Whitney leaned on her pickaxe, watching the dwarfs trip over themselves to hand Snow White flowers. Pathetic. She rolled her eyes and muttered loud enough for the raven perched nearby to hear, “Oh, she’s just so delicate. If only someone evil knew she was hiding in our cottage deep in the forest, past the crooked oak and the mossy stream.” The raven squawked, took flight. Whitney smirked. “Oops.”
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