Year of publication: 2011
Keywords: Fairy Tales Fantasy Genre Fiction Horror Literature & Fiction Mythology & Folk Tales Science Fiction & Fantasy
Snow Glass Apples: A Play for Voices
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Snow, Glass, Apples Copyright (c) 1994 Neil GaimanI do not know what manner of thing she is. None of us do. She killed her mother in the birthing, but that's never enough to account for it. They call me wise, but I am far from wise, for all that I foresaw fragments of it, frozen moments caught in pools of water or in the cold glass of my mirror. If I were wise I would not have tried to change what I saw. If I were wise I would have killed myself before ever I encountered her, before ever I caught him. Wise, and a witch, or so they said, and I'd seen his face in my dreams and in reflections for all my life: sixteen years of dreaming of him before he reined his horse by the bridge that morning, and asked my name. He helped me onto his high horse and we rode together to my little cottage, my face buried in the gold of his hair. He asked for the best of what I had; a king's right, it was. His beard was red-bronze in the morning light, and I knew him, not as a king, for I knew...