“son of a bitch,” keli said, plucking the feather from the tip of her wings. it licked up the sunlight, edges curling inward. she could feel its warmth through her hand, soft and inviting, as gentle a lull as the way BabyTodd’s eyelids drooped when he got sleepy. “what’s wrong?” asked norma, poking her head into the nursery. she glanced at where BabyTodd was kicking idly at his mobile. “did he poop?” keli held up the feather. norma raised her eyebrows. “....very pretty?” she

[read the sequel, 'snow white, blood red'] scroll down for part 2 the hut where grimhilde is born has only one window. she has no father. she has the woods. she knows this because her mother tells her, over and over: i cut my palm so deeply that it can no longer curl into a fist. the blood was hot. it melted the snow, and was swallowed by the dirt. the woods accepted. the woods gave me you. when she is born, the first sound she makes is the same sound all babies make: she cr

[read the prequel, "white queen, red heart"] (scroll down for part 2) the first baby is born in may, and dies in his sleep. the second does not make it to term. the third lives for a year before an unknown illness claims him. the queen pricks her finger on a needle: old magic. blood on snow on an ebony windowsill. the wind carries the contract, and the woods accept. blood now must be repaid with blood later, but the fourth baby is a girl, and she lives. she grows slowly, and

beauty is not the only weapon women have. "please," mary says, and her father kisses her too-large forehead. runs his hand along her puffy cheeks. there isn't any one thing, not any single marker of her ugliness, only individual parts that don't seem to fit together right. lumps where straight lines should be, pocks along her chin, eyes that were too bright and too big and yet still not considered striking. he kisses her and holds her and says, "no." -- this is what you l