In the days after the King’s departure, the Queen began to feel more alone than she had at any point since she’d arrived at the castle. She could share her horrible nightmares with no one. It was difficult enough for her to reveal her vision to the King. If she were to mention it to anyone she trusted less, she was sure they would charge her as a witch, and have her burned at the stake.

This made the fact that she was plagued with images of the man’s face all the more terrible. She thought of having the mirror removed, but that would simply arouse suspicion. She was confident that the King had written her vision off as a product of an exhausted mind. But she also knew that the others in the castle—including Verona—were aware that the mirror was a heartfelt gift from the King. How would she explain rebuking such a gift?

She decided to drape it with thick velvet curtains, hoping that keeping it out of her sight would also keep it from her mind, and prevent it from affecting her. When Verona questioned her, the Queen explained that she hoped the curtains would preserve the mirror by shielding it from the elements. A reasonable lie, which Verona accepted without question.

Still, the Queen was plagued by dreams about the man she saw in the mirror. He would smash it with his fists from within, glass shattering and flying in all directions. The Queen would bury her face in the crook of her arm as the glass sliced her. Her blood poured onto the floor, mingling with the jagged shards of glass. Sometimes in these night terrors, a man would crawl out from the mirror, grotesquely contorting his body, falling onto the ground, then grasping a large piece of broken mirror, clutching it so tightly it cut his own hand as he chased the Queen onto rocky cliffs.

She woke nightly in cold sweats, heart pounding, often to the sound of her own screaming. Some nights she woke in pain, convinced her feet were bloodied from running down stairs that were covered in broken bits of mirror, each shard reflecting a horrible image of the Queen, looking not like her beautiful self, but haggard, wart-covered, and aged.

She began to wonder if demons had invaded her soul. Riddled with anxiety over the mirror and deep sadness that she did not have her husband by her side, she began to feel afraid to leave her bedchamber. Each morning, Verona would arrive with fresh rose water in hopes she could convince the Queen to get out of her nightdress.

“I promise you will feel much better if you dress for the day, my Queen. It’s unhealthy to stay indoors so long. You look gaunt and haven’t eaten properly for weeks now. I wish you would tell me what’s troubling you.”

The Queen felt stung by Verona’s words. She gazed at her maidservant with hollow eyes.

“I can’t, Verona. You would think me mad.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The Queen desperately wanted to share her visions with someone. And next to her King, of all the people in the kingdom, she trusted Verona most. She decided that she couldn’t go on any longer without sharing the vision in the mirror. If Verona betrayed her trust, the Queen would simply deny the story. After all, who would the kingdom believe…their Queen or a maidservant?

“Shortly before the King left I saw the face of a man in my mirror. He spoke to me.”

“What did he say?”

The Queen was so surprised by Verona’s calm reaction that she couldn’t even recall now what the man had said.

“Have you seen him since?” Verona asked.

The Queen shook her head.

Verona walked over to the mirror and parted the curtains. The Queen’s eyes widened in terror, but Verona cast a reassuring glance upon her. She revealed the mirror. There was nothing in it but a reflection of the room.

“See, my Queen, you have nothing to worry about. It could have been anything, a trick of the light, exhaustion; there are so many explanations.”

The Queen did not know whether she should find comfort in Verona’s words or fall into further trepidation. Now, the King and Verona had both dismissed her vision as an imagined threat. Did that not amount to madness?

“You, my Queen, are the boldest woman I know,” Verona continued. “Now please, get out of your bed and go out into the sun with your daughter. She is frightened with her father away. You must think of her.”

Verona was right, of course. Snow needed looking after.

“I don’t think we need tell Snow about this, Verona.”

“Of course not, my Queen. I will keep it between us. But make me a promise—the next time something weighs so heavily on your mind, please do come to me. I do hope you think of me as your friend.”

“As my sister, sweet Verona.”

The Queen rose from her bed, and as she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the accursed mirror—tired and worn. Verona was visible in the mirror as well, as beautiful and serene as ever.