Chapter Text
The afternoon sunlight dappled through the canopy as a familiar little cottage nestled in the forest cleared its throat of chimney smoke. Birds chattered on the rooftop, and a fawn nosed curiously at the wildflowers along the path. Inside, Aurora hummed softly to herself as she arranged a simple but lovely tea service on the small wooden table.
The cottage had been tidied as much as one could tidy a space that still held the unmistakable charm of woodland life: bunches of drying herbs above the hearth, a broom propped in the corner, a vase of wild roses on the windowsill. Aurora smoothed her skirt and adjusted the lace cloth in the center of the table, making sure the plates, cups, and small cakes were all perfectly aligned.
“They’ll be here soon,” she whispered, a smile touching her lips. “Oh, I do hope they like it.”
Behind her, the window fluttered open with a little help from a bluebird. A pair of birds fluttered in and chirped excitedly, circling around the vase of flowers.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Aurora laughed, tapping a finger against one of the cups. “You helped with the berries, remember? And you carried the little sachets of tea. You’ve done wonderfully.”
A soft knock came at the door.
Aurora’s heart skipped. “They’re here!”
She lifted her skirts and hurried over. When she opened the door, a cool forest breeze slipped in along with a flurry of birdsong—and two princesses.
Snow White stood at the threshold in her familiar blue and yellow gown, her dark hair framing her face, cheeks rosy with excitement. Beside her, Cinderella, in a soft blue day dress rather than full ballgown, smiled warmly, her eyes gentle and bright.
“Aurora!” Snow White exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “Oh, this cottage is even lovelier than I imagined!”
“Do forgive us if we’re a little early,” Cinderella added, a playful spark in her eyes. “The birds insisted on showing us the quickest path, and they were very insistent.”
Aurora laughed and reached out, taking each of their hands in turn. “You’re right on time. Please, come in. I’m so happy you both could come.”
They stepped inside. Among the scent of pine and fresh bread, the three princesses moved like patches of blue and gold and soft pink through the small space. Aurora gestured toward the table.
“We don’t often use this table for guests,” she said, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear, “but I thought… well, since so much happened to me here, it felt right to invite my friends here too.”
Snow White’s expression softened immediately. “Oh, Aurora,” she said, “that’s such a dear thought.”
“It looks wonderful,” Cinderella said, eyes taking in the simple but beautiful spread: wildberry tarts, honey cakes, little sandwiches with forest herbs, and a pot of fragrant tea. “You’ve done such a lovely job.”
Aurora blushed. “I did have some help,” she said, nodding to the birds, who puffed up proudly. “And my owl friend supervised. He insisted on quality control.”
Snow White giggled. “Oh, I know all about that. The dwarfs were the same whenever I baked pies. ‘Not enough sugar, Snow White! Too much sugar, Snow White!’” She imitated Grumpy’s grumbling voice so perfectly that Aurora and Cinderella burst into laughter.
“Please, sit,” Aurora said, still giggling as she pulled out chairs. “We’ll have tea, and… and just talk. Truly talk.”
They settled around the table. The afternoon light poured in through the window, painting golden shapes on the floor. Aurora poured tea—herself a little more carefully, since she didn’t want to spill it all over her guests—and the room settled into a comfortable hush, punctuated by the gentle clink of porcelain.
For a few minutes, they traded simple pleasantries: the journey through the forest, the animals that had greeted them, how good the tea smelled.
But then, as often happens in safe places, the conversation gently turned deeper.
Snow White, staring thoughtfully into the pale steam rising from her cup, spoke first.
“It’s funny,” she said softly, “being back in a forest cottage again.” She smiled, but it was faint and a little wistful. “Sometimes when I smell pine and fresh bread, I remember… everything. The good and the frightening.”
Aurora’s eyes softened. “Your cottage with the dwarfs.”
Snow White nodded. “I loved them so very much. They were so gruff and awkward and dear. But that cottage was also where I…” She hesitated, fingertips brushing the rim of her teacup. “Where the Queen’s curse reached me.”
Cinderella’s hand moved, almost instinctively, resting lightly over Snow White’s wrist. “The poisoned apple,” she said, her voice gentle.
Snow White gave a small, brave smile and nodded. “Yes. When I fell asleep, it felt… it felt like nothing. Just a bite, and then—darkness. And silence. I didn’t know time was passing. I didn’t know hearts were breaking.” Her eyes shone for a moment, then warmed. “And then I woke up to Florian’s voice and his arms around me. I didn’t even know I’d scared them all so terribly until I saw the tears in their eyes.”
Aurora’s gaze grew distant for a moment, as if she were looking back through her own memories. “I understand,” she said softly. “I really do.”
Snow White looked up at her, curious.
Aurora folded her hands in her lap. “For me, it was a spinning wheel. My whole life, I thought I was just an ordinary girl. My aunts told me I must stay away from strangers, never talk to anyone I didn’t know… It always felt strange, but I trusted them.” Her lips curved in a small smile. “And then I met Phillip, and everything I thought I knew started to feel… different. Brighter.”
Cinderella’s eyes shone at the mention of Phillip’s name. “He must love you so very much,” she said.
“He does,” Aurora replied, the warmth in her voice unmistakable. “But back then, I didn’t even know he was a prince. He was just… a boy I met in the forest.” She laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “I think I fell in love with him before I even knew his name.”
Snow White sighed happily. “Oh, that sounds so romantic.”
“It was,” Aurora said. “And then… on my sixteenth birthday, they took me back to the castle. They told me everything all at once—who I was, what had been kept from me, the curse that had hung over me since I was a baby.” She swallowed. “I was so overwhelmed. I had never felt so alone. And then I touched the spindle and… slept.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around her teacup. “Like you, Snow White, I felt nothing. No time. Just… nothing. And when I woke up, the world had changed. The thorns were gone. My parents were there. Phillip was there. Everything I’d dreamed of and feared at once.”
The three of them sat quietly for a moment, the weight of those memories settling between them—not heavy in a painful way, but deep, like shared roots.
“How strange,” Cinderella murmured at last, her voice thoughtful. “The two of you had magic steal your time away. For me, it was different. My days felt so long.”
She smiled faintly, though there was a tightness in it that hadn’t been there before.
“Every day after my father died, my stepmother… well.” She glanced at the tablecloth. “I think you both know a little bit of that story. I woke up before dawn, scrubbed floors, cooked, mended, did laundry. I didn’t sleep for magic reasons.” Her eyes softened with a hint of humor at the irony. “I barely slept because there was always so much to do.”
Snow White’s expression turned earnest and indignant all at once. “That’s awful, Cinderella! You’re so kind and gentle. How could they treat you so cruelly?”
Cinderella’s smile grew a little more genuine. “You’re sweet to say so. It was hard. I won’t pretend it wasn’t. I spent so many days pretending not to feel tired, pretending not to be sad, pretending I wasn’t lonely. But you know… I also learned something important in all those days of sweeping and sewing. I learned how strong I could be when I had to be.”
Aurora nodded slowly. “You kept your hope.”
“I tried,” Cinderella said. “Sometimes my only friends were the mice and the birds, and the dreams I kept in my heart. I didn’t have a poison apple, or a cursed spindle, or a spell over my kingdom… but it felt like I was trapped in a curse of my own. A very ordinary sort of curse. One that said, ‘This is all you’ll ever be, this is all you’ll ever have.’”
She lifted her chin slightly, her eyes bright. “But that turned out not to be true.”
Snow White clasped her hands over her heart. “Because you met Prince August,” she said, her smile turning dreamy. “I think I shall never forget the way you described him to me at the castle ball last winter.”
Cinderella laughed, cheeks flushing. “Oh dear, what did I say?”
Aurora giggled. “That he has the warmest eyes, and that when he looks at you, you feel as if he sees the girl in rags and the princess in a ballgown, and loves both just the same.”
Cinderella covered her face to (unsuccessfully) hide her rosy blush. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
Snow White sighed happily. “It’s beautiful. And true. When I saw you together, it was clear how much he treasures you.”
Cinderella lowered her hands, her smile soft and full. “He does. August is… gentle, but not weak. Kind, but not foolish. He listens. That’s one of the things I love most. After the ball, when everything fell apart with the slipper and my stepmother tried to lock me away, he didn’t just give up. He searched. He believed in the girl he danced with. And when we were married, he listened when I spoke about my past. He didn’t just try to fix it, or tell me to forget it. He held my hand and said he was honored to love someone so brave.”
Aurora’s eyes shimmered. “That… that sounds like him. I’ve only seen him at court a few times, but he always shows such respect—for everyone.”
Snow White nodded vigorously. “He bowed to the dwarfs when he met them. You know that? Real, proper bows. They didn’t know what to do with themselves!”
All three burst out laughing at the image of Grumpy grumbling his way through a royal bow.
“And what about your prince, Snow White?” Cinderella asked gently when the laughter subsided. “You’ve told us pieces, but… I’d like to hear how you feel, when you think of him. Of Prince Florian.”
Snow White’s cheeks pinked, and she folded her hands on the table as if composing herself. “Oh,” she said softly. “Well… I always felt like I would meet him someday. Even when my stepmother made me dress in rags and sweep the courtyard, I would sing into the well and imagine a prince who heard my voice and came to find me.”
Aurora smiled quietly. “And he did.”
“He did,” Snow White echoed, her eyes shining with memory. “The first time I saw him, I was so startled I ran away. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed. But he sang the same song back to me, and I… I think my heart recognized him before the rest of me caught up.”
She paused, gaze distant. “Later, when everything went wrong and I bit the apple… I didn’t know time had passed. But when I opened my eyes again and saw him above me, I knew him at once. I knew that he had not given up on me, even when I was lying there as if I were gone forever. Imagine,” she whispered, smiling through the memory, “loving someone so much that you would kiss them goodbye, just to say you loved them one last time… and instead, that love brings them back.”
Aurora’s hand flew to her mouth, moved beyond words for a moment.
Cinderella blinked back a tear. “That’s… that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
Snow White brushed at her eyes, chuckling faintly. “Oh dear, I’m making myself cry.”
Aurora leaned forward, eager. “And now? How is it, being with him?”
Snow White’s smile turned mischievous and fond all at once. “He still sings to me. Every morning, if he has the time. Sometimes he brings me flowers from the gardens himself, even though the gardeners scold him for picking the best ones.” She giggled. “He looks very sheepish whenever the head gardener catches him.”
The others laughed again.
“He’s very gentle,” Snow White continued. “He wants to keep me safe, of course, especially after what happened. But he’s also learned to listen, as Prince August does. When I tell him I want to bake pies for the castle staff, he rolls up his sleeves and helps. Even if he keeps getting flour on his nose.”
Cinderella grinned. “Flour on his nose?”
Snow White nodded solemnly. “It’s a serious problem. Very distracting.”
The three dissolved into laughter once more, the heaviness of old fear and curses and sorrow lightened by shared joy.
“And Phillip?” Cinderella asked, turning to Aurora, once they’d caught their breath. “I know in my mind that he’s heroic. He fought through thorns and storms. But what is he like when it’s just the two of you? When there are no dragons and curses?”
Aurora’s face softened in a way that made her entire expression glow. “Phillip… is quieter than people expect,” she said. “Everyone remembers the gleaming sword and the bravery he showed when defeating Maleficent. But when we’re alone, he is very gentle. He apologizes to Samson if he thinks he’s ridden him too hard. He hums little tunes he heard from the forest. Sometimes he asks me to dance with him in the courtyard when there’s no music at all, and we just… move together, spinning and swaying to the wind.”
Snow White sighed, resting her chin on her hands. “Oh, that sounds so sweet.”
“When I first woke up, I felt so overwhelmed,” Aurora confessed. “I had lost sixteen years with my parents. A whole kingdom had slept because of me. I had this… weight of expectation on my shoulders. Phillip saw all of that. And one night, after a ball, when the crown felt too heavy… I told him I was afraid.” She glanced down at her hands, twisting them slightly, then looked back up, her eyes glowing. “He listened, and then he said, ‘You never have to carry anything alone again. Not a crown, not a curse, not a worry. We’ll share it. All of it.’”
Cinderella’s hand came to rest over hers, Snow White’s over Cinderella’s, until their fingers layered in the center of the table.
“You’re not alone,” Cinderella said softly. “Not anymore. Not with Phillip. Not with your parents. And not with us.”
Snow White nodded firmly. “We know what it’s like—different ways, but we know. To be afraid. To feel trapped. To wonder if anyone will ever see who you really are.”
“And to be loved,” Cinderella added, her eyes shining, “by someone who does see. Who looks at you and sees not just your title, or your duties, or your past—but your heart.”
Aurora’s throat tightened. She gave their hands a squeeze. “I’m so grateful,” she whispered. “For both of you. Sometimes I still feel like that girl in the forest who spun around with birds and dreamed of a boy she’d only met in a song. It’s… comforting, to know that you—both of you—lived different lives before becoming princesses too. That you learned kindness and courage in small, ordinary days.”
Cinderella smiled. “Ordinary girls with extraordinary stories, perhaps.”
Snow White giggled. “And extraordinarily kind husbands.”
“And extraordinarily wonderful friends,” Aurora added.
They held that moment for a while: three young women who had walked through danger and sorrow and come out the other side with hope, now sharing tea and sweets in a cottage that had once held only loneliness.
After a time, the mood lightened again, as it does when people feel truly safe.
Snow White insisted that they must try the berry tarts first. “It’s always best to start with something sweet,” she declared. “Life certainly didn’t give us that luxury at first, but at a tea party”—she popped a small piece of tart into her mouth—“we make our own rules.”
“So long as I don’t burn anything,” Aurora said wryly. “I’m still learning to cook without fairy magic.”
Cinderella laughed. “If you like, I can teach you a few tricks. When you’ve cooked for a household of stepfamily and servants, you learn how to rescue nearly any dish. I’ve even saved a cake that fell flat.”
Snow White clapped. “Oh, that sounds wonderful! And perhaps I can teach you both my gooseberry pie recipe. The dwarfs swore it cured all grumpiness. Well… most grumpiness.”
“Then one day,” Aurora said, eyes alight, “you must all come back here. We’ll bake together. I’ll have Phillip get us a bigger table. He'd want to meet Florian and August as well.”
“We’ll invite our princes, too,” Snow White added. “I’d like to see Florian trying not to spill flour everywhere while August bakes in perfect elegance.”
“And Phillip trying to pretend he doesn’t mind berries on his sleeves,” Aurora laughed.
“We’ll make a whole day of it,” Cinderella said. “Tea, pies, shared stories. And maybe… maybe one day, our children will have tea parties of their own here. Without curses, or cruel stepfamilies, or poisoned apples—just laughter and crumbs on the floor.”
Snow White’s eyes filled with soft hope. “That sounds like a dream come true.”
Aurora looked around the little cottage. She breathed in the smell of tea and berries, listened to the murmur of her friends’ voices, the birds outside, the breeze in the trees.
She realized that, for the first time, this cottage felt like entirely her own. Not the fairies’. Not the curse’s. Hers. A place where she chose who entered and what memories they built together.