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Fiction Friday! This weeks prompt from the amazing writing community over at The Red Dress Club was: One of my favorite parts of summer is THE SHOES. So for your prompt this week I’d like you to write about your character (or yourself) and a pair of his or her shoes.  Those shoes can be real or symbolic, they can hurt or be super comfy but I want to see what they say about the life of the person wearing them. It’s a chance to use all those descriptive words I love reading. And because I am a giver, this prompt’s word limit is 625. Come back and link up here Friday to show us your “sole”.


Queen Snow White, after finding her mother’s cryptic note, packaged with the piece of ancient Birchwood whose removal from the Glade was forbidden to all, even clever and crafty Queens, had simply rewrapped the package, opened her mother’s wardrobe, closed her eyes and shoved the whole package into a nook that she had felt but not seen. She prayed this would offer some protection from prying minds.

The time had come for she and Syten to spend their months apart, and even though the darkest part of her scared soul sang to her of Syten’s allegiance, habits are hard to break, especially when raised on the cutting edge of ice politics. Thus, she had heeded her mother’s advice and done her best to keep her own council. As he traveled further away, she had felt his increasing discomfort over his impending separation from Alice grow weaker, until she couldn’t feel it at all. That silence had brought Queen Snow back to the wardrobe.

She runs her fingers long the twisting vines carved into the rare hard blue ice inset into the arched doors. She resists licking the ice, as she had once and smiles at the memory of her mother pouring warm water over her captured tongue and her kindness by laughing only with her eyes. She opens the doors and kneels, closes her eyes and tries to retrace the path her hands had taken that day, trying to find her way back to the message packet. The smallest finger on her left hand brushes across what feels like a jewel and she remembers that she had felt this, just before she had found the hiding nook. Opening her eyes she sees her hand on one of her mother’s shoes.

Pulling the shoe out into the defused light of the room, she sees colors captured yet swirling in the iridescent sheen of the material. Beautiful like a dragonfly’s wing, but sinister as a warning. Pausing, she searches her memory. Where has she seen this material before? The shoe has three silver leaves, each inset with a long sliver of emerald falling across the top arch of the foot, traveling from the outside of the ankle towards the big toe. Unsurprisingly, the shoes are flat, but surprisingly equipped with a platform. Her mother had already been quite tall. In fact, Queen Snow had only ever seen one woman taller, though she had been cursed and prone in bed during the meeting. Taking a closer look, Queen Snow notices an odd grove around the tip of shoe, traveling around the toes. Probing gently, she feels the groove give a little. Frowning, she feels frustration rising. Why is everything such a puzzle? Why does she still so often feel like a child still learning at her powerful mother’s knee?

Then like the faintest of breezes:

Put your hand inside the shoe and feel where the big toe would go.

Guilt floods her heart.

Trust takes time.

She slides her hand into the shoe and finds a small pad that she presses. A curved grass-thin blade springs from the toe of the shoe and the rancid scent of grenboji poison past its prime stings Queen Snow’s nose.

What are these? Why…?

Assassin’s shoes. Wiccan.

My mother was not a Wiccan assassin.

The real question is: Was your mother a Queen trained in killing arts or a killer who became Queen?