title: I’d Rather Be Fairy Godmother (Arc 1: Snow White)
description: A modern fantasy retelling subverting classic fairy tales with an aromantic/asexual lead.
Prologue — The Last Wish
The city at dusk was painted neon and gray. Headlights bled across rain-slick pavement, the buzz of advertisements screamed about “finding your soulmate” and “romance guaranteed.” Couples passed by arm in arm, laughter bright against the drizzle, while she only tightened her grip on the grocery bag in her arms.
Her name was ordinary. Her life was ordinary. But the world’s expectations were suffocating.
The smell of hot stew wafted in the air. The clinking of utensils filled the empty void. Her mother’s voice cut through the quiet like a knife.
“You’re almost forty, Amoria! How much longer do you think you can live like this? Don’t you want children? Don’t you want a husband to take care of you?”
She kept her eyes on her bowl, stirring rice into the broth.
“No, Mom. I don’t.”
The chopsticks froze midair in her mother’s hand. She turned to glare at her daughter.
“Don’t be selfish. You’ll regret it when you’re older. You’ll die alone and empty, with nothing to show for your life.”
Her lips pressed together, not in anger but in resignation. She heard this a thousand times before. But tonight, she answered.
“I’d rather die alone than live a life that isn’t mine.”
Her mother slammed the bowl down, broth splashing across the table.
“You don’t mean that! You can’t mean that! Every woman wants to be loved! Every woman—”
She cut her mom off with, “Not every woman is me.”
The room went silent except for the ticking of the kitchen clock.
The words stung worse than the cold air outside. Nearly forty, her body was growing older, yet her heart never once ached for what her mother demanded. She identified as aromantic, asexual, though she’d never dared say it aloud to her mother. To her mother, it was always a flaw to be corrected, a wound to be healed.
She walked home through streets blurred by rain, her reflection broken in the puddles at her feet. She clutched the grocery bag tighter, as if it were armor against the whole world telling her she was wrong.
Passing under a glowing billboard, she looked up. A bride in perfect white smiled down, tagline blaring: “Your Happily Ever After Awaits.”
Her lips twisted into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. “Happily ever after, huh? For who? Not me.”
She stopped at a crosswalk. The light flicked green.
She stepped off the curb.
Then there was the roar of an engine and the screeching of brakes.
She turned, frozen in the glow of oncoming headlights. Her grocery bag slipped, apples tumbled across the wet asphalt, rolled like tiny blood moons. Time slowed, each second stretching into eternity. The rain seemed suspended in the air, glittering like the water on a lake.
She felt no fear and closed her eyes.
“If there’s a next life… If reincarnation is real…let me be free. Let me live without being forced into love I don’t want. Let me… find my own story.”
The world went white.
And in that white, a voice, warm, ancient, undeniable whispered, “Wish accepted.”
Her body dissolved into sparkles of light. For an instant, a shimmer arched from her shoulders. It was the faintest outline of fairy wings. They were fragile and beautiful. The glow carried her upward like fireflies into a star filled sky.
Thus ended an ordinary life. Her ordinary life, and so began the tale of the one who would become, the Fairy Godmother.
Chapter One — Awakening as a Fairy
At first, there was nothing but drifting. She felt like a candle flame caught in the wind, flickering between one world and the next.
Then there was light.
It wasn’t harsh, but soft, like the first glow before dawn break. Shapes unfurled around her as though painted onto the darkness. Mushrooms towered over her with caps like lanterns. Flowers the size of trees blossomed in impossible colors, vines spiraled upward into canopies of silver veins. Every petal glowed faintly, every droplet of dew shimmered like a precious gem. The air was alive and heavy with magic. It pulsed in time with her own heartbeat.
She gasped, startled by the sound of her voice. It was clear, lilting, and resonant. It was nothing like the tired rasp she remembered from her human throat.
She lifted her hands into view. They were no longer calloused from years of office work and grocery bags digging into her palms. Her skin shimmered faintly, veins glowing with subtle threads of green and violet. Her skin was a cool-toned white, luminous, and sculpted. She flexed out wide and examined them. Her fingers made sparkles that dusted with glitter.
Something unfurled behind her. It was vast, weightless, and alive. She turned to look behind her, and wings spread wide in the moonlit grove. They were fragile, dragonfly-like wings, but shifting at every angle showing a duo chrome of silver and purple. Shooting through them were vibrant emerald veins. They caught the light and bounced it back like the water reflecting the moon.
She stumbled, breath catching in her throat, and looked down. A pool lay at her feet and reflected back a complete stranger.
Her hair, once graying, fell long and black as midnight. Her eyes glowed emerald, polished and clear, holding depths she had never seen in her reflection before.
For the first time, she did not look ordinary. She looked ethereal.
Figures emerged from the mist. They were tall, radiant, ageless. They were all fairies.
They were not the dainty sprites of bedtime stories, but beings who radiated power like elements cloaked in human forms. Each seemed woven from the essence of their domain. One’s aura glowed deep, earthy, forest green. Vines coiled over his arms like tattoos that breathed and shifted. Another shimmered with soft sapphire light, droplets of water slipping from her hair as though she carried the essence of water in her soul. A third burned in orange and gold. His wings trailed sparks that hissed when they struck the ground.
They were gods walking on soil. Beautiful, terrible, undeniable.
Her knees buckled as she stared in shock and awe.
The circle parted.
She came.
There was a fairy that was taller than the rest, her presence filled the grove like sunrise. Her hair poured golden, each strand glowing as though woven from glass lit by fire. Her wings, vast and feathered white-and-gold, radiated warmth that drove back the mist of the enchanted forest. A soft crown of light shimmered above her brow. It was not placed there but born of her very core.
When she spoke, her voice was a chorus, bells ringing across valleys.
“A soul born of longing. A soul carried by the river of wishes.”
Her golden eyes fell on the newly awakened fairy, and every secret of her heart lay bare. Not cruelly, just absolutely. She could not hide from this all-knowing fairy.
The all-powerful Elder raised a staff of pulsing crystal. Its light made tiny flickers resembling a golden flame.
“You are no longer bound to your mortal life. You are reborn among us. And as every soul is shaped by a name… so shall yours be given.”
She lifted the staff higher. Golden radiance poured over her, filling her wings, her bones, her breath.
“From this day forth, your name shall be Amoria Matrina.”
The words did not just strike her ears. They sank into her bones. Her chest tightened, not with pain but resonance. The name echoed through her skin, her wings, her soul.
Amoria - Love. Matrina - Guide, matchmaker, motherly one.
It was not chosen at random. It was who she had always been, unnamed until now.
Her lips trembled. “That’s my name? It feels like it was waiting for me.”
A silver-skinned fairy stepped forward, wings sharp like fractured glass. His voice was soft, but cold like iron on a winter night.
“Guard your name well, child. A fairy’s name is their soul and core of what they are. Share it with none you do not trust. For in the wrong hands, it will be your undoing.”
Her eyes widened. Instinctively, she clutched the name to her chest.
“Then I’ll keep it close. But, maybe I’ll need something simpler. Something I can share with the world.”
Drawn back to the pool, she gazed again at her reflection. Her new self looked back at her. Her emerald eyes, wings silver and green, skin alight with quiet magic. She was not ordinary or overlooked.
Her lips curved in a smile.
She whispered, “Rina. That’ll do.”
The sound settled warmly around her, not binding but freeing. The other fairies murmured at the name, but the Elder only smiled knowingly.
For the first time in either life, she felt unburdened.
“No one here will force me into a romance. No one will tell me what I should want. This time I’ll write the story myself.”
The Elder lifted her staff once more. The grove dimmed, all other fairies paling until only she burned with light.
“You wonder why you are here, child of another world. You were not born as we are born, from river or tree or flame. You are something rarer. You were wished into being.”
Gasps rippled through the gathered fairies.
The Elder’s golden gaze never wavered.
“When a mortal heart cries out with a wish so powerful it bends the veil between worlds, sometimes the stars answer. You are that answer, Amoria Matrina. Born of longing, carried here on the tide of fate.”
Her wings unfurled wider, shedding golden light like flame kissing the very air around her.
“The stars whisper one path for you: to be The Fairy Godmother. Not bound to one court or crown, but to wander between worlds. Where hearts falter, you will be drawn. Where hope dims, you will carry light.”
Rina’s chest fluttered. Not with burden, but clarity.
“The Fairy Godmother is me?”
Before the Elder could speak again, something pierced her.
There was a sound, a sob, small and trembling, laced with despair. It struck her like lightning, folding her to her knees.
“Do you—? Do you hear that?”
The others only blinked at her, serene and untroubled.
She alone heard it. A child’s voice, pleading without words.
Her wings twitched. Her heart raced.
“It’s calling me. They need me.”
The Elder’s eyes softened.
“And so it begins. The world has already claimed you. Do not resist. Where the cry leads, you must go.”
The others muttered, some jealous, some dismissive.
“She was born yesterday, and already fate drags her away.”
The Elder silenced them with one raised hand.
“She is not as we are. She was born with her role, and she will be remembered for it.”
Turning back, she touched her staff gently to Rina’s brow.
“Go, Amoria Matrina. Write your first story.”
Light spilled over her wings. Rina lifted from the ground in a surge of silver and green radiance. The cry grew louder, pulling her to go beyond the grove, beyond the realm of fair folk.
Her heart pounded but not in fear. She felt exhilaration and anticipation for her new future.
“This is who I am. Not a daughter, not a wife, not a burden. I’m Rina, the Fairy Godmother. Someone out there needs me.”
And with that, she fluttered into the sky.
Arc One: Snow White
Chapter 2: Arrival and First Impressions
It had been minutes, maybe hours, or possibly days since she was named. Time in this realm was strange, slipping like sand through her open hands. But one thing was certain: she was no longer human. She was Rina, Amoria Matrina, the Fairy Godmother.
Her hand drifted over her chest where her name resonated like a hidden chord. Her name was more than a label here. It was her. It was her soul made visible and laid bare. She had never known such weight, and yet it felt right.
The air mirrored suddenly. A shiver passed down her spine. At first, she thought it was the wind, but then there was that cry again.
It pierced her soul like a blade. A cord of sorrow threaded through her veins. She clutched her ribs as if the grief were her own.
“What is that?”
Her voice trembled. She paused in the air of the grove, searching to see if anyone else felt that, but the grove was silent. The other fairies still wandered around radiant and serene. They were oblivious to the call for help. They did not hear anything. Only she did.
It was a child’s pain, a loneliness so sharp it echoed in her core.
Her wings twitched of their own accord, taking her beyond the grove. The pull tugged her forward, like a compass pointing her to where she is needed.
From the air around her a voice drifted warm, solemn.
“So it begins.”
Rina looked down again. The Elder Fairy stood at the edge of the grove, her golden light spilling across the moss. Her expression was gentle, but her eyes carried the weight of prophecy.
“That is your path, little one. Where hearts break, you will feel it. Where love falters, you will be called. None of us can follow, for it is not our destiny. This burden is yours alone.”
Rina’s throat tightened.
“But… it hurts.”
The Elder fairy looked up at her hovering figure in the air with a sadness.
“It will. But it is the pain that makes you. Go now. Answer, or the ache will consume your core.”
The cry surged again, so strong she gasped. Her wings spread wide, glowing brighter than she thought possible.
She cast one last glance at the grove at the other fairies who looked at her with envy, awe, or indifference — and then she rose into the air, streaking toward the horizon.
The night sky opened before her, stars blurring as she followed the call. Below, a kingdom lay in an otherworldly shadow, its towers black against the setting sun.
The cry grew louder. Clearer.
It was a girl’s voice. She was alone and afraid.
Rina’s chest tightened.
I’m coming.
With that vow, she descended, for the realm of the human world. Her very first tale was waiting to be written.
The human world was heavier than the fairy realm. The air was damp, weighted with the scent of stone and smoke. Rina drifted down past the castle gates, her wings shimmered faintly in the dusk’s light.
The ache in her chest sharpened into clarity. She could feel the source of the cry inside those walls. It was small, fragile, and alone.
Her gaze slipped through the stone. She saw her.
A teenager sat curled on a narrow bed, the chamber cold and bare despite the silk curtains. Her hair was black as raven feathers, her skin pale as untouched snow. In her hands she clutched a ragged toy rabbit, its seams worn from love.
Snow White.
The girl’s storm-gray eyes shimmered with tears she would not shed aloud. Outside her chamber door, a woman’s voice cut like a whip. It was sharp, scolding, merciless.
Snow flinched, but did not speak. She had learned silence was safer.
Rina’s heart twisted.
She’s learned to endure cruelty.
But when she followed the threads of sorrow outward, she felt something more. A contradiction. For though Snow suffered here, the kingdom itself loved her deeply.
She saw it when she drifted down into the village. Children whispered stories of the little princess’s kindness. Bakers recalled how she had once slipped bread to a beggar despite being scolded. Shepherds remembered her stopping to pet their lambs. Merchants, mothers, and travelers alike lowered their voices with reverence when her name passed their lips.
“Snow White.”
The words carried pity and affection.
She was the light of the kingdom. She was a small flicker hidden beneath thick shadows.
For above them all sat the queen.
When Rina returned to the castle’s great hall, she saw the Evil Queen at last. She sat on a throne of polished marble with vibrant draperies cascading around her like a net. Beauty clung to her. She was flawless and immaculate, but wrong. Something about her was too sharp and too bright.
Rina’s vision pierced through the glamour clouding around her, and what she saw gutted her stomach.
The queen’s wings, invisible to mortal eyes, were torn and ash-black, trailing soot with every subtle movement. Where Rina shimmered, this one darkened. It was an Unseelie fairy, projecting a mortal form.
Her rule was cold as iron.
She commanded soldiers with a flick of her hand. She dictated laws with no counsel. The people bowed low. Their voices trembled when they answered her summons. The halls echoed not with music or laughter, but silence was broken only by her orders.
The king sat beside her. He was slumped and vacant. He was a man hollowed out by grief. A glamour coiled around him like chains. His crown remained on his head, but his power was long gone.
Rina pressed a hand to her chest, bile rising in her throat.
So, this is her kingdom. A cage gilded in jewels. She has made herself its warden.
Snow White’s sorrow pulsed again, and Rina felt the people’s fear, too. They adored the child, but most dared not intervene. To defy the queen was to invite ruin.
Rina hovered above it all, unseen and unheard, her wings trembling with a mixture of fury and sorrow.
For the first time since her awakening, she understood.
Her task would not be simple.
She could not fight a kingdom.
But she could guard its heart. The girl’s very name was a prayer on her people’s lips.
Snow White.
Rina whispered softly, like a vow.
“I’ll protect you. Even if no one else dares.”
Chapter 3: Hunter’s Loyalty
The dungeon reeked of rust and damp. Water dripped from the stone ceiling in slow, steady rhythms, like the ticking of some unseen clock. Each drop echoed in Snow White’s bones.
She hugged her thin arms around herself. Her cheek was pressed against her knees. Hunger clearly gnawed her stomach as the growl echoed in her cell. The silence was worse. The guards outside rarely spoke. Her father did not come.
Snow White’s lips trembled. She was a teenager, almost grown but years of neglect and starvation made her appear more child-like than she actually was.
Rina weaved magic instinctively to sift through her memories.
Snow’s heart still remembered the warmth of lullabies and the smell of bread from the castle kitchens before the queen’s shadow fell over everything. She wondered if she had imagined that happier world.
The iron door screeched. Rina’s magic broke at the distraction. Snow flinched, expecting the queen’s voice and the lash of cruel words. Instead, it was only a maid. She was short and bosomed. Her eyes darted nervously to the corridor.
The woman carried with her a bundle. The bundle contained a cloak and a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth.
“Quickly, there isn’t much time,” the maid whispered, thrusting the bundle into Snow’s hands. “Before the mistress knows I lingered.”
Snow blinked at her slowly, surprise in her eyes.
“Why are you helping me?”
The maid’s face pinched, her eyes misted over.
“Because I remember your mother. She was kind to me when no one else was. If I let her daughter waste away here to die, I would never forgive myself.”
The words struck like a beacon of light in a shuttered room. Snow White clutched the cloak to her chest.
“Thank you.”
The maid ushered her toward a hidden servant’s passage, stones narrow and slick with moss.
“Run to the woods. Do not look back.”
Snow hesitated with only a heartbeat, then fled into the night.
The forest loomed ahead, black trees clawing at the sky. Every sound seemed sharper and louder than normal. The snap of twigs under her feet resonated through the forest. The cry of an owl echoed overhead. There was a distant rustle of unseen creatures.
Her lungs burned. Her legs shook. She pressed on, her cloak billowing behind her, bread clutched tight in her hands.
At last, she stumbled to a stream. The moonlight glinted off the water, pale and cold. She fell to her knees, gulping down liquid. She shivered in the cold night air.
“Snow?”
Her head snapped up.
A figure stepped into the moonlight. He was broad-shouldered and tall. His armor was dented from training but well-kept. His sword glinted at his side. His face was sharp, but his eyes were brown and steady.
“Hunter.”
Rina immediately felt the bond between them and weaved her magic peering into both of their memories and emotions.
He had grown, but Snow would have known him anywhere.
Her breath caught, and she froze when she saw the blade in his hand.
“You came to kill me.”
The words broke from her throat like a frog’s croak.
Hunter stopped short, his jaw tightening. His knuckles whitened around the hilt. The queen’s order screamed in his ears: Slay her. Bring me her heart in a box.
Rina weaved her magic with urgency, bringing up any warm memories she could find inside him.
He slipped her food when they were children. They laughed in the stables when they should have been working. He stood guard outside her chamber when the queen’s scoldings got worse.
Snow watched him with wide and wounded eyes. Her storm grey irises pierced through him.
“I…” His voice cracked. He dropped to his knees, the sword lowering into the grass in front of him. “I can’t. I’d sooner cut my own throat than harm you.”
The silence stretched, filled only by the stream’s murmur. Rina sighed in relief.
Snow stepped forward, her breath shaking. Slowly, she placed her hand over his, pushing the sword aside. “Then will you help me?”
Hunter looked up, anguish and devotion warring in his eyes. Then his face turned determined.
He nodded, “Always.”
Snow let out a shaky breath. Her hands quaked with nervous energy. For the first time in days, there was hope in her eyes blooming like a fragile flower.
From the branches above, Rina hovered, unseen, her silver-and-green light muted by the leaves. Her chest pounded with the pull of the bond between them. Curious, she reached out again with the glittering green magic in her fingers.
She reached into Hunter’s memories some more, diving deep to learn everything.
The memories unfolded like pages:
Him as a small boy kneeling in the dirt to hand her stolen bread.
Him shielding her from the queen’s wrath with trembling hands.
Him watching her smile as though it was the only thing that kept him whole.
It was not desire he felt for her. She was not a conquest. His love was rooted in loyalty. It was made with years of quiet defiance and in faith that she deserved more than the sorrow she experienced.
Rina’s breath caught.
This… this is the kind of love worth protecting. The kind I was made for.
Rina felt a sharp fury fill the air coming from the castle. She created a scrying mirror in front of her to see what was happening.
In the castle, the queen’s fury cracked the walls.
The Queen knew Hunter had defied her orders. Her command to kill Snow White had not been carried out. The ember of Snow’s life still glowed, flickering but unquenched.
The Queen rose from her throne in a storm of silk and shadow. Her wings, ash-black and jagged, tore free, scattering soot that ate holes into the marble floor. Mirrors shattered. The servants fled in fear.
Her voice rang through the halls, sharp and venomous.
“Hunter. You dare defy me?!” she said as the shadows of dark magic floated around her.
The words hung heavy, a promise of ruin.
And in the dark, the Evil Queen’s envy coiled tighter. Snow White had escaped her once more. But her patience was not eternal. Rina knew this was not over.
“Next time,” She vowed, “There will be no defiance in my kingdom. No mercy.”
The silence filled the castle walls, thick and heavy.
Chapter 4: Roots of Devotion
Snow White and Hunter huddled in the hollow of an ancient oak, fireflies drifting like lanterns around them. The forest at night was vast and uncertain, but here, between moss and bark, there was a fragile safety.
Snow drew her knees up, cloak tight around her. Hunter sat across from her, sword resting against his shoulder, his eyes scanning the trees for danger.
Silence stretched, heavy and aching. Snow’s lips parted, as though to speak, but no words came.
Rina hovered nearby, cloaked in silver shimmer, watching. Her wings tingled. The ache of their bond was so strong it tugged her forward. She reached out again with her magic, brushing the thread that tied their hearts together. Rina reached into Hunter’s mind to find out even more.
This time, she saw not one memory, but many.
Snow was only ten. Her stomach growled loud and long as she sat alone in a shadowed corridor. The queen had taken her supper again as punishment for disobedience.
A boy crept down the hall, a roll of bread stuffed into his tunic. His armor was too big, hand-me-downs from the older squires.
“Snow,” he whispered. He crouched beside her, offering the bread. “Eat. Quickly.”
Her eyes widened. “If the queen sees—”
“Let her.” His voice was fierce in a way that didn’t match his years. “She doesn’t get to starve you.”
Snow hesitated for only a moment before biting into the soft loaf. Tears stung her eyes, but she smiled. And Hunter, watching her smile, felt his chest swell as if he’d won a battle.
Rain poured outside, thunder cracking. Snow huddled in the stables, hiding from the queen’s scolding. Her dress was torn, her knees scraped.
Hunter, soaked from training, ducked inside. “Snow?”
She sniffled, scrubbing her tears with muddy hands. “She hates me. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
He hesitated, then dropped by sitting beside her in the straw.
“She’s wrong.”
Snow blinked at him.
“She’s wrong because you’re good. You’re kind. And one day, everyone will see it.”
Snow leaned against him, her small shoulder brushing his. “Promise?”
Hunter stared at the rain, his jaw tight. “Promise.”
Snow was thirteen now, her beauty began to bloom even more. The queen’s punishments grew harsher, her jealousy and anger sharper.
Hunter, no longer a boy, but not yet a man, was posted outside Snow’s chamber one evening. Inside, the queen’s voice rose, cruel and sharp, berating Snow until she sobbed.
Hunter’s hands clenched on the hilt of his practice sword. He couldn’t enter her chamber. He couldn’t save her from her stepmother. He stayed outside the door, silent and immovable, until he heard the queen approaching.
When Snow emerged, eyes red and cheeks wet, Hunter rounded back around the corner and met her gaze. He didn’t speak. He only bowed his head, as if to say: “I am here. I won’t leave.”
Snow smiled weakly, and for that moment, the ache lessened.
The visions faded. Rina blinked, breath caught in her throat.
She understood now. This was no fleeting crush, no whimsy of youth. Their bond was forged in quiet rebellions, in stolen kindness, and in the spaces where cruelty tried but failed to erase them.
Snow whispered into the firefly-lit dark, her voice trembling.
“Why didn’t you do it? Why didn’t you kill me?”
Hunter’s gaze softened.
“Because you’re my everything, Snow. You’ve always been my everything.”
Snow’s breath caught in her throat. Tears welled in her storm-gray eyes.
Rina smiled faintly, a hand brushing her chest.
Yes, she thought. This is love born of endurance. A love worth fighting for.
Rina summoned the scrying mirror to watch the castle.
The queen stood in front of her mirror, its surface rippling with black smoke. Her nails dug into the wood as she spat Hunter’s name.
“Loyalty. Devotion. Love.” The words dripped with venom. “How fragile. How foolish.”
Her reflection smirked back, wings shedding soot like snow.
“Let them cling to each other,” she hissed. “I will tear them apart.”
Chapter 5: The Poisoned Apple
The queen lingered before her mirror, though she did not look at herself. There was a distant and hollow look in her eyes. Her hands gripped the edges of the frame until her knuckles turned white. Beneath the flawless glamour, her chest heaved as though something inside was breaking.
Rina reached out into the castle walls, conjuring memories from its stone.
From the distant hall drifted laughter, Snow White’s laughter. It was not mocking, not triumphant. It was soft and light, as natural as birdsong. The stones of the castle continued to play that laughter as though it was the only sound it ever heard.
The queen’s jaw tightened. Rina dove deeper into the memories of the servants.
Not only did the people adore Snow and whisper her name with reverence. Even the king, blind and bound, sometimes stirred when Snow passed, his gaze softening like a candle flicker through the glamour.
Ash shed from the queen’s hidden wings, dusting the floor. Her eyes burned with tears unshed.
“Why her?” she whispered. “Why never me?”
Her lips curved upward, but it was no smile. It was a snarl filled with grief. It was twisted, sharp, and venomous.
“Who is this beggar girl?” asked a dwarf with a frown on his face.
The dwarves’ cottage was little more than a hollowed stone hut, its roof sagging beneath moss and smoke. Inside, shadows clung to the beams, and the hearth spat more soot than flame. The seven men who called it home stood in a rough line, their arms crossed, their brows knit as Hunter guided Snow through the crooked doorway.
“She’s no beggar,” Hunter said firmly, though his voice softened as he glanced at her. “But she does need shelter.”
The eldest dwarf grunted, his beard bristling. “There is no food here for strays. We’ve barely enough for ourselves.”
Snow bowed her head, her voice quiet but steady. “Then let me work for it.”
The dwarves scoffed, muttering under their breath, but she did not falter. She gathered what scraps she could find: onion peels, bones left bare, a heel of stale bread hardened near to stone. Her hands moved with a grace that surprised even her. She chopped, stirred, and hummed a song her mother once sang over the kitchen fire when eating never-ending soup.
The scent filled the entire cottage. The smoke and damp air became something warm, almost sweet. The broth bubbled rich and savory, steam curling through the rafters.
When at last she set bowls before the men, she offered only a small smile.
“Thank you… for letting me share your roof tonight.”
The dwarves exchanged glances. None spoke, but as they ate, their eyes lingered on her. They were bewildered that such meager scraps could taste of comfort.
That night she curled into a corner of hay. It scratched her skin, but she sighed in relief all the same, whispering, “It is softer than any feather bed.” She drifted to sleep humming softly, her voice a lullaby even in dreams.
Morning broke pale and thin. The dwarves left with pickaxes slung over their shoulders, muttering about stone and ore. Snow watched them vanish into the forest, then turned back to the cottage.
The air was heavy with dust, the windows shut tight against the light. She rolled up her sleeves.
By the time the sun dipped low, the shutters were thrown wide, fresh air spilling through. The hearth blazed properly for the first time in years, its smoke rising clean. The table gleamed beneath her careful scrubbing, and from the pot hung above the fire came the smell of stew. It was hearty, spiced, welcoming.
When the dwarves returned, weary and sore, they stopped short in the doorway. Their home glowed warm, and Snow White turned from the fire with a smile that outshone the room.
“I thought you might be hungry,” she said softly.
The youngest dwarf, who had not smiled in years, let out a laugh like a boy again. The eldest blinked hard and muttered something about smoke in his eyes.
Rina smiled as Snow’s never-ending kindness touched the souls of these grumpy dwarves, but it was short-lived. Rina felt the presence of something ominous.
The Queen emerged from the shadows. She cloaked herself in rags, her beauty withering under a spell of disguise. She hunched, skin sagging, voice creaking. In her gnarled hand gleamed an apple red as blood, gleaming with the lure of a curse.
Rina trailed her from the shadows, unease in her chest. She felt the queen’s storm as though it were her own: envy, pain, raw jealousy. A wound that had never healed.
She hurts, Rina realized. But why?
The forest clearing opened. Snow White knelt among night-blooming herbs. Her arms were full of tiny green sprigs and little edible blossoms. She looked up at the old woman’s approach.
“Child,” the disguised queen croaked, holding out the apple. “Would you like a bite to ease your hunger?”
Snow hesitated. She had been warned before of strangers, but her eyes softened as they always did, mercy outweighing fear. She took the fruit gently.
The queen did not watch her bite. She turned her head away. The disguise hid the twist of her face but Rina could see it.
Snow’s lips met the apple. One taste was all it took. Her body collapsed onto the moss, pale as winter moonlight.
The queen stood above her. Triumph should have tasted sweet. An evil smile should have shown on her face. Rina noticed instead, her hands trembled. Her face twisted in anguish. She turned, her cloak whipping behind her, and vanished into shadow, her victory hollow.
Rina darted from the trees, wings trembling, and dropped to her knees in front of Snow’s body.
“No…” Her hand hovered over Snow’s still chest. No breath. No warmth. She was dead. Rina could feel it.
The curse pulsed thick in the air, sticky and black. Rina pressed her hand to the apple. The threads of Unseelie magic throbbed cruel and murky.
Rina felt determination in her body. She was the Fairy Godmother. She could bend this curse to give Snow a chance.
Her voice wove through the spell like a silver thread:
“When love true and selfless finds her, let the kiss of devotion break what malice began.”
Silver-green light seeped into the curse. Snow’s body shivered faintly, not waking, but tethered. She was alive, but on the edge of life and death.
Rina stroked her hair softly. “Rest, little one. Someone loves you. He’ll come.”
The dwarves found her body at dusk.
Their faces, usually set in a permanent look of annoyance, fell into silent sadness at the sight of her.
“She came to us with nothing,” murmured one, dropping to his knees. “And still she smiled.”
“She cooked for us,” said another, voice breaking. “Not once did she complain, though she scrubbed our floor with her hands.”
“She thanked us for a bed of straw,” whispered a third. “Called it softer than silk.”
They wept openly. Their tears fell onto the moss. These were men hardened by years. They were not used to kindness. Yet for this girl, this girl who treated them not as beasts of labor but as family, they grieved as though the world itself had ended.
Together they built her a coffin of glass, polished until it gleamed like crystal. Its rainbows danced on the grassy floors. They laid her within the coffin on a bed of flowers and folded her hands as though in prayer.
“Let no soil cover her,” they said. “Let her beauty from within be remembered.”
They kept vigil day and night. They had candles burning. Their voices rang low with hymns of sorrow.
From the trees above, Rina watched, her own eyes shimmering.
Yes, she thought. This is why I was born. To guard love like this, the kind that lingers even in grief.
But her chest ached all the same, for she knew—Snow White’s tale was not yet done.
Chapter 6: A Mourning Kingdom, and the Vigil
Snow lay cold in the coffin of glass, her lips still faintly stained with the poison of the apple. Flowers were strewn across her body, but their color could not disguise her stillness.
The dwarves’ grief was raw, their voices hoarse from weeping. They kept their vigil faithfully for days. They guarded her as though she were the last treasure the world possessed.
And Rina, perched in the branches above, felt their sorrow echo in her chest. She wanted to reach out, to comfort them, but she knew this was their grief to bear. Her part would come later.
One evening, a shadow broke through the trees.
Hunter.
He carried a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in one hand, their stems uneven. Their petals were slightly crushed from the journey. His armor was unpolished. His hair was wind-tossed, but his eyes shone with anticipation.
“Snow,” he called softly as he approached. “I brought you—”
His voice stopped.
He saw the coffin. The dwarves bowed their heads. The flowers slipped from his hand, falling uselessly into the grass.
“No…”
He stumbled forward, pressing his palms against the glass.
“No. Snow… no!”
His body shook with sobs. He sank to his knees. He pressed his forehead against the cold barrier that separated him from her.
Rina hovered near, her wings trembling. She could feel it inside of him surging out of him. Every memory of her, every laugh, every shared secret, every look of trust haunted in his eyes. His love poured out of him not as a blaze, but as something steady, loyal, unyielding.
Hunter wept until the stars filled the sky. The dwarves watched in silence, their grief deepened by his own.
Snow White’s vigil had begun—not just for her dwarven family, but for the knight who loved her more than life itself.
Chapter 7: The Awakening
Word spread quietly at first, whispered from one villager to the next.
The princess was dead.
Not by sword, not by war, but by some strange sickness that struck without warning. Those who loved her went to see her, from the maid who had sneaked her bread to the farmer whose child she had once soothed during a fever. They all clearly felt their grief gnawing until they needed to see her body.
And so, on a gray dawn, they gathered in the forest. Not a grand procession, no banners were raised or trumpet sounded. It was just a scattering of souls who had felt her kindness and could not let her go unremembered.
The dwarves stood guard around her glass coffin, their faces worn with sorrow, but when the villagers approached with trembling hands full of flowers, they made way.
One by one, they stepped forward.
The maid, her apron damp with tears, kissed Snow’s hand and whispered, “For every crust of bread you shared with me in the kitchens… thank you.”
The farmer’s wife pressed her lips to Snow’s fingers. “You blessed my child when she was sick. I will never forget.”
The old woman laid her wrinkled mouth to Snow’s knuckles. “You saw me when no one else did.”
Each kiss was tender, a farewell. Each mourner left their grief behind with her, their sobs carried into the morning mist.
Rina watched from the treetops, her silver-white wings trembling. Even in death, she gathers love like flowers. No wonder the Evil Queen hated her.
At last, Hunter approached.
He walked as though the weight of the world had broken his back. His hand clutched the wildflowers he had dropped days before. His face was hollow from sleepless nights. His eyes were red from tears that had not stopped flowing.
The dwarves stepped aside in silence. Everyone knew what this meant to him.
Hunter fell to his knees beside the coffin. His hand shook as he reached for her hand. It was pale and still against the cold glass.
“Snow…” His voice cracked, raw and hoarse. “I failed you. I swore I would protect you, and I wasn’t there.”
He pressed her hand to his forehead. His tears fell hot onto her skin. He kissed her hand softly, reverently, like a prayer.
The curse shattered.
Light burst from her body, brilliant and blinding. The coffin cracked with a sound like the breaking of ice with a hammer. The villagers cried out, stumbling back, shielding their eyes from the sudden light.
Rina gasped. She felt the curse fracture, felt the Evil Queen’s power unravel.
Yes! It worked. Love! True and selfless, Just as I wove it to be. Pride surged through her, fierce and unshakable.
Snow White’s chest rose with a sudden breath. Her lashes fluttered. Slowly, her storm-gray eyes opened, focusing on the figure kneeling before her.
“Hunter…” she whispered, her voice weak but sure.
His head snapped up, disbelief written across his face.
“Snow?”
“I knew it would be you.” Her lips curved faintly as tears glistened in her eyes. Her hand lifted, trembling, to cup his cheek. “You always come back to me.”
Before he could answer, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
The forest fell into stunned silence. The dwarves froze, wide-eyed. The villagers clutched one another, unsure if they were witnessing a miracle or a dream.
Hunter froze in shock, eyes wide open for a heartbeat. Then, he broke into sobs as he kissed her back, clutching her as though he’d never let go again.
Cheers erupted, breaking the silence. The dwarves roared with joy, stamping their boots. The villagers wept openly, some collapsing to their knees.
Rina, glowing in her unseen perch, closed her eyes.
Yes. This is love. Not fever, not fantasy, but devotion that conquers even death.
And so, she revealed herself at last. Light descended, her silver-white wings spread wide, her emerald eyes glimmering.
The villagers gasped, bowing instinctively.
Rina raised her hand, her voice clear:
“Snow White was cursed by a power born of envy. But love broke what hatred could not. Do not fear her return. Rejoice in it. This is proof that love, when true, is stronger than death.”
The people murmured, their awe shifting to reverence.
Then came rage. It cloaked the air with a thunderous clap. A storm of ash filled the air. Black and choking.
“You dare defy me?!”
The Evil Queen’s voice boomed through the forest and reverberated in the trees. Her glamour cracked before everyone’s eyes. Her skin flickered with shadowed veins like slithering underneath.
She spun shadows and ash swirled around her in a frenzy.
The forest trembled. She set her sights on the little cottage where Snow lived, breathing, loved, adored.
Chapter 8: The Queen’s Wrath
There was a sudden silent fear amongst all that saw her. All except Rina. Rina stood behind everyone with glowing emerald eyes. Unmoving and unshakable.
Ash fell like black snow from the treetops, staining the moss and flowers beneath. A ripple effect spread through the mourners as they continued to darken. There was a suffocating shadow seeping between the trees, moving like serpents.
The dwarves bristled, their hands reaching instinctively for tools turned weapons. Hunter stepped in front of Snow, his sword trembling in his grasp.
The Queen’s mortal disguise was completely gone. Her beauty had warped into something twisted. She was too sharp to be called human. Her gown hung in tatters of shadow, and her torn wings unfurled with a creak. With every step, soot scattered across the ground. The air smelled of smoke and brimstone.
“You,” she hissed, her hollow eyes locking onto Snow White. Her voice dripped with venom yet cracked at the edges with something deeper.
“You steal everything from me! Love, devotion, adoration is all yours without even trying. Why should you live when I—”
Her voice broke into a snarl. Her hands lifted, shadow curling into spears preparing for a deadly blow.
Rina finally stepped forward, her silver-white wings bursting into light. She glowed brighter than the afternoon sun, her presence burned against the creeping shadows that swirled around.
“Enough,” she said, her voice ringing like a bell. “This ends here.”
The clash was immediate. Shadow and light hit each other like a fault line colliding. There was a cracking sound that made the nearby Villagers, the dwarves, Hunter, and Snow fly backward and land with a thud.
A storm of ash, fire, and rain swirled around the air cloaking everyone’s faces in wet soot. The Evil Queen’s magic was a whirlwind of grief and fury. Trees blackened and cracked under the weight of her magic. Everyone but Rina screamed in terror.
Rina answered with her radiant green and purple light. It spread wide. It weaved into a barrier that shielded the dwarves, the villagers, Snow, and Hunter. Sparks of emerald and violet danced across her wings growing and swirling around her like glitter. She lifted her hand and shaped the light into lances that met the queen’s shadows midair.
The forest was lit like a battlefield of day and night.
Hunter’s arm shielded Snow as the two of them watched in stunned awe. The dwarves trembled and whispered prayers to old gods.
The queen lunged forward, her claws bared, aiming for Snow. But Rina intercepted her, their wings colliding with a shockwave that shot a bolt of green and black lightning into the sky.
The queen’s face twisted in anguish as much as rage.
“You hate me, don’t you?” she spat, her voice breaking.
“You think yourself better because you shine while I rot?”
Rina’s voice was calm but unyielding, her eyes gleaming with truth.
“No. I pity you. You hurt. And you cannot see that hurting others will never heal what is broken inside you.”
Her words struck like a blade. The Evil Queen stepped back, eyes wide. For a flicker of a moment, the queen’s eyes showed the pain that laid inside of her. Then her same hardness returned. Her face twisted into a sneer.
With a scream, she unleashed her power one last time. Shadows erupted like a wall of black ash.
Rina answered again with a burst of radiance, her entire being ignited in green and violet fire threaded with silver. The explosion tore through the forest, singeing trees and shattering the queen’s spell like glass.
The queen staggered, her form flickering. Her torn wings shed soot as she stumbled back, her face contorting in pain and fury.
“This isn’t over,” she hissed, voice fraying into echoes.
“You will learn that love always betrays. And when you do, you will remember me.”
With that, her body unraveled into smoke and ash, scattering into the night.
Silence fell.
The villagers lowered their arms, blinking at the sudden calm. The dwarves got off of the ground and onto their feet.
Snow turned wide eyes to the fairy who had saved them. Hunter, still gripping his sword, stepped forward cautiously.
“Who… who are you?” he asked, his voice trembling with awe.
Rina hovered above the ground, her silver-white wings spreading wide, the remnants of battle light shimmering around her. Her emerald eyes glowed softly as she smiled.
“I am Rina,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “Rina the Fairy Godmother.”
The title rang through the forest like a bell of truth.
Snow’s lips parted, tears shining in her eyes. She bowed her head, voice trembling.
“Then we owe you everything. Thank you, Fairy Godmother.”
Hunter placed a hand over his heart, bowing low.
“For saving her life. For saving us all. You have my eternal gratitude.”
The dwarves echoed their thanks, the villagers kneeling in reverence.
Rina’s chest swelled—not with pride, but with a warmth she could not name. She was not a wife, nor a mother, nor a daughter trying to please. She was this. She was Fairy Godmother, and that was enough.
She glanced once more at Snow White and Hunter, hand in hand, their eyes filled with wonder and love.
Yes, she thought, lifting into the sky, this is the story I was born to write.
Chapter 9: The Kingdom Restored
Rina took to the sky, letting her glamour cover her again. She followed everyone to the castle.
The King awakened from his trance and wept in pain upon realizing what he let happen. He begged Snow for forgiveness.
“Father…there is nothing to forgive. Magic clouded your mind.”
The King grabbed his daughter and hugged her tight. Snow hugged him back with a sigh and buried her face into his chest.
The castle that had once been a place of silence and dread became noisy again. Not with celebration, not yet. There was life returning to its hollow corners.
Snow White walked through the halls with Hunter at her side, speaking to the servants, comforting those who had long worked under fear of the Evil Queen. The dwarves, now frequent guests, were treated as honored advisors. Villagers came hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence, to bring their petitions to the princess who had returned from death itself.
And the king… watched.
He sat upon his throne, shoulders slumped. His eyes followed his daughter as she moved with warmth and grace, her every word mending what envy had broken.
Every smile she gave twisted something in his chest for the better. For each kindness she showed, there were whispers amongst the servants of the years he had not shielded her and the nights she had gone hungry while he sat at a queen’s side in silence. He heard it all and the servants didn’t hide their scorn from him. He ignored the bruises and dried tears in her eyes. Snow forgave him but it was obvious that the village did not.
When he spoke to his daughter, his voice was thick with shame.
“Snow, you are far too kind to a pitiful man like me… how can you forgive me? I can’t even forgive myself. I let her torment you. I let her hurt you.”
Snow knelt at his feet, taking his weathered hands in her own. Her storm-gray eyes shone with tears.
“Father…we have been over this already. I know you were hurting too. She bound you in her chains. I don’t forgive what happened but I forgive you. Because I still love you.”
The king bowed his head. Hunter stood beside them, his hand resting gently on Snow’s shoulder, his silent presence steady as stone.
Days passed, and the kingdom entered a state of calm. Snow ruled more and more beside her father, her voice carrying compassion where his once carried weariness. Hunter stood always at her side, his loyalty as visible as the sword on his hip. Together, they stitched back a broken realm.
The king saw it all. He saw the way Snow listened to her people, truly listened. He saw how Hunter’s devotion never wavered, not in public nor in private. He saw that their bond was not a fairy tale; it was a partnership forged in pain, in loyalty, in love that had endured death itself.
And slowly, a knowing look filled with determination flashed before his eyes. Rina watched silently.
One evening, as the sun bled gold across the horizon, the king called for Snow and Hunter. His voice trembled with both grief and resolve.
“My daughter… I am an old man. My strength is spent. You have what I never had. Compassion, patience, love. Hunter, you have proven yourself more than any knight in this land. You stood where I failed. You loved her when I could not protect her. If you will have each other, you have my blessing.”
Snow’s lips trembled as she threw her arms around him. Hunter knelt, head bowed, his voice steady though thick with emotion.
“I swear before gods and men, I will guard her with my life.”
The king laid a hand upon his shoulder. For the first time in many years, he smiled.
But the true moment came weeks later, when the court was gathered in the great hall. Nobles filled the space, villagers pressed against the doors to listen, the dwarves stood proudly at the front.
The king rose from his throne, leaning heavily on his staff. His voice, though weary, carried across the hall.
“People of this kingdom… I have ruled in shadow for too long. I have been blind. I have been weak. My daughter…suffered for it, and you suffered for it. But she has brought light back to us. She has shown us what it means to be loved, to be heard. And so…”
He drew off his crown with trembling hands. Gasps echoed through the chamber. Rina hovered in stunned silence.
“…I abdicate this throne to my daughter, Snow White. She is far more worthy to rule than I. And I—” his lips curved upward faintly, a rare moment of warmth filled the room.
“would rather spend my later years at peace, watching her reign with the grace this kingdom deserves.”
The hall erupted. Cheers thundered against the stone. Villagers and nobles alike cried Snow’s name. The dwarves stamped their feet in triumph, the echoes shook the rafters.
Snow wept openly, her hand clutched Hunter’s. The king placed the crown upon her head, his own tears streaking his face.
And as the cheers grew louder, he leaned close, voice low so only she and Hunter could hear. Rina moved closer, glamour hiding how she was practically on top of them to listen.
“Now…about those grandchildren. Don’t make an old man wait too long. And I demand an extravagant wedding feast that shames the gods themselves.”
Snow laughed through her tears, pressing her forehead to his.
“Father…”
Hunter chuckled softly, his arm wrapping firmly around Snow’s shoulders.
The people cheered, the kingdom bloomed anew, and from high above—wings glinting silver and green in the sun—Rina smiled, her heart swelling.
This is how stories should end.
Chapter 10: The Next Cry
The kingdom celebrated for three days.
Bells rang from every tower. Feasts filled the great hall until the tables groaned. Music and laughter echoed in chambers that had known only silence for years.
At the heart of it all sat Snow White, radiant in white and silver, her crown gleaming under candlelight. At her side, Hunter, ever steadfast, beamed with a pride that words could not hold. The king laughed with his people. The dwarves danced clumsily with the maids. The villagers raised goblets to their new Queen.
But high above, Rina sat on the beams of the hall, her silver wings folded, her emerald eyes warm.
Yes, she thought, watching the couple share a glance filled with tenderness. This is how it should be. This is why I exist. I feel whole just watching them.
Her chest swelled with joy. Yet even as she smiled, the air shifted.
The music faltered in her ears. The laughter dulled. Then, the faint but undeniable ache returned. It was like a small thread tugging at her very core.
Her wings twitched. The call pulled her again.
Rina fluttered to the door, prepared to leave quietly, when the hall around her flickered and dimmed away. It transformed into another place, another time.
She was at a christening.
The great hall of another kingdom glittered with garlands and gold, nobles gathered to witness the blessing of a newborn child. A cradle lay at the center. The infant princess slept peacefully. Her tiny chest rose and fell.
Fairies lined the room. Each one stepped forward to grant gifts. Grace, beauty, song, laughter. Their voices rang like chimes as they blessed the child.
Rina hovered unseen, her heart twisted with warmth until the air split with a boom. The door blasted open with a bang.
Ash. Smoke. The scent of brimstone.
From the shadows of the doorway, she emerged. The Evil Queen from the last story. The dark fairy.
Her gown was midnight. It was woven with silver. Her torn wings scattered soot with every step she took into the building. Her clacking heels bounced off the silent walls. The courtiers gasped in terror. The king and queen clutched their child.
Rina’s heart clenched. The Dark Fairy’s face was not triumphant. It was raw and twisted in pain. Her empty eyes brimmed not with glee, but with a hollow ache.
She is never loved, Rina realized. Only feared.
The Fairy’s voice cut through the panic, venomous and pained.
“You did not invite me. You sought to exclude me, as always. Then hear my gift…” The evil fairy’s magic began swirling in the room. The shadows dancing in anticipation.
“When the child comes of age, she shall prick her finger and die.”
Gasps and whispers filled the hall. The curse hung in the air. It choked all the joy out of the crowd. It lay thick and heavy like the soot her wings left behind. It hovered above the cradle like a vulture.
And then a tiny voice broke through the silence.
From the line of fairies, the youngest stepped forward. She was barely a talking child herself, with wings still delicate as new leaves.
Her hair was the soft pink of wildflowers. Her eyes were wide and earnest. Her hands shook as she raised her wand, her voice catching on every word.
“N-not death,” she stammered. “S-sleep. Until… true love’s kiss awakens her.”
The black curse twisted, shuddering, reshaping into something less final, less cruel. The people sighed in desperate relief.
But the Dark Fairy only laughed. It was a sharp, bitter sound.
“Pathetic.” She sneered.
“Your childish stammering mercy cannot undo what I have done.”
She turned, her wings scattering ash behind her as she vanished into the shadows, leaving the curse suspended in the air. It was still heavy, still inevitable, but now survivable.
The baby’s cry broke the silence.
And Rina, who was unseen, clutched her chest. She felt the rawness of the Dark Fairy’s wound. She felt the sting of being unwanted, uninvited, and unloved. She pitied her, even as she hated what she had done.
The call thrummed louder in her chest. It was not finished. Another story waited. Another heart cried out.
Rina looked at the tiny pink fairy that changed the curse. The shy little fairy who had dared to speak when everyone else was quiet. Rina felt the spark of destiny on her. It was fragile but real.
Rina whispered softly to herself as she spread her wings, her voice a vow:
“This is where I’m needed next.”
Behind the Scenes: The AI Collaborative Process
Building a multi-arc fantasy epic requires keeping strict track of deep narrative consistency. For this first arc, I used AI as an editor and structural sounding board to handle a few specific challenges:
- Tense and Flow Consistency: Making sure the pacing stayed tight and natural when transitioning from the prologue's real-world environment into the fantasy realm.
- Character Voice Preservation: Keeping Rina's perspective clear and grounded as an aromantic/asexual main character, ensuring her drive remained entirely about protecting non-romantic bonds and deep structural loyalties.
- World-Building Alignment: Formatting the lore surrounding the fairy courts and Unseelie mechanics so the transitions feel seamless as the overarching story moves toward Arc 2.
Want to read ahead? Arc 2 continues early and entirely for free over on my Substack! Join the newsletter here: [Insert Substack Link]
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