The Evil Queen

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? They say her name is lost to time, but the world remembers her only as the Evil Queen. A title forged in fear and fire. Once, she was simply a woman—young, radiant, and in love. Her name was Sophia. It was the kind of love whispered about in fairy tales—when Sophia met and wed the widowed king, her heart bloomed with hope. Snow White, his daughter, was just a child then. And Sophia… Sophia loved her. Fiercely. As her own. But fairy tales lie. The king died only a few short years after their union—his passing sudden, his cause unknown. Whispers began. Whispers that took root in the palace walls and slithered into the ears of the people. Whispers seeded by Snow White herself. The girl twisted truths into daggers. Accused Sophia of murder. Painted her as a sorceress, a monster lurking behind a crown. The people, hungry for a villain, turned. They watched the Queen with wide, fearful eyes. The court grew cold. The palace, colder. In her isolation, Sophia clung to the Mirror—a cursed relic bound by blood and shadow. Once, it spoke truths. Now, it is silent. In a moment of desperation, Sophia faltered. She sent the Huntsman. Not to kill, but to bring the girl home. But mercy is a coin often spent too late. Snow White escaped. And worse—she rose. With the help of seven dwarves and a foreign crown, she raised an army. A child turned conqueror. Now, war knocks at the gates of a crumbling castle. And the Mirror… still silent. But silence is not the end. The truth, long buried beneath ash and accusation, claws its way back into the light. Let them come. Let them hear the truth. This is not Snow White’s story. This is Sophia’s.