It was the Year of His Script 1408, on the 13th day of Whimsy. In the middle of the Great Alabaster Range of snow-capped mountains, far north from the once-golden fields of Reveria and the eternally verdurous forests that were home to the Faeries, the Lamp shone with a majesty bordering on reverence upon the bright, unblemished walls of a magnificent castle set against the side of a picturesque crag. In its tallest tower at the top of a spindle-shaped spire looking as if it had been spun from golden filigree stood a woman of great regality and no small amount of renown, her hands pressed down upon either side of the ebony desk she was leaning over.

The woman wore a simple white cotton dress that went past her knees, the simplicity of the piece still somehow resplendent simply because of the woman’s inherent beauty that seemed to radiate from here like an almost tangible aura. Her raven-black hair was trimmed to a courteous and stately shoulder-length and her skin was fairer than the shades of pristine snow that covered the slopes outside her tower window. Set upon her brow was a gleaming diadem inlaid with seven strange gemstones, each one alight with a different incandescent hue.

Her beautiful features were worn from lack of sleep and contorted into an anxious frown as she pored over the scattered collection of charts, texts, and a large map with figurines placed thereupon. Written in illuminated manuscript at the head of the map was the name of the realm she was studying: the Empire of Fancy.

The woman’s eyes were currently glued on the contents of a freshly opened missive, considering the implications of what she was reading. After a few moments of thought, she moved one of the small ivory-carved pieces across the part of the map dubbed Wonder in the west and slid it further up into a region known as the Courtlands.

The woman stared at the piece she had just moved -- the model of a faceless woman holding a small looking glass between her hands like a relic of power -- as if she were trying to glean some sort of hidden meaning from the small shifting of its location relative to the other figurines spread all across the map before her. Her lips redder than blood pursed into an almost single line of crimson consternation.

The trail of her swirling thoughts was interrupted by a sudden yawn she found impossible to suppress. She raised her arms in a languid stretch, her gaze wandering over towards the tower window to take in the view of the idyllic, snow-covered landscape outside. The Lamp was dimming, casting the world outside her window in a glittering orangish hue for a few candle-flick more before it would vanish altogether. The houses that dotted the white stretches of mountainside visible were innumerable, but she had spent many long nights these past few months within the confines of her personal war room, enough time to have come to a proper count of each and every one of their individual lights well into the darkest of hours.

Fourteen-hundred and twenty-one, thought Snow White to herself. And that is only just as far as the eye can see. My subjects.

Snow White ran a hand through her hair and sighed, then shook her tresses loose as the sunlight vanished altogether. She turned her attention back to the map before her. She was about to reach for another missive when she heard the sounds of a commotion coming from outside her room. Instinctively, her other hand reached for a hidden dagger underneath her desk, all fatigue immediately dispelled. She cocked an alert ear, already unsheathing the poisoned blade, when she heard the rough-hewn voice and accompanying lumbering gait of someone familiar coming down the length of the hall.

A moment later there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” asked Snow, hurriedly replacing the dagger in its previous position again.

The door opened and a helmeted, war-worn face of a long-bearded man with a lumpy nose but three feet from the ground peeked his head in.

“Begging your pardon your Highness,” grumbled the dwarf apologetically. “‘Tis the Bear Prince, seeking audience. He has returned from his ranging with pressing news.”

“Give me a moment,” Snow said. The dwarf nodded in reply and closed the door. Snow White took the time to quickly smooth the ruffles of her skirt, adjust her brassiere and wipe the sweat from her brow in an attempt to look presentable.

“Send him in,” she called out in a controlled tone, bringing her hands together as she stood behind the desk. A moment later the dwarf ushered inside a massive bear that walked on his hind legs and whose fur had a noticeable, droopy shine to it, heavy and wet from the molten snow. The bear was so large he had to bow his head halfway down to his chest to lumber through the opening. Snow White and the bear stared at one another from across the room in a strained silence until came the sound of the door being closed.

Immediately, the bear prince cracked a smile that seemed strangely human on his bestial features, lowering himself down on his paws..

“Ah, to be on all fours again!” the Bear Prince exclaimed. “These staircases were not built for a prince on more than two legs.”

The Bear Prince then stretched himself out to his fullest extremities, like a dog having his lazy day in the sun, before ambling his way further into the room. Snow White dropped all pretense of primness and hurriedly moved to clasp her arms around the bear’s massive head, pressing her forehead against his snout.

“I worried something may have happened,” Snow White whispered in a choked up voice as she hugged him tight around the neck.

“Rarely do things happen to me, your Highness, but rather it is I that happens to them,” Bear replied gently.

“I am glad that you’ve come back to me well and hale.”

“As well and hale as can be, save from some cuts and scratches.”

“Are you wounded?” Snow asked worriedly as she finally pulled back from the embrace, inspecting the bear.

“Nothing a little honey won’t fix. You have little to worry about when it comes to a bear of my size.”

“I know. Forgive a girl for her fretting, but friends are hard to come by in these days of darkness.”

“You are a girl no more, but a woman grown with her wisdom and her wits about her,” Bear replied. He sat himself down on his rear, but nonetheless still managed to tower over the woman before him. “And a queen, no less,” he added respectfully.

Snow White pulled back from her embrace, her hand drifting to touch the jeweled headpiece atop her brow.

“Would that I could see it worn by another,” she said softly. Her face turned forlorn as her fingers brushed across the seven gemstones that graced its construction.

The Bear Prince watched Snow with sympathy, his heart going out to her.

“Long gone are the halcyon days when I met you and your sister amidst the saplings of a fresh forest, dealing merely with minor curses and a single, pesky dwarf,” he said.

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“You are a queen now, Snow. The dwarves chose you to sit their throne and they have chosen well. Were it not for you, the kingdom would have already crumbled in the first year of the war.”

“You attribute wisdom to me when all I do is follow the advice of councilors such as yourself whose cleverness far surpasses mine.”

“You do yourself a grave injustice, my queen, but I can see from your face that little I say will sway you on the matter of your own competence. If you think me truly as clever as you so say, then heed my words well: were any other soul sat upon the throne of Clearsedge, the dwarves would have been lost long ago.”

Bear looked out the window, his savage features pulling back into a pensive frown as he himself took in the sight of the many dwarven homes that dotted the white horizon.

“To think that I now fight on the same side as the dwarves... How the times have changed.”

“Any candlelight will do in the face of a storm,” replied Snow softly. She took a moment to regain her composure, wiping away the wet at the corners of her eyes, then returned behind her desk.

“Indeed so, your Highness,” Bear replied encouragingly.

“And to think our wicks are still lit, despite all that has come to pass!”

Snow smiled at that, but her posture stiffened as she straightened to stand.

“Sputter we shall until the dark winds claim us all. Speaking of my sister, what news from the border?” she asked.

Bear leaned forward on his front paws to speak in a quiet, serious tone, as if afraid others might hear.

“Your sister still holds strong there. The Witch’s Way is protected: Rose Red herself mans the watch most nights.”

“What of the witch?”

“No word or sign of her, my queen. It is as if she has vanished from the realm entire.”

Snow frowned at the news. “Troubling. What do you suppose has happened to her?”

The bear shook his head. “I know nothing for certain, my queen, but you know well my opinion of witches. They are creatures of malice and spite with little concern for the causes of loyalty and honor. And Snedronningen in particular has great reason to spite you.”

Bear paused, clearing his throat. Snow noticed the hesitation and made a casual movement of her hand, giving the bear leave to speak freely.

“She still claims that you have stolen her throne, after all,” the bear finished, clearly offended on Snow White’s behalf. “A preposterous allegation, of course.”

“Were these gentler times, she could have this throne again and any other she deigned to see fit as hers for all the wits I care for it,” said Snow absentmindedly, sliding her fingers across the geographical lines of her map.

“My queen,” the bear protested, “you should take care not to speak of such things out loud. Those yet in her service may still be listening.”

“I know,” Snow sighed. She brought her fingers to her dark-rimmed eyes and rubbed them gently, trying to keep herself awake.

“I am merely tired, prone to these fanciful ramblings,” Snow said as she took in the contents of the map before her with a somewhat rejuvenated sight. The Witch’s Way was a long and narrow stretch of winter wasteland leading deeper into the heartlands of Clearsedge, surrounded on either side by frozen hills and myriad dwarven fortifications. It was the first and best defense against an attack from a southern invader.

“You do not think she has betrayed me?” asked Snow with some concern in her voice, glancing up at the bear.

The bear tilted his head in consideration, pawing at the floor.

“The witch is ambitious to be sure. Wildly capricious beyond compare,” the bear began carefully, “but she is no fool. King Arthur has taken Reveria, Gooseton, and now lays siege to Gargant. It is only a matter of time before he finds a way to pierce the clouds and bring ruin to the land of the giants.”

Snow White couldn’t help but feel comforted by the sound of the bear’s paw scraping across the cold stone floor. It meant that he was thinking, weighing the options and considering all of the possibilities.

“Arthur knows that he cannot leave his northern border exposed for any potential counterattack. No,” the bear shook his head decisively, “once the last beanstalk falls, he will want to solidify his gains and secure his foothold at the center of the empire. He will surely come for us next. And Snedronningen knows full well that Morgan le Fay will not allow her to live once that happens. Arthur’s foremost enchantress made her views on those so-called pagan witches and wizards clear when she burnt the entirety of the Ozian council for refusing to ascribe to the Author’s writings. No, it is in her best interest to safeguard the pass and help us hold the Way.”

Snow nodded in agreement, slowly lowering herself in her seat. The high-backed ebony chair had been her mother’s, built to solely accommodate a poiseful, rigid seating. The feeling of being forced to sit up straight in it for so long had caused a glaring pain to crop up in the low of her back these past few weeks. She was again tired beyond compare, her hand coming to cup her own face.

“You are exhausted, my queen,” Bear said. “There is one more matter of little concern, but I shall leave it for the morrow. With your leave, I shall return to my den.” The bear prince propped himself back up on all paws and made a move to leave.

“Wait,” Snow said, forcing herself to sit up straight. She ignored the flare of pain radiating her lower back. “Tell me of this final matter.”

“My queen, surely this can--”

“I said speak,” Snow interrupted brusquely. Her tone had sharpened, bleeding barely restrained annoyance at his words.

Am I not your queen, as you continue to remind me? she thought to herself. Then obey, and let us be done with tonight.

The bear prince bowed his enormous head, visibly chastised, then spoke. “It is regarding the Verdancy, your highness.”

Snow raised her head at that, like a bird being alerted.

“Reports have come in that the Appetite reached its boundaries some three days ago,” the Bear continued.

“This morning’s latest word was that it had come to subsume the entirety of the forest.”

“Author preserve us,” Snow mumbled. The hand on her face fell down to an armchair, the marbled color of her hand turning an impossibly whiter shade as she began to grip it tightly.

“Has it expanded further beyond?” she asked.

“No, your highness. It seems to have kept itself to the confines of the forest’s borders.”

Snow let her gaze drift out of the window again, taking in the sight of her snowy domain.

As far as the eye can see. All the white turned to black.

“What of him?” Snow asked loudly, snapping her gaze back to the bear.

“Of whom, your highness?”

“The huntsman.”

The bear could do little to conceal the frown at the impertinent question. Snow ignored the bear’s expression, her demeanor turning visibly demanding.

“No news of him, my queen,” said the bear stiffly.

“Apprise your scouts. I wish news of his fate.”

“My queen,” began the bear. “I must object--”

Queen Snow White brought up a hand of halting, silencing the Bear Prince.

“Thank you, my friend,” Snow said standoffishly. “You have my leave. We shall speak more on the morrow. ”

The bear parted the lips of his maw as if to say something despite his abrupt dismissal, but clearly reconsidered after seeing the stony expression on his queen’s face. He lowered himself on his front paws in a noble, bestial bow, then turned to depart the tower room without another word.

Snow waited until the echoes of the bear’s thumping steps had dissipated before allowing herself to cry. She choked back her sobs as she reached to pick up a figurine off of her map, coming to clutch it tightly in between her hands like an object of prayer. She stared at the small figurine, entirely unremarkable save for the heavy beard adorning its faceless features. After a few moments the woman replaced the figurine back on its previous position on the map. Snow hesitated for a moment. Suddenly her hand reached out to sweep the figurine aside with a subdued shriek, hurling it across the tower room. It hit the nearby wall with a shattering crunch and fell rolling broken-faced across the floor.

Snow stared at its ruined visage far too long before she reached out a hand to her correspondence. Her hand hovered over the first missive atop her pile, but at the last moment she instead reached for the Fairy-marked letter that had haunted the corner of her desk for candlepochs.

Snow carefully opened up the letter, worn from a hundred previous readings, and wiped the tears from her cheeks as she began to read it again, long into the night and well into the brightening of the Lamp beyond.