Snow White and the Seven Souls

In her vampiric state, Snow was less jovial than she used to be. She spent a great many hours in quiet contemplation or reading, and no longer danced or sang at all. Rarely would she be found helping out around the palace as in days gone by. Her eyes seemed more soulful than they had in her childhood. Now they were full of a nameless longing. More accurately, they were full of something which no one knew how to name. At least no one was willing to.

Queen Kara had not been particularly well acquainted with her stepdaughter before her wedding to the King, and so it was difficult for her to judge whether or not Snow’s behaviour could be considered suspicious. There were unquestionably times when she could not account for the young woman’s whereabouts, but that concern in and of itself was insufficient to bring to the King.

The Queen realized that she would have to develop a network of her own; loyal subjects who would not flinch at surreptitiously observing the Princess and reporting back to her. It was in this capacity that the huntsman, Mr. Tredwell, came into her service. The huntsman frequented the palace as a purveyor of fine game, freshly caught. He was adept at catching his prey unawares and could always be relied upon to fill whatever orders the royal family put to him. If anyone were better suited to following the Princess should she leave the castle grounds, the Queen could scarcely imagine who that would be.

A few weeks after that gloomy afternoon when Snow had encountered Gaius, the Princess made her way back to his apartment in the village. Instead of entering Gaius’s dark rooms, she went to the window next door to look in on the cobbler.

Quinn was the cobbler’s name. There was no shingle hanging above his door to advertise his services. The village was too small for him to need one. Everyone knew where to go should they need a new pair of shoes, or old ones mended.

In contrast to his neighbour the barkeep, Quinn was fastidious by nature. His rooms were clean and tidy. Snow could see that clearly enough through the frequently rinsed window panes. There were a few boots on display on the inside windowsill, and she could see the tools of Quinn’s trade neatly arranged on the shelves and tables inside. The cobbler himself was sitting on the edge of his bed looking downcast.

Snow could not ascertain the reason for Quinn’s melancholy through observation alone. Perhaps he had been rebuffed when making romantic overtures to the baker’s daughter. She was quite a looker.

Perhaps he was short on customers and worried about his future.

Or perhaps he missed seeing Gaius about the place, and blamed himself for not knowing what had happened to him.

The Princess, still hungering forsomething, decided she had to find out what it was that made the cobbler sad.

The door did not make a ringing sound when it opened. Despite being a traditional shop door with window panes and all, there was no bell attached to chime at her entrance. The cobbler saw no need for this, since calling his humble abode “rooms” was being generous. If anyone were to enter the shop, he would certainly know it.

The minute quality of his home (and workplace) was a significant factor that motivated Quinn to keep his apartment so orderly and minimalistic. No clutter; only the necessities. There was one thing, one personal item, that he kept purely for decoration. It was a small oil painting of his mother, which was in an oval frame on the wall above the mantel.

Quinn stood up and straightened his vest, looking toward his presumed customer. “How do you do, mum,” he said cordially. Despite his perfunctorily polite words, there was sadness in his inflection.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Snow replied. She left her hood raised, though it was impolite to do so indoors. She was curious to see how long it would take the small, slight man to become aware of her identity.

“May I help you with something?” Again the cobbler’s voice was tight, as if he would have been crying by now had he not been interrupted.

“You may,” Snow replied. “Though it may be that I can help you, first. Tell me, what troubles you?”

Quinn’s eyes widened at the question. It was not unusual for the villagers to nose about each other’s business, but this patron was completely unfamiliar to him. He approached Snow to get a better look at her. The Princess was taller than him by a foot. He had to come close and peer up into the hood to make out her shaded face.

“My word! You look just like--”

“I know,” she cut him off before he could say it. “Will you tell me your troubles, Quinn the cobbler?”

“You know me?”

“I know someone who knows you.”

Quinn’s eyes were drawn to Snow’s as if by magnetism, but that was the least amazing thing about those black orbs of hers. It wasn’t so much that the cobbler saw Gaius in the Princess’s gaze, but there was something thatfeltvery like that. In Snow’s eyes Quinn saw pools of darkness, as if the night sky were somehow contained within them. Floating in those pools was Gaius. And he was not alone.

“What happened to him?” Quinn asked meekly, a lone tear falling onto his cheek.

“He went to see his friend. They’re together now.”

“Is he... happy there?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Pulling Quinn into her embrace, Snow took the opportunity to reunite the cobbler and the barkeep. In a manner of speaking.

While Snow was at the cobbler’s, Mr. Tredwell waited outside. He waited and watched through the terribly clean windows. They afforded him no room to second-guess what he saw.

Snow White was a vampire, and the Queen would have to be informed.