The morning sun blazed over the Kingdom of Albion like an overzealous bakery oven, turning the palace courtyard into a gilded furnace. Its harsh rays illuminated every crack in the cobblestone path, each chipped stone seeming to mock the royal grandeur of the castle. Snow White knelt at the center of this solar scrutiny, her once-pristine dress now soiled beyond recognition. It was smeared with dirt, tomato juice, and a questionable amount of compost that had found its way onto her apron. Her skin, once the stuff of fairy-tale legend, was now a few shades darker—her complexion less "porcelain perfection" and more "human-being-who-spent-too-long-in-the-garden."
"Your Highness!" Lady Marlene, the queen's senior attendant, practically tripped over her own voluminous skirts as she rushed towards Snow. Her face contorted in a perfect blend of horror and disbelief. "The Fairest Face Ceremony begins in twenty minutes! You can't possibly attend looking like... like..."
"A real person?" Snow suggested cheerfully, wiping her hands on her apron and adding another smudge of dirt to the already impressive collection on her face. She pulled a fresh strawberry from her basket and bit into it with deliberate relish, juice trickling down her chin like liquid rubies.
Marlene's left eyelid began twitching violently. "You've been 'researching' tomatoes for three weeks straight. Her Majesty explicitly—"
A shriek from the upper balcony severed her words, the sound sharp and shrill, carrying across the courtyard like a war cry. Queen Evilia stood in the doorway, framed by the blood-red curtains that adorned her chamber. Her alabaster skin gleamed unnaturally in the harsh light, so pale it seemed to shimmer like a freshly polished tombstone. Her violet eyes narrowed with the precision of a hawk spotting a particularly offensive field mouse.
"SNOW. WHITE." Each syllable dropped like an executioner's axe, precise and unforgiving. "Why are you the color of peasant bread?"
Snow squinted up at her stepmother, shielding her eyes from the sun's relentless heat. "Because unlike some people, I don't consider sunlight a mortal enemy?" She plucked another strawberry from her basket, biting into it with the same defiant relish.
The queen's perfectly manicured fingers tightened around her golden mirror, her knuckles turning white. "MIRROR!" she shrieked. "Who is currently the fairest in the land?"
The enchanted looking glass flickered, its surface rippling like a faulty tavern television struggling to load an image. After an unusually long pause, it finally stabilized, revealing a pixelated face. "Running diagnostic... Analyzing complexion parameters... Calculating—"
"Skip the theatrics!" the queen snapped, her voice high with irritation.
"Fine," the mirror grumbled. "You. Obviously. Though that dirt-goblin you call a stepdaughter has better collagen levels. Just saying."
Inside the palace's suffocating beauty chamber, twelve handmaidens scrambled about like frightened rabbits, attempting to appease Queen Evilia's every demand with military precision. The room was heavy with the scent of roses and expensive perfumes, a stark contrast to the chaos within.
"Rosewater mist at forty-five degree angles!" the queen commanded, lying motionless on her back, her body as rigid as a corpse in a viewing. "The left cheek requires three more drops of unicorn serum! And someone fetch my emergency leeches!"
Snow stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the ritual with a mixture of disbelief and mild amusement. "You do realize leeches are actual living creatures, not just some kind of luxury spa accessory?" she quipped.
The queen's left eye twitched in sync with Marlene's, and her voice turned venomous. "Beauty requires sacrifice, child. Something you'd understand if you ever looked in a mirror for longer than three seconds."
"I look in mirrors plenty," Snow shot back, plopping onto a velvet stool with an exaggerated sigh. "They're excellent for checking if my hair's on fire after one of your 'harmless beauty potions.'"
A maid dropped a crystal vial with a sickening crash, and the queen's smile turned dangerously tight. "Speaking of potions… Marlene?" she purred, her eyes glinting with a malice that could cut through steel. "Prepare the Whitening Solution. Extra strength."
As attendants scrambled to mix the noxious concoction that smelled of bleach and bad decisions, Snow noticed something strange—Queen Evilia's famously flawless complexion was taking on a peculiar, almost orange tint.
"New look?" Snow raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You're giving 'pumpkin spice' a whole new meaning."
The queen's eyes widened, her face contorting into a mask of pure fury. "YOU!" she screeched, leaping upright so suddenly that leeches went flying across the room, some landing with a faint plop onto the velvet cushions. "Your little 'gardening experiments' have gone too far! My entire skincare regimen is RUINED!"
Snow blinked innocently, batting her eyelashes. "I may have... tweaked your sunscreen recipe," she said with an exaggerated casualness. "Carrots have excellent UV protection properties, you know."
The queen's scream could shatter glass. Snow heard the sound of perfume bottles cracking in the distance, and outside, birds abandoned their nests in a panic. Snow suppressed a chuckle as she turned to leave.
That evening, the palace's throne room was eerily silent, save for the low hum of magic in the air. The magic mirror glowed ominously in its usual spot, reflecting nothing but a faint glimmer of light. Snow crept past it, her arms laden with stolen pastries—fig tarts, blackberry scones, and the ever-popular raspberry-filled delights.
"Pssst. Dirt Princess."
Snow froze mid-step, her heart skipping a beat. "Since when do you talk to me?" she whispered, eyeing the enchanted mirror warily.
"Since Her Orange Majesty started demanding hourly skin analyses," the mirror grumbled, its surface rippling with annoyance. "Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to lie constantly?"
Snow arched an eyebrow. "What do you want?"
"Blackberry tarts. Information. Possibly revenge." The mirror's surface shimmered, as if trying to muster some form of excitement. "Did you know the queen's planning to dunk you in bleach tomorrow?"
Snow's grip on the pastries tightened, her face momentarily blank with disbelief. "She wouldn't dare."
"She ordered industrial-grade barrels from the alchemist." The mirror displayed a glowing purchase receipt, almost smug in its revelation. "Also, fun fact—your 'peasant tan' is literally giving her hives."
A slow grin spread across Snow's face, her eyes glinting with mischief. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I'm an enchanted object forced to praise the same narcissist for fifteen years," the mirror deadpanned. "Watching her lose it over your healthy vitamin D levels is the closest thing I get to entertainment."
Later that night, Snow stood before her window, packing a burlap sack with her essentials: her favorite gardening gloves, a jar of homemade strawberry jam, and the palace's complete collection of poisonous plant manuals (purely for research purposes). Her hand lingered on the sack for a moment before she gave a final sigh.
A faint scritch-scritch at the window cut through the silence, and seven shadowy figures appeared, moving with the stealth of professionals. The tallest dwarf, wearing comically oversized spectacles, cleared his throat.
"Rumor has it," said Doc, the leader of the infamous Dwarven Mining Collective, "you're in need of alternative housing."
Snow arched an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "Let me guess—your cave has terrible lighting, questionable hygiene standards, and zero royal stepmothers?"
Doc grinned widely. "Also a fully stocked kitchen," piped up a dwarf with a permanent sneeze. "Achoo! And we never—achoo!—judge people for looking like actual humans."
Grumpy crossed his arms and scowled. "We do judge people who can't cook, though. Hope you're decent at it."
Snow laughed, a carefree sound that echoed in the moonlit air. As the first distant shouts of palace guards began to rise in the distance, Snow took one last lingering look at the gilded prison that had once been her home. Then, with a decisive nod, she followed the dwarves into the moonlit forest, the weight of her past finally left behind.
The magic mirror's faint chuckle echoed through the empty palace halls: "Tell them to invest in aloe vera. That bleach shipment arrives at dawn."
Queen Evilia stood before her mirror, horror spreading across her face as the orange hue continued to creep down her neck.
"MARLENE!" she shrieked. "FETCH THE SCRUB BRUSHES! THE PUMICE STONES! THE—"
Her tirade was abruptly cut off as the magic mirror suddenly blared loud music and flashed an alarming message: "YOUR FREE TRIAL OF 'FAIREST IN THE LAND' HAS EXPIRED. UPGRADE TO PREMIUM?"
As the queen's screams reached glass-shattering frequencies, somewhere in the Dark Forest, a runaway princess laughed so hard she nearly fell into a berry bush.