Mirror Mirror [ONC 2021 Version]

THIRTEEN

"What happened here?" Ruby's voice misted in the morning chill before her face as she followed Millie through the Red Forest. "Everything's—"

"Dead." Sir Bashful's hushed whisper nearly made her jump out of her skin. That and the fact that a dried branch had snapped beneath Millie's feet at exactly the same moment. Startling the poor thing.

Yeah. Ruby could hardly believe what they were seeing. The forest lay dry and red. Not a single green leaf, nor a blade of grass to be seen. Not even moss or lichen on trees. They passed several cottages and huts of varying sizes. All in disarray, on what might have been an old trade road to a village. The once well-trodden path beneath their feet lay scarcely visible amongst the growth.

Ruby couldn't help but watch the cottages and huts with fascination. Some of them were so small and quaint she didn't think a child would fit through its doors. Let alone an adult. But then again, something told her they weren't for humans at all.

As they trudged forth, she swore she even spied small doors at the foot of enormous tree trunks; windows on top branches; little twigs lined up for fences. She swore she saw rudimentary gardens—what would have been stone paths back home—made of pebbles instead. Garden beds that were far too organized to be wild—sectioned, irrigated.

"Who lived here?" she asked, pulling her dark forest green robe about her body tighter. The sun played peekaboo from the clouds and the day was not getting any warmer.

"My grandmother was fond of saying to my brothers and me, that once upon a time, this forest went by the name, Fairy Forest. That it was a privilege for us to visit it once every year. A pilgrimage." Sir Bashful slashed at some branches, tugging at his chain mail. "A long time ago, the Red Forest was the centre for all magic wielders. Legends say this is where they first came to be. Born from these blood-red soils. Wielders. The blue-blooded."

"The Queen was the last known fairy to be born here," Millie, who had kept to herself all this time, finally chimed in. A spritely fresh spring in her steps. Steps she quickened evermore for she could see a familiar pathway ahead. Past the growth and death, she would recognise the small carving of a sparrow her father had once etched on a big old apple tree that sat in the centre of a forked road. He had carved it—her favourite bird as a child—so she knew which way was home, to Granny's, should she ever walk there alone. It was back when her father had cared, had loved them more than he feared his new wife; or of losing her.

Millie spared a thought for him. She hadn't seen the man since he left her at granny's one stormy evening, eight years ago. As the rain had bucketed down about granny's humble home, he had left without a goodbye, just a dry, "This is your home now, Millie bear. You will stay here."

"The Queen was born here?" Ruby was asking, turning from Bashful to her maid, astonished. "As in—"

"Snow White. Yes."