The Queen’s Side of Snow White: A Different Truth

You’ve heard the story before, or so you think. A beautiful young princess, skin as pale as snow, lips as red as blood, hair dark as a raven’s wing, beloved by all creatures and eventually rescued by true love’s kiss. But stories are often told by the victors, are they not? Let me tell you how it truly happened, from the lips of the so-called Evil Queen herself.

It began, as most disasters do, on a bright Sunday morning. I opened my windows, letting sunlight cascade across the marble floors of my chamber like liquid gold. “Bertrand!” I called, watching the reflection shimmer in the grand mirror that hung above my vanity.

My dear Bertrand—once my devoted husband, now my enchanted mirror thanks to the curses of my witchy great-aunt, who found his blunt honesty intolerable. It was a tragic transformation, but I admit, it made for quick morning conversations.

“Bertrand,” I teased, adjusting the crown upon my head, “who is the fairest of them all today?”

His ghostly reflection appeared, solemn and hesitant. “My queen, a young maiden has arrived in the kingdom. Her name is Snow White. She… she is breathtaking.”

I nearly choked on my laughter. “Show her to me.”

And there she was, in the mirror: Snow White, the infamous pale, red-lipped, dark-haired creature everyone raved about. I blinked, tilted my head, and fought the urge to giggle. If pale skin and red lips were all it took to win a kingdom’s heart, we were all doomed. Her hair hung in limp strands like wet crow feathers, and her eyes were too wide, too innocent, like a startled fawn about to sprint.

“Are we all blind?” I muttered.

Bertrand sighed, “She is to be your stepdaughter soon. A princess cannot look so… plain.”

Ah yes, the wedding. A political arrangement with King Richard to strengthen our borders and secure peace. Love had no place at that table. Richard was content with his hunts and diplomatic feasts, and I was content with my gowns and gardens. We had no illusions of romance, and it suited us just fine.

But Snow White? She was a problem.

She refused silks, choosing tattered linen instead, scrubbing floors until her hands blistered. She sang with sparrows and kissed raccoons on their filthy noses, believing they spoke back to her. She was chaos wrapped in naivety, disrupting lessons with her constant humming, ignoring etiquette for stories whispered to mice.

And when I suggested—half in jest, half in exasperation—that her beloved animals might one day turn on her, she believed me. She truly believed I would send a legion of squirrels and rabbits to tear her apart. The next morning, we found her note:

“Dear Father,
My stepmother wishes me dead. I must run away to live and one day become a great queen. Please forgive me, but I must go. I love you.
—Snow White.”

King Richard stormed into my chambers, grief and fury battling in his eyes. No words I said could calm him. The kingdom turned on me with the speed of wildfire, painting me as the villain in their bedtime stories. A witch, a monster, the Evil Queen.

They exiled me to the countryside with nothing but Bertrand’s mirror for company. I was forced to watch as Snow White’s legend grew: befriending seven odd little miners, singing in the forests, charming a prince who kissed her awake from a poisoned slumber, and eventually, ruling the kingdom in shimmering gowns, praised for her kindness.

But exiled does not mean unhappy.

Here in the quiet hills, I tend to my herbs and flowers, sip tea at dawn, and share blackberry pies with Bertrand’s reflection at dusk. The birds still sing, though I don’t chatter back. The wind still dances through the grass, and the world, despite its stories, still holds moments of quiet beauty.

They call Snow White the fairest in the land, the kindest, the purest. But here’s a truth they never tell you: not every queen needs to rule a kingdom to live happily ever after. Sometimes, peace comes when you are finally away from the noise of courts and the expectations of crowns, with nothing but your own reflection reminding you who you truly are.

And in this peace, I smile, for perhaps, in a different light, even the Evil Queen gets her happily ever after.

Moral of the Story:

Never judge a story from one side alone. There is always another perspective, and sometimes the villain is simply someone misunderstood, seeking peace in a world that demands perfection.