Grimhilde was relying completely on chance when she had handed Snow the apple. There was so much that could have gone wrong with the plan.
What if Snow had smelled the garlic emanating from Grimhilde's bite?
What if Snow had recognized the taste of the garlic and spat it out? Grimhilde had assumed that Snow, knowing how dangerous the spice would be for her, wouldn't realize what it was she had put in her mouth.
But what if Snow had been hungry?
Grimhilde was completely aware of just how lucky she was that she had gotten out of that forest alive.
The seven little men were, indeed, quite little. In fact, they were dwarves. Because, if vampires were real, there was plenty else that could be lurking in the woods that the town didn't know about.
The seven little men had arrived home, and it didn't take long for one of them to spot Snow's delicate body laying limply upon the ground, bruised from where she hit the cobblestones.
"Snow!" he cried, rushing to her side. The others followed quickly after him. They checked her for injuries, but couldn't find any visible ones. They came to the quick conclusion that she had been poisoned somehow.
They tried countless ways to revive her for hours, but eventually, they gave up. Snow White was dead. They didn't know what else to do.
Now, dwarves are rarely sentimental creatures, but Snow was truly something special to them. She took good care of them, kept them well fed, and they, in turn, gave her somewhere to live during the day when the sun was out. Dwarves are carnivores, after all, and the seven of them always ate the remains of the humans and animals Snow White would drain of blood. They didn't have time to hunt for themselves, since they spent all day working in the mines. And then Snow came along and a symbiotic relationship formed between her and the dwarves. Everyone benefited.
Snow's death was not only a blow to Snow herself, but to the dwarves as well. To commemorate the girl, they took a whole day off of work in the mine to build Snow White a coffin, with their own hands from scratch. The coffin was made of glass (the dwarves decided that passersby in the forest deserved to see Snow's ethereal beauty while she was laid at rest), and Snow's body lay upon a soft, white piece of cloth. She was placed in the same clearing the cottage was, in a spot that was always shaded so that her body would not be disfigured by the sun's rays.
The dwarves held their own mini-funeral for Snow White. They were, after all, mourning, even if only in their own way.
Prince Ferdinand shoved away the thorny branches, but not before they sliced open his cheek. He hissed in pain, bringing his hand up to his face. When he took it away, he saw that his fingers were slick with his own blood. He shook his head, annoyed, but continued on. The pain would be rid of him eventually. It wasn't even a deep cut.
He walked for a few more minutes, his cheek stinging, before coming upon a clearing with a cottage smack-dab in the middle. He was aware that there were some citizens that secluded themselves away from the rest of the kingdom, holed up in their houses in the woods. But the peculiar thing about this place was the glass coffin off to the side of the house. Prince Ferdinand thought it was empty at first, but after looking at it for a second time, he realized with a start that there was, in fact, a girl inside of it. Like some unknown force, similar to the one that pulls magnets together, the Prince felt that he needed to see the body in the coffin. It was as if his feet were moving on their own, dragging him towards it—though he went willingly—until he was there, looking over the lid, peering into the face of the dead girl.
She was young, two years his junior at most, but there was no denying who she was. Princess Snow White, from Queen Grimhilde's kingdom. Prince Ferdinand's father and Queen Grimhilde had made their kingdoms allies before he was even born—they were, after all, bordering the same forest. Hostility would do neighbors no good.
Prince Ferdinand's brow creased. The girl had been declared dead about a week before, though her body had never been found. Yet how did she slumber inside this coffin? Somebody had to know she was here. Somebody who cared, he decided, inspecting the coffin's careful handywork.
His eyes were drawn back to Snow's face. He'd met her once before, at her father and stepmother's wedding, and he'd seen her at her father's coronation, but they'd both been incredibly young at the time. Now, he realized just how lovely the princess really was. Tears came to Prince Ferdinand's eyes, and he lifted the lid of the coffin. He didn't want to see her through the glass. He wanted to see the dead girl with no barrier between them, to know her and to mourn her.
He cupped her face in his hand, recalling that Snow White had never taken suitors' offers of marriage, no matter how rich or handsome they were. Why, she'd probably never even had her first kiss—most men were extremely daunted by her legendary beauty. Prince Ferdinand acted without thinking, and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.
The cut on his cheek was still bleeding, and as Prince Ferdinand pulled away to gaze at the dead princess, a droplet of blood fell from his face, landing inside of Snow White's parted lips.
