golden,” Gretel told me with her doe eyes. “It’s everything that was the color of…” She pulled me by my ear like a kiddo, and then whispered, “Red.”
“Red?” I wondered.
“Many centuries ago, all fruits and vegetables that were once red were turned into the color of gold,” Gretel said. “Berries, apples, tomatoes, you name it.”
“Why is that?” I asked. I was a prince of a neighboring kingdom so I
knew little of the Black Forest.
“Red is a forbidden color in the Kingdom of Sorrow,” Gretel explained. “Because it’s the color of Death.”
“Death has a color?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Death’s color is that of blood, and it’s a she ,” Gretel whispered again.
“Death is a person?” I asked, wondering if it was Death we should be afraid of now.
“We call her Little Red Riding Hood,” Gretel said. “The weird, yet cheerful, girl living by the Tree of Life, outside of the forest.”
“Never heard of her.”
“That’s better. She is deadly. And it would be good for you if she hasn’t heard of you either,” Gretel put a thoughtful finger on her mouth. “But she is also my friend.”
“How so?”
“It’s complicated. I don’t know how to explain it. You ask too many questions,” Gretel said. “Forget about Death. What you need to know is who turned the apples into golden apples.”
“Who?” I shrugged. “I hope this is not considered too many questions.”
“Pomona,” Gretel said with a wide smile on her face. “She is the Goddess of Fruits and the Keeper of the Forest. She forbade this forest from using the color red, conspiring with the kingdom to kill Death, who wore a red cloak and held a scythe and walked around killing people.”
“Death wore red?” I asked. I didn’t want to say that we were talking about Death again, instead of the apples. I assumed there was connection.
“She is called Red Riding Hood. Isn’t she?” Gretel looked at me as if I were stupid. “Pomona prohibited the color red from the forest, so it would be easier to hunt down Death.”
“So whenever I get to see a flash of anything red, I should know that it was Death, right?”
“You’re starting to get it,” She nodded.
“But I heard that many people in the Kingdom of Sorrow were immortals.” I wondered.
“They are, but not if killed by Death,” Gretel explained. “Now if you excuse me, I am busy. I have to study, help my brother, and make bread for my parents. I am going to be a witch too, but a good one.” Gretel said and walked away. I didn’t see her again until some time later when things got more complicated. That was three months before Snow White turned sixteen, when her mother, the Queen of Sorrow, decided to ban her outside the castle.
Whatever disease – or dark spirit – possessed Snow White, I still used to visit her secretly in her castle, unable to stop myself from whatever drew me closer to her. My whole existence was under her spell. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or enjoy my life as a youthful prince if I didn’t see her every now and then.
Snow White was kept a prisoner by her parents, who tried to conceal her demonic nature from the rest of the kingdom. They had been doing this for years, waiting for their daughter’s sixteenth birthday, the age when she would be cured. It was prophesized, and later we knew that the prophecy was only lies, like all the other lies that surrounded us.
But Snow White was growing stronger, and controlling her monstrous nature was almost impossible.
The Queen of Sorrow, who had changed from a warm-hearted Godmother to something more sinister at the time, had to find a way to imprison her daughter until she reached the prophesized age. It was rumored that the Queen of Sorrow – whose real name we shall never say for reasons beyond my knowledge – was into witchcraft and dark arts at the time. The kingdom was chained to a ruthless war with the bloodsucking creatures repeatedly trying to breach the borders to get
“Red?” I wondered.
“Many centuries ago, all fruits and vegetables that were once red were turned into the color of gold,” Gretel said. “Berries, apples, tomatoes, you name it.”
“Why is that?” I asked. I was a prince of a neighboring kingdom so I
knew little of the Black Forest.
“Red is a forbidden color in the Kingdom of Sorrow,” Gretel explained. “Because it’s the color of Death.”
“Death has a color?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Death’s color is that of blood, and it’s a she ,” Gretel whispered again.
“Death is a person?” I asked, wondering if it was Death we should be afraid of now.
“We call her Little Red Riding Hood,” Gretel said. “The weird, yet cheerful, girl living by the Tree of Life, outside of the forest.”
“Never heard of her.”
“That’s better. She is deadly. And it would be good for you if she hasn’t heard of you either,” Gretel put a thoughtful finger on her mouth. “But she is also my friend.”
“How so?”
“It’s complicated. I don’t know how to explain it. You ask too many questions,” Gretel said. “Forget about Death. What you need to know is who turned the apples into golden apples.”
“Who?” I shrugged. “I hope this is not considered too many questions.”
“Pomona,” Gretel said with a wide smile on her face. “She is the Goddess of Fruits and the Keeper of the Forest. She forbade this forest from using the color red, conspiring with the kingdom to kill Death, who wore a red cloak and held a scythe and walked around killing people.”
“Death wore red?” I asked. I didn’t want to say that we were talking about Death again, instead of the apples. I assumed there was connection.
“She is called Red Riding Hood. Isn’t she?” Gretel looked at me as if I were stupid. “Pomona prohibited the color red from the forest, so it would be easier to hunt down Death.”
“So whenever I get to see a flash of anything red, I should know that it was Death, right?”
“You’re starting to get it,” She nodded.
“But I heard that many people in the Kingdom of Sorrow were immortals.” I wondered.
“They are, but not if killed by Death,” Gretel explained. “Now if you excuse me, I am busy. I have to study, help my brother, and make bread for my parents. I am going to be a witch too, but a good one.” Gretel said and walked away. I didn’t see her again until some time later when things got more complicated. That was three months before Snow White turned sixteen, when her mother, the Queen of Sorrow, decided to ban her outside the castle.
Whatever disease – or dark spirit – possessed Snow White, I still used to visit her secretly in her castle, unable to stop myself from whatever drew me closer to her. My whole existence was under her spell. I couldn’t sleep, eat, or enjoy my life as a youthful prince if I didn’t see her every now and then.
Snow White was kept a prisoner by her parents, who tried to conceal her demonic nature from the rest of the kingdom. They had been doing this for years, waiting for their daughter’s sixteenth birthday, the age when she would be cured. It was prophesized, and later we knew that the prophecy was only lies, like all the other lies that surrounded us.
But Snow White was growing stronger, and controlling her monstrous nature was almost impossible.
The Queen of Sorrow, who had changed from a warm-hearted Godmother to something more sinister at the time, had to find a way to imprison her daughter until she reached the prophesized age. It was rumored that the Queen of Sorrow – whose real name we shall never say for reasons beyond my knowledge – was into witchcraft and dark arts at the time. The kingdom was chained to a ruthless war with the bloodsucking creatures repeatedly trying to breach the borders to get
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