Author's Note: Yes, I know this is in second person, and yes, I know it might be somewhat awkward. But I've seen it work before and I wanted to try it. So, here it is!


Your Mommy Murdered You
by Fiyero Oberon

You never really fully understood what was happening. It was always you and daddy and the world was happy-go-lucky. Life was made of sugar-coated candies and pretty white lace dresses with crimson sashes and your dark curls were pulled back in a blue ribbon. You always liked that ribbon. The Spanish cook, Primavera, gave it to you for Christmas when you were three because at that point your daddy's farm wasn't doing so well and he couldn't afford to pay her. She stayed on because she loved you. And she wasn't getting any salary, other than food and shelter, and so she gave you a thin, blue ribbon for Christmas.

When you were seven, your daddy told you that you were going to have a new mommy now. You didn't understand how you could have a new mommy when you never had an old mommy. You didn't know then that your old mommy died when she gave you birth. But Angelique was your mommy now and she was so beautiful. You envied her name – you never especially liked 'Bianca' but when you compared it to 'Angelique,' you knew for sure that your name was ugly.

And you always knew that Angelique was beautiful. There was something arctic about her – she had curly, butter-yellow hair and ice-blue eyes and cherry-red lips. There was not a flaw in her pale skin and her hands were silky smooth, unlike Primavera's wrinkly ones. You weren't exactly sure, but you thought you liked the natural feel of Primavera's hands more than the satin of Angelique's.

Angelique was nice to you, but you realize now that she was over-the-top nice – like too much honey and not enough butter. She was sickeningly sweet and you know now that she did this to win you over. Still, you wonder if she really needed to do those things to win her over – you never had a mommy and somehow you were drawn to Angelique.

The first time you knew that Angelique was not a real mommy was when she took Primavera's blue ribbon out of your hair, cut it in two, and instead pulled your hair back with an ivory comb set with emeralds. It was pretty and you both knew it, but somehow you preferred the simplicity of the ribbon over the exquisite Eastern comb.

Do you remember the first time you heard your mommy talking to the mirror? You got scared and ran away because the mirror's deep, liquid voice was so unfamiliar, so frightening and so inviting. Angelique asked it who the fairest of them all was and it told her that she was. This made her happy, and you happy, and you both left individually.

You forgot about the mirror.

When you turned thirteen, your daddy had a birthday ball for you. You were dressed to match yourself – a velvet skirt of a deep red color, a black corset, and white sleeves. Mommy laced you up because you didn't know how to lace yourself. The corset was a bit too tight and you had trouble breathing the whole night. Maybe that was when you should have known what would happen.

Your best friend was Billy, the boy who took care of the orchards. The orchards fascinated you – they were black and twisted and dead in the winter, but in summer and spring they were beautiful and flowering and bearing rich, delicious fruit.

When you were fifteen, you heard your mommy asking the mirror who the fairest of them all was again. You got scared when you heard her screaming with rage at the mirror's answer:

"Bianca."

You ran away to the orchards and sat underneath the tallest apple tree, crying. That was the first time Billy kissed you. He came over and sat by you and kissed you. And he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. And the tears went away.

But that evening you remembered Angelique and the mirror at dinner. Your mommy didn't speak a word all night. She sat there in a wicked silence, not touching her food. Your daddy tried to talk to her, but she ignored him. She glared at you through the whole meal. She left the table in tears.

You knew what was happening when the hunter came to get you. You went with him bravely and did not beg when he raised his knife – he threw it at you and you rolled over. The knife missed its target. The hunter broke down in tears suddenly, shouting at you to run. You ran for your life.

And got caught in a net trap.

The dwarfs' net trap. They showed up after nightfall and released you.

You stayed with them for seven months before your mommy found you again. You recognized the comb. How could you not? But you wanted to feel your mommy's hands in your hair again. You wanted her to love you again. Hot tears stung your eyes when she pushed the accessory into your scalp and fled, laughing wickedly. You didn't take out the comb – you let the poison slowly enter your blood stream and the world went black as you fainted from dizziness. The dwarfs returned because they had forgotten their mining picks and they removed the comb from your head. You woke up.

Seven weeks passed before Angelique showed up again. This time she brought a corset and you had her do your laces, just as she had at your thirteenth birthday ball. She tied the laces too tight again, but this time the world went blood-red and you fainted from the inability to breath. She fled; the dwarfs realized they had forgotten their lanterns and returned home. They found you lying on the ground and quickly ripped the corset open so you could breathe. You woke up.

Seven days passed before Angelique appeared for the third time. She held an apple when she came and this time you knew what was going on. But you still ate it – you still loved and trusted your mommy with some sliver of faith. But the apple killed you. The world went bright white.

Your mommy murdered you.

When you woke up from death, you saw Billy above you. He had turned into William, a handsome young man. And he kissed you. And he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. And the death went away.

Your mommy died at your wedding to William. She was forced into a pair of iron shoes that had been heated over a fire until they were red-hot. She danced and danced until she fell dead. Everyone laughed.

You cried.

Fin.