got caught in something and I went tumbling down.

“Ow,” I muttered.

Blaine was at my side in an instant.

“Hold still,” He said.

“No, no, no,” I said, suddenly wanting to stay far away from him as possible.

Why did I hug him? Dammit.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, moving my body.

“You’re bleeding,” Blaine pointed to my palm.

“Just a scratch,” I said, trying to ignore the burning pain.

“That’s a big scratch,” He said, as he grabbed my wrist carefully.

I yanked it back with more force than necessary.

“It’s fine, really,” I snapped.

His eyes narrowed at my sudden aggression.

“Stop being so stubborn,” He muttered, as he grabbed my arm more firmly.

I tried to pull it away before he tightened his grip enough to hold me still.

“You’re taking advantage of our obvious size difference,” I complained.

“Obviously,” He said, without taking his eyes off of my hand.

I huffed and sat as he inspected the wound a bit more.

“You’re clumsy” He commented, as he reached into his bag and pulled out the mysterious purple potion.

“Only when I get nervous,” I defended.

He looked up at me through his eyelashes and I tried not to gulp. They were long and full. Certainly longer than a terrifying Huntsman should have.

“Why are you nervous?” He said softly.

I felt heat bloom in my chest and climb into my face. What was happening to me?

“What’s that?” I asked pouting to the purple liquid in his hand.

He smiled slightly at my abrupt change of subject, but didn’t press me further.

“A healing potion I traded a mage for. “

“What’s in it?” I asked. My curiosity suddenly peaked.

“Only a few things I know of,” Blaine began, “Hair from the mane of a lion, the feather of an eagle, the slime of a newt.”

I frowned.

“That doesn’t sound very hygienic.”

He laughed at my concern.

“I’m assured that the magic that makes it work has an antibacterial effect.”

I smiled slightly even though he was teasing me.

“I didn’t know that there were still practicing mages,” I said, “Or any form of practiced magic. I thought Annis sought to restrict all magical beings and rituals under her rule.”

“That’s true,” Blaine said, “But there are always those either brave enough or stupid enough to continue.”

I couldn’t help but frown again.

“What?” Blaine asked.

“It’s wrong,” I said, “Banning people from their birthright. Mages and wizards were always a peaceful people under my father’s rule. Their magic lies with their ties to nature and their order is strictly defined by balance. There was never a need to censor them.”

As I finished Blaine quickly doused my hand with the potion.

It stung. I cringed as smoke rose from the healing wound. But just as quickly, my hand felt cool, as if I ran it beneath a gentle waterfall.

I bent my fingers. I could neither feel nor see any remnants of pain. There was a slight purplish coloring on the palm of my hand.

“Does it always stain?” I asked.

“A glitch in the potion,” Blaine said.

I nodded before rising.

“Thank you,” I said.

Blaine didn’t respond, but I heard him walking behind me. Armie came and patted her head against my leg. I pet her head softly as we continued to walk in silence.

“Do you mean that?” Blaine asked suddenly.

I looked up.

“Mean what?”

“About those who use magic?” He said intensely.

“Of course” I said, slightly confused at his sudden forcefulness.

He nodded, but said nothing.

I pursed my lips before tentatively asking.

“Do you…practice magic?”

Blaine stopped walking and turned to look at me.

“Do I look like a mage or wizard?”

“No,” I reasoned, “But I don’t think I look like a princess. Looks can be deceiving.”

Blaine eyes trailed over my appearance. Probably taking in the dirt-smeared clothes and the messy braid I forced my hair into. My eyes most likely expressed a wild, unrefined nature, and my posture was nothing short of battle-ready.

“Looks may be deceiving, but our perceptions are often more so,” He said.

Before I could respond, I heard something.

It almost sounded like…voices.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Suddenly I heard it all. Voice, hundreds of them floating into one unharmonious tune. I heard bells ringing, wheels rolling, and children laughing.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Blaine walked forward to a thicket of trees nearby and dramatically pulled back a branch, as if he knew exactly where to go. And then I saw, in the distance, not but a few miles away, was a town.

“Welcome, Princess,” Blaine said, “to your kingdom.”