The Tale of the Two Sisters – The Evil Stepmother’s Secret Origin

Once upon a time, before the story of Snow White was ever told, there lived two sisters in a quiet village surrounded by dark, whispering woods. I was the elder, born with a beauty that people often claimed could rival the morning sun itself. I was the pride of my family, destined for greatness, or so I believed—until the day the darkness stole my sight.

I remember it not just as a tragedy but as a premonition of evil. I was a child, playing in the woods with my younger sister, Amara. A sharp whisper of wind, the sudden rip of brambles, and then—nothing. Darkness. Permanent and unyielding. People said I was careless, that I ran face-first into thorns while caught in my childish games. But I knew differently. I remembered standing still, feeling the air shiver with danger, as though the forest itself reached out to blind me. Amara had been there, watching. She claimed it was an accident. Yet, deep inside me, a suspicion festered—one I could never prove.

Though blind, I adapted. I learned to navigate the world by sound and by touch, but inside, I was still the girl who had once captured every gaze. Only now, my beauty was spoken of in the past tense. That role had passed to Amara. As she grew, so did her radiance, and soon she became the village’s new ‘belle’, basking in admiration that once was mine. I loved her, yet each compliment she received was a needle in my heart. I could feel her eyes on me, heavy with something deeper than pity—something sharper.

Time passed, and Amara’s beauty carried her far beyond our village. She was invited to grand balls and courts, her face turning heads in every hall. Then came the invitation to the ball of Crown Prince Leopold, a man old enough to have grey in his hair and a roving eye, yet still a prince. Amara attended in splendor, dripping with jewels, and she returned not just a guest but a princess, having ensnared the prince’s affections.

My family celebrated. Gifts poured in from the palace—ornate clocks, jeweled swords, porcelain tea sets. For me, they sent an ivory comb. A beautiful, useless thing for a blind girl. It was an insult disguised as a present.

But fortune, or perhaps fate, brought me a companion. A huntsman named Alvarez came to our door seeking shelter in exchange for labor. My mother, sensing my loneliness, commanded him to keep me company. At first, I hated the notion, but Alvarez was patient. He spoke to me daily—about the woods, the harvest, the sky. His voice painted worlds I could no longer see, and before I knew it, his presence filled the darkness inside me. I loved him, and in his quiet way, I believed he loved me too.

Then Amara returned. With her came cold winds and the scent of power. She found Alvarez by my side. I heard her laughter, felt the air change as she set her eyes on him. I should have known. Beauty attracts beauty, and I was nothing but a shadow of who I had been. Within days, she had bewitched him, lured him away with whispered promises and her sparkling blue eyes.

Alvarez left with her, gone to the palace to serve as a royal huntsman. My heart shattered, but Amara wasn’t done. She sent me a mirror—a gilded thing with six cruel words carved along its frame:

“So you can see yourself now.”

Blind though I was, I ran my fingers over those letters until they were etched into my soul. I hurled the mirror, kicked it, cursed it—but it never broke. Unlike me.

I sat alone, abandoned and bitter. In my chair by the fireplace, I gathered my rage like twine, knotting it tightly in my heart. I could feel it twisting me, molding me. I became something else—not the sister she had left behind, but something sharper, darker. I began to prepare. I dipped that ivory comb in poison, tightened silken ribbons with malice, and whispered to the cursed mirror:

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, she’s now with child, and soon to fall.”

For yes, my dear sister was with child. A child destined to inherit the beauty and fortune I was denied. But I had my own inheritance now: hatred sharp as glass, and patience enough to wait for my revenge.

So when the day came that Amara’s child, a girl with skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood, was left motherless, I knew my time had come. I married Prince Leopold, stepping into the palace that had cast me aside. I became queen—her replacement, at last.

And Snow White? She was a reflection of all I had lost. A living mirror of beauty and grace. But mirrors can break.

Moral of the Story

Envy is a seed that grows in shadowed hearts, warping love into hatred. When we let bitterness guide us, we become the villain in our own tale.