Snee: A Snow Maiden’s New Beginning

In a grand penthouse high above the icy streets of New York, Count Viktor Romanov stood beside his wife as winter’s hush pressed against the glass. A lone cardinal, crimson against the snow, perched on their balcony, its feathers bright as hope.

“Oh, Viktor,” Ludmilla whispered, her hand on her swelling belly, “may our child have your dark hair, skin as white as snow, and lips as red as this little visitor.”

That winter, a baby girl arrived with black hair like midnight silk, alabaster skin, and lips tinted like winter berries. Ludmilla named her Snigurka, the Snow Maiden, but she did not live to see her daughter’s eyes open to the world. Viktor, hollowed by grief, called his daughter Snee, a name soft enough for lullabies, a whisper of what he had lost and what he had left.

Though Viktor adored Snee, loneliness clawed at him, and well-meaning relatives whispered of the expectations of a Count and the necessity of a mother for his child. Their words became a drumbeat in his ears, until one day, when the Honorable Maleficent Bourke-Jones set her sharp smile upon him, he surrendered to the idea of companionship, unaware he was stepping into a shadow.

Maleficent was a woman with ambitions as sharp as her nails, who saw Viktor not as a man to love, but a rung to climb, and a vault to empty. Her weekly ritual of self-adoration led her to Chez Christophe, where cucumber masks and “Murder by Red” nail polish became her tools of comfort.

“Tell me I’m beautiful,” she would purr to Christophe, ignoring the little girl who quietly played with hair curlers in the waiting room, her mother’s locket around her neck, inscribed with an “R” that glinted like a tiny shield.

And each week, Christophe would sigh, “You are the fairest, Countess.”

Until the day Snee’s laughter, soft and clear as a bell, distracted him.

“The fairest?” Christophe said, momentarily truthful. “That would be your daughter.”

The silence cracked like glass before Maleficent’s rage shattered it entirely.

Snee found herself in the back seat of a car with Boris Bullkonsky, the Countess’s driver, who smelled of cold leather and unspoken regrets. They drove through the city’s gray veins until the skyline gave way to forgotten neighborhoods, and there, near dawn, Boris cut off Snee’s curls and whispered, “Run.”

Left beneath an overpass, clutching the locket on her chest, Snee wept until the cold took her tears. As she wandered, she discovered a cluster of freight boxes, one with a hole cut in its side, a single pot of red geraniums outside as if someone had left a sign of hope.

Too tired to question it, Snee crawled inside and fell asleep, dreaming of warm arms and lullabies she could barely remember.

“Look what you did, Cranky, you scared it!”

Snee blinked awake to find a bulbous red nose and a chorus of faces peering in.

“I’m not an ‘it,’” she said softly, hugging her knees.

“You’re in our house, kid,” Cranky grumbled, but a man with kind eyes and spectacles pushed him back.

“We’re family here. I’m Brain, this is Doofus, Drippy, Snoozer, Smiley, Shucks, and the big nose here is Cranky.”

Snee told them her story, haltingly, clutching her locket as she spoke of her papa, of the woman with sharp eyes, and the morning she lost everything.

The Brothers, as they called themselves, shared glances. Brain finally spoke, “No foster system for you, kiddo. You’ll stay here, help us keep the place, and we’ll teach you everything you need.”

And so Snee’s days found rhythm again. She helped clean the Boxes, learned to cook over camp stoves, read poetry in the library each Sunday, and learned to live, loved by seven men who became her grandfathers, brothers, and protectors in a world that often forgot the powerless.

As the years passed, Snee grew into a young woman with eyes that saw the beauty in the smallest things, her kindness woven into every small act she did for the Brothers and those they helped on the streets.

One Sunday, while reading Cowper in her usual spot at the library, a sleek car stopped by the curb. A young man stepped out, his red dreadlocks tied back, his dark eyes filled with something Snee could not name. She looked away, remembering the Brothers’ teachings, though she felt the weight of his gaze linger as he left.

Meanwhile, Maleficent’s reflection became her greatest enemy. No matter how much Christophe’s mirrors were scrubbed, they whispered the same betrayal: that beauty was fleeting, and Snee’s was blossoming.

When she demanded Christophe’s reassurance once more, he finally laughed, “You? The fairest? No, Countess, it was that girl outside the library with the ‘R’ on her locket, the one who looks like your husband’s daughter.”

Maleficent’s scream rattled the salon’s glass.

Fury festering, Maleficent brewed her plan. She found Boris, hissed threats of old secrets, and handed him a bag of perfect apples, now laced with poison.

Disguised in thrift-store clothes, Maleficent found Snee in the poetry aisle.

“My dear, do you love poetry?” she cooed, her eyes cold despite her smile.

“Yes,” Snee said, hugging Cowper’s poems to her chest.

“Have an apple,” Maleficent offered, crunching into one herself with a practiced grin.

Hesitant, Snee finally accepted the flawless red fruit, and as its sweetness touched her tongue, the world fell into darkness.

The Brothers found her slumped beside her book, a single apple rolling from her hand.

As the library erupted in panic, a young man pushed through the crowd, his red dreadlocks unmistakable.

“Let me help her,” he pleaded, kneeling, his eyes never leaving Snee’s face.

He bent and kissed her softly, and a miracle bloomed. Her eyelids fluttered, color returned to her cheeks, and her lips curved in a weak but genuine smile.

The crowd gasped, the Brothers wept, and Snee opened her eyes to find herself in the arms of Arthur du Lac, Poet Laureate of Westphalia, who had fallen in love with the girl who read poetry under the winter sun.

In time, Snee married Arthur under a canopy of white blossoms, the Brothers giving her away with tearful pride, each wearing new suits and matching top hats Arthur had gifted them.

The Brothers found a home in Westphalia, working in the gardens and libraries, where they were honored and loved as family. Snee, as Duchess, worked tirelessly to protect children and the poor, ensuring no one would be abandoned as she had once been.

As for Maleficent, stripped of her wealth, her beauty curdled with the bitterness of her heart. Alone, she faded into a shadow of herself, until, as the Brothers liked to say with a satisfied shrug, “she finally crumbled like a bad apple.”

And so, Snee, the Snow Maiden, found the family she had lost and the love she deserved, living a life that glowed like the cardinal outside her parents’ window on the day she was wished into the world.

And may we all find our way to warmth, kindness, and new beginnings, no matter how long the winter may last.