She woke in a panic.
At first, all she could see
was her reflection
bouncing off the glass above her.
Encased, enclosed, trapped;
Yet, her reflection comforted her.
Smooth pale skin,
with not a wrinkle in sight
topped with shiny locks
that could make you
think of warmth
in even the coldest of winters.
Her lips were plump and red,
the kind that always look perfect
when closed.
Encased, enclosed, trapped;
in a dress made of silk,
on a bed stitched of satin.
Her eyelids fluttered
and her vision focused.
Past the glass covering
was a painted sky with
brushstrokes of grey and midnight.
Time passed on and there she lay,
no longer able to keep track of the days.
The trees around her morphed with the
seasons, growing and dying in due time.
All the while two things remained unchanged:
The gloomy sky and her porcelain face.
She soon became restless,
an image of youth and beauty contrasted
against a dark and dismal sky.
Paralyzed and silenced,
she could feel herself being watched.
She wanted to cry out,
but found that
that was something
her perfect red lips were not
supposed to do.
Encased, enclosed, trapped;
her reflection no longer
brought her comfort.
She awoke again with a gasp,
and the Queen was relieved to know
that she was able once again to sit up
in her own bed.
That day, she walked past her reflection
and for the first time in a long time,
did not ask
“Who is the fairest of them all?”
