At this point, I imagine that he must have been a little discouraged as he galloped on his horse. I imagined his gray lips tightly closed. I imagined the small group of men walking through the forest to finally coming to my stepdaughter's stone coffin, made of glass and crystal. So fair, so cold. Under the glass, there was her body, not as big as a little girl, lifeless.

In my imagination, I could almost feel the thing in his pants harden all of a sudden, and in the hallucination, he was ** feverish, panting, and his mouth was full of words, and he was glad that he had handed in good luck. I imagined him haggling with the hairy dwarfs—promising to exchange gold and spices for the petite corpse lying beneath the crystal coffin.

Did they gladly accept the gold? Otherwise, the dwarf looked up at his retinue on horseback, sword and spear in hand, and realized that he had no choice.

I do not know. I wasn't there; I didn't use a crystal ball for divination. I can't imagine......

A pair of hands tore through the piles of glass and quartz pressed against her cold body. A pair of hands caressed her cold face, and a pair of hands moved her cold arms, delighted to find that the corpse was still alive and soft.

Did he possess her in front of them? Or, before taking possession of her, he moved her to a hidden place?

It's hard to say.

Was the poisonous apple in her throat turned out by him? Or maybe she slowly opened her eyes, opened her mouth wide, opened her lips slightly, and those yellowed fangs pressed against his dark neck, and the blood of life flowed down her throat, washing away the poisonous apple, my own apple, the poison I had prepared with my own hands?

I can only guess, I have no way of knowing the truth.

That's all I know: In the middle of the night, her heart was beating again and woke me up. Salty blood dripped from the roof onto my face. I got out of bed. My hands burned and ached, as if the base of my thumb had hit a rock.

There was a knock on the door outside. I'm a little scared, but I'm a queen after all, and I don't put fear on my face. I opened the door.

First, his men broke into my bedchamber, raised their swords and spears, and surrounded me.

Then the prince walked in and slapped me in the face several times.

Eventually, she walked into my bedchamber, and the scene reminded me of when I had just become queen and she was a six-year-old. She hasn't changed at all. It hasn't changed at all.

She pulled down the hemp rope that strung her heart, and plucked the dried rowan berries one by one, and peeled off the garlic heads, which had long since shrivelled and shriveled after all these years; Then she picked up her own fluttering heart—a small thing, no bigger than a suckling sheep or a she-bear—and blood splattered all over her hand.

Her nails must have been as sharp as glass: she opened her breasts and cut the purple scar with her fingernails. A hole in her chest opened and suddenly opened, and there was no blood in it. She licked her heart, and when the blood was on her hand, she lowered it back into her chest.

I watched her do it. I watched as she closed the muscles in her chest again. I noticed that the bruisish scar was gone.

The prince looked concerned and put his arm around her neck. They stood side by side, as if they were waiting.

She stood there coldly, her lips still holding the ashes of death, but his desire remained undiminished.

They told me that they decided to get married, and the two countries were truly one from then on. They told me that I would be with them on the day of the wedding.

The place is getting hot.

They have spoken many ill things about me to my subjects; A little bit of truth adds fuel to many lies.

I was locked up in a stone cell on the ground floor of the palace, where I stayed all the fall. Today, they took me out of my cell; They stripped me of my rags and washed me clean. Then they shaved my hair and rubbed my skin with goose oil.

When they took me away, it began to snow—two men grabbed my hand, two men grabbed my legs—and I was exposed to broad daylight, to the crowd that had come to the market on the winter solstice; Then, take me to this incinerator.

She didn't laugh at me, she didn't mock me, she didn't say a word. She didn't taunt me, she didn't turn her face away from me. She just looked at me; For a moment, I saw my shadow reflected in her eyes.

I didn't scream loudly. I'm not going to get their way. They can take my body, but my soul and my story are my own, and I will die with me.

The goose oil was melting and my skin was shining with a hint of shine. I shouldn't have said a word, I shouldn't have thought about it anymore.

I should have thought about the snowflakes on her face.

I thought of it this way: her hair, as black as coal; Her lips were as red as blood; Her skin was as white as snow.