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“Then you are bound by old magic and honor, witch of the wood. How will I know this one who needs protecting?”

“Search your forest. Her hair is black as ebony, lips red as blood, and skin as white as snow. A huntsman may be with her. Do not harm him if it can be avoided.” Moira instructed.

“It will be done.” The Goblin bowed as he gave his word. Moira began to remove her hand from the glass, but paused when the goblin called to her.

“A word of advice, witch. The silver thread is of old magic. Master it and little is out of reach.”

Moira stared in confusion as the fog engulfed the hovel, leaving her alone in her glass forest. She paced through the trees, thinking over the Goblin’s last words. She thought back to the spell Millicent used to imprison her. Her sister had entwined her black threads with the silver from the mirror. 

Moira sprinted back to the mirror and studied the mass of threads there. She placed her hand against the glass, calling Ulrich into focus. 
When Ulrich appeared, walking through the forest with Eirwyn trailing behind, so did the black threads that bound him to the queen. Moira hesitated a moment, remembering what happened the last time she tried to undo the queen’s work. She gazed through the mirror and realized where Ulrich and Eirwyn were. They were approaching the glade, the mirror image of the glass glade in which Moira stood. Moira picked at Ulrich’s thread furiously, frightened at what she feared Eirwyn would face when they reached their destination. Moira unwound bits of the black spell, searching for the source of the queen’s hold. 

Ulrich pushed through a curtain of brush, ushering Eirwyn into the sunny meadow. She smiled, her eyes full of joy as she strolled through grass and bent to examine the wild flowers. Ulrich leaned against a tree, pulling his knife and whet stone from his pocket. He sat, sharpening his blade and watching the princess with a cruel smirk.

Moira worked faster as her heart raced and fingers trembled. Eirwyn picked flowers by the handful, oblivious to Ulrich’s sudden approach. Moira sobbed as she tried her best to break the queen’s hold on her husband. She tugged the thread hard in one last desperate attempt to stay Ulrich’s hand. A mass of dark thread fell into her hand, the heart of the queen’s spell. Ulrich raised his knife, slowly approaching the distracted princess.

The End

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