Chapter 26 - Snow White's Son

Translator's Note:

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Even as he withdrew his left arm, Crow reached out with his right hand to clasp the Marchioness's fingers, turning his face towards her, trying to meet her gaze though he could not see.

 

The Marchioness sighed softly. "It's an impossible task," she said, shaking her head. "The seven elves held far greater power than I do. If they could not break the curse, neither can I. I'm certain Snow White herself, and even King Priss, must have begged the elves to undo it, but... as you can see, they could do nothing. The Mirror Witch was a formidable sorceress, and that curse, it was her final act—her hatred towards her stepchild infused it with a terrifying strength. Even if I had the stones, my power would be no match for it. I'm afraid it's beyond my ability."

 

As she spoke, her fingers gently touched Crow's closed eyelids. Her hands moved with grace and care, aligning her fingers perfectly over his eyes. Then, she began to murmur an incantation.

 

A warmth, unlike anything Crow had ever felt, flowed from her fingertips, seeping into his skin. It was a soothing sensation, so much so that it made the luxuries of the castle—rose-scented baths, milk-infused waters, silk sheets, and feathered blankets—seem utterly ordinary in comparison.

 

"Ah... ah..." A soft moan escaped his lips as he surrendered to the healing power seeping through his eyelids, his body relaxing into the back of the chaise. Warmth spread not only across his face but through every fiber of his being.

 

And then, something incredible began to happen.

 

The pitch-black darkness that had once consumed his sight was now interrupted by streaks of red. Faint but unmistakable, light began to shimmer through the haze. His veins, visible beneath his closed lids, allowed glimpses of the world beyond—proof that his eyes were once again perceiving the light.

 

"You'll be fine now," the Marchioness said gently. "The injury was grave, and it will take time to heal fully, but I believe in a week's time, you'll be as good as new. Wash your eyes every day, keep them clean, and rest in a room that is not too bright."

 

By the time she had finished speaking, Crow could already see her faint silhouette. Colors, too, began to reveal themselves. Her hair was a deep chestnut, and her lips, a rich, bold red.

 

"...Thank you... I can see a little now," Crow said, his voice trembling with gratitude.

 

"The prince will pay me, as promised," the Marchioness replied with a wry smile. "I may be a good witch, but I do not work for free—especially from those who can afford it. I take all that I can."

 

"All that you can..." Crow repeated, slightly taken aback.

 

"At first, I jested that in order to heal your eyes, I would need his own," she added with a mischievous twinkle.

 

"His eyes?" Crow gasped in shock.

 

"Oh, of course, it was just a jest," she chuckled. "But the prince, without hesitation, offered them. He was ready to give up his sight if it would restore yours. His face was so desperate, it hardly seemed a mere display of brotherly affection."

 

The Marchioness rose with a graceful laugh, leaving Crow's heart stirred by her cryptic words. What did she see in his brother's heart that he could not? What view did this worldly witch, with her distance from human taboos, hold of this forbidden love? Crow longed to hear more from her, hoping perhaps she could offer a new perspective—something that might loosen the chains of morality that bound Kyle so tightly.

 

But before Crow could ask her anything further, the Marchioness called out, "Your Highness, it is done!"

 

She tapped lightly at the door, beckoning Kyle, who had been waiting just outside.

 

"Your brother's treatment is complete," she announced.

 

The door flew open, and in a flurry of hurried footsteps, Kyle rushed into the room, his face a storm of worry and hope. He spoke words of thanks, but it was clear that his thoughts were solely on Crow.

 

"Snow White...!" Kyle called out as he ran to him.

 

"Brother!" Crow replied, his vision still blurry, yet he could make out Kyle's form. The prince wore a deep blue garment, and his golden hair shimmered just as it did in his portraits.

 

His field of vision had broadened, and for the first time in so long, colors filled his world once again.

 

If Kyle came closer, Crow thought, he might even be able to see the color of his eyes.

 

"Snow White... Oh, you've done so well," Kyle murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Does it hurt? Are you in pain?"

 

"No, not at all. She treated me so kindly."

 

The Marchioness explained the healing process, but Kyle, kneeling before Crow, peered into his face with such intensity, his brow furrowed in concern.

 

"And how is it? Can you see me now? Do you see my face?" Kyle asked, his voice trembling with both fear and hope.

 

"Yes... It's still not completely clear, like there's a mist... but I can see your expression. And I can see colors. You're wearing a blue robe, aren't you?"

 

"Yes, that's right! Oh, thank goodness... truly."

 

Kyle's relief was overwhelming. Tears welled in his eyes as he gripped Crow's hands tightly, his joy so raw that it moved Crow to tears as well. Despite the presence of the Marchioness, they clung to each other, their faces close, feeling the warmth of their tears both on their cheeks and in their hearts.

 

"Brother... thank you. You called the Marchioness for me, you sacrificed so much... I'm sorry for being such a burden," Crow whispered through his tears.

 

"Such things… none of them matter as long as your sight returns," Kyle replied, his voice thick with emotion.

 

As Crow gazed into his brother's tear-streaked face, an irresistible wave of feeling welled up within him. He longed, with all his heart, to press his lips to Kyle's. Not a mere sibling's kiss, but one of lovers, a kiss that felt only right in the moment. The words he had overheard earlier echoed in his mind—"It hardly seemed like simple brotherly love"—and it emboldened him. But it wasn't just those words; it was his own eyes, his own heart that confirmed it: his brother loved him not as a sibling, but as something more.

 

"Oh my, such a beautiful display of brotherly affection," the Marchioness interjected, her voice light and amused.

 

"Ah...!" Crow blinked, jolted back to reality by her words. He had nearly forgotten her presence and, in that fleeting moment, had come perilously close to sealing his brother's lips with his own. Embarrassed, he quickly pulled away. Kyle too, though his expression was still hazy to Crow, seemed to share the same awkwardness.

 

"To witness such tender love between brothers… how moving," the Marchioness said with a sly smile. "As thanks for such a heartwarming sight, let me tell you a tale, a good one at that. It's a story from long ago... from when the lands of Auden and Green Valley were at odds. Near the border, there lived a most beautiful lord—tall, graceful, and accomplished in every way. In fact, he was much like Prince Kyle, a man blessed by fortune in every manner."

 

As she spoke, her hands traced the outline of Kyle's form in the air, her movements grand as she conjured the image of this bygone lord. Crow, though anxious about where this tale might lead, held onto her promise that it was a "good story" and listened with bated breath. Kyle, too, stood by the chaise, entranced by her words.

 

"But alas," the Marchioness continued, her tone darkening, "what this lord lacked, in contrast to you, dear prince, was a noble heart to match his fine appearance. Arrogant and spoiled, he scorned those less fortunate than himself—he was cold to the poor, merciless to the weak, and heartless toward the elderly and the unsightly. His heart knew no compassion, no ability to empathize with others. And because he treated those of no use to him with such cruelty, he eventually earned the wrath of a witch, and a terrible curse befell him."

 

Like the lord from the old tale, Kyle too was under the grip of a witch's curse. Though he himself had done nothing to invoke such wrath, the curse that bound him was no less real.

 

"The beautiful lord was transformed into a fearsome, hideous beast," the Marchioness continued.

 

"...A beast?" Kyle gasped, his breath catching in his throat.

 

"Yes," she nodded solemnly. "His heart became as twisted as his form, sinking into despair and cruelty. Yet, in time, the lord fell in love with a woman. As we all know, love has the power to change people. Through his love, the lord came to understand the pain of longing, the shame of his coarse, beastly nature, and deep regret for the cruelty of his past. His remorse, and his love for the woman, softened him. He became willing to sacrifice his own happiness for hers. In time, she too was moved by his devotion and came to love him in return. Together, they broke the curse with a kiss born of true love, and embraced as the spell melted away."

 

Crow, who had been listening intently, could not help but ask, "And what became of them in the end?"

 

Though Kyle remained speechless, his eyes revealed the same question, his breath held in quiet anticipation. In Crow's blurred vision, the red lips of the Marchioness curled into a smile.

 

"The two shared a bed," she continued with a playful gleam in her eyes, "and the woman accepted the beastly lord with both heart and body, loving him without care for his hideous form. And then, as if by magic, the impossible happened—their love broke the curse, and the beast transformed back into the handsome youth he once was. But then, his heart was as beautiful as his appearance. Together, they became perfect lovers, respected by all who knew them, and they lived happily ever after."

 

With a dramatic flourish, the Marchioness spread her arms wide. "There is no night that lasts forever," she declared in a singsong tone. "And there is no curse that cannot be broken. Who, after all, decided that hatred is stronger than love?"

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