I got engaged on the day of my mother’s funeral. To be clear, I would not have chosen to get engaged on the worst day of my life, but I also didn’t choose my bridegroom at all. My uncle, who had rarely left the village to come meet us in our little cottage at the outskirts of the forest, was supposed to take me in. Instead, he yanked me from my mother’s pine box, where I’d been setting the coins upon her eyelids for the ferryman’s fare, and presented me to a man he claimed was a business friend of his. How an incompetent farmhand had anything to do with a country baron was beyond me, but the iron grip on the back of my neck warned me my uncle had no patience for anything less than complete compliance. As if I would give it to him.

“My niece, Rose,” my uncle began.

“The chief mourner,” I added, to remind them that we were, in fact, still at a funeral.

My uncle ignored me. “A dutiful, respectful girl to my sister, you see, baron. Faithful until to the last.”

Beneath the baron’s thick mustache, his lips quirked up in an imitation of a smile. The expression was as unnatural on his face as the color of said mustache and the rest of his beard—deep, dark blue, almost mistakable as black in the poor lighting in our cottage windows. I was told later that the baron had suffered a strange malady in his youth and the cure for it had turned his hair—from his crown to furry ankles—a deep shade of midnight blue. It’d caused him to carry his unfortunate moniker in his later years. Rumors said that he claimed dyeing it all some normal shade would be a waste of time, but in truth I think he liked it. The strange quirk to his appearance took others aback and I had heard that he always preferred to leave opponents on the back foot, puzzled by his peculiarities.

Baron Bluebeard the villagers called him; I’d seen him once when my mother had brought me and my sister to the local harvest festival. I remember my twin clinging to my side as I hid behind my mother’s skirts, unused to the press of humanity around us. The baron looked much the same then as he did during my mother’s funeral—rumors claimed he had found the fountain of youth decades back and made a fortune by selling it to the king. They would say that was how he got his title. That might have been true; he had made his fortune while traveling and procuring rare goods to bring back to our kingdom. If he did find the fountain, however, he certainly didn’t share his good fortune with anyone else, not even his bride back then. I remember her being a thin, flimsy woman who cowered by his side in the unseasonal heat. She’d been young, I think, although to a child everyone over a certain height was an adult. She left so little an impression that I hadn’t been surprised when mother said she was dead by that midwinter.

The baron collected many brides since then, at least four more if I remember right, although it might have been five. My small family of three was seldom up-to-date on the local gossip; our cottage was almost tucked into the forest itself, surrounded by a bramble of rose bushes, safe behind thorns and tree boughs. And now my uncle had invited this man into our sanctuary, to make me the next lamb to the slaughter.

“I understand you were very close to your mother,” the baron said, nodding to the pine box that my mother now lay in. “So loyal that when your sister married you chose to stay behind and look after her instead of seeking a husband as well.”

I barely had time to blink before I felt my uncle give my neck a warning pinch not to deny it. He needn’t have bothered—in an abstract way, that wasn’t technically wrong. My sister had left me to look after our mother, drawn from our cottage for love, whereas I stayed because of it. Still, I could not allow this slight to my sister’s honor to go unchecked. “My sister had the right to find her happiness, but she did not abandon us. She’s near to us even now.”

For a second, my uncle’s grip loosened. I presume that he was too busy trying to fight the urge to start rubbernecking his gaze out the few windows our cottage had. Taking my own chance, I knocked his hand free from my neck, but when I didn’t run, I suppose he decided to keep his hands to himself. After all, incompetent farmhand that he was, even he had to know that a bruised apple never sold as a well as an unmarked one.

The baron chuckled—whether at my words or antics, I’m still not sure. “Your mother was fortunate indeed then, to have two such devoted daughters.” He spread his lips in a mocking smile, revealing an unsettling set of pristine white teeth. Never in my life had I seen such a mouth—even I had a chipped tooth or two and despite my time away from the village, I doubt there was a single person there that didn’t have at least one tooth missing. None of those teeth were false either; I never would learn how he kept them so white and strong. “I, myself, have had little luck in women who knew a thing about loyalty.”

I resisted the urge to tell him that cornered animals will turn and fight for their lives when pushed far enough. Even those delicate ladies must have tried their best to survive. That seemed a little too blatant to avoid a slap from my uncle, damaged goods or no.

Said uncle immediately spoke up anyway. “No such worry with our Rose. I’m sure she could be just as devoted to a husband as she was to her mother.”

I glanced sidelong at my uncle and bit back the words that I could be just as devoted to a husband that I chose, but I knew just how sharp the backhand I would have caught from him would be if I had openly sassed him for such a comment. “I can keep my promises,” I said instead, mostly just to watch him squirm.

Baron Bluebeard did not squirm—he stood like a patient toad, waiting for the unsuspecting fly to zip by unaware until it was far too late. “That is a virtue I can respect and appreciate.” He cocked his head to the side, still waiting.

He would have to wait longer to bait me out, but my uncle jumped into the trap presently. “It’s true, my lord, she’ll make you a devoted wife.”

At last, the baron moved his gaze from me to my uncle with a sort of smooth motion of a predator focusing on a prize. Promptly, as if neither I nor my mother’s corpse were still in the room, my uncle and the baron hashed out a marriage arrangement before any of the villagers had time to come pay my mother their respects. Listening to the negotiations, my uncle drove a poor bargain. The only dowry he managed to get out of my bridegroom was a thick, ugly ring that the baron put on my own finger; perhaps he was just all too happy to avoid responsibility for looking after me, not that I needed it at my age.

The ring dropped onto my finger like the snap of a shackle on my wrist; I didn’t comment. Instead, the baron smiled in grim satisfaction before turning from me to announce that he would pay his respects to the deceased and then be on his way. My uncle was quick to trail behind him, but even he froze when the baron gazed at my mother’s body for a long moment and then reached in and plucked the coins from my mother’s eyes. In a quick motion, he dropped the coins into his pocket and strode out of our cottage.

I stood there, shaking in rage as my uncle followed after him, yapping away as if the man hadn’t just stolen the few coins I had to honor my mother. “You can marry her at your earliest convenience. Just say the word and she’ll be brought to your side immediately.”

The baron seemed to mull it over as he paused outside my doorway. “I could marry her tonight. I have a priest nearby who could perform the ceremony whenever I wish it.”

Perhaps it was the fact he was now out of the cottage that my tongue felt free; maybe it was just the rage that bade me run at him and tear his throat out with my own teeth. “No,” I snapped, loud as a church bell. When my uncle whipped around and my bridegroom glanced at me, I raised my chin and kept my voice level. “It’s bad luck to marry on the day of a funeral and tonight I’ll hold vigil at my mother’s grave.”

The baron paused and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, not quite a nod. “Tomorrow morning then.”

I didn’t need to think it over; it was plenty of time. “Tomorrow.”

He studied me for a moment and I wondered if he was dissecting me in his mind, trying to puzzle me out, or if he was just deciding on how best to break me. Even now I do not know; instead, he gave me a closed lipped smile and vanished out of the cottage, my uncle following after.

I glared out the door for a long time myself before I looked up and saw the village man who’d been acting as the undertaker, still looking horrified and baffled by what he just saw. Gossip would be flying in no time, but even he looked repulsed by my mother’s bare face, clutching the lid to my mother’s coffin. He’d only been waiting for me to place the coins before he’d nail the box shut in time for the funeral, so I could lay flowers over her box to hide the faintly growing stink of death, but now he was at a terrible loss and I could not blame him.

Slowly but purposefully, I walked to my mother’s box, plucked off my wedding ring and tucked it into her hands. “It’s not a pair of coins, mama,” I whispered, folding her hands around the ring, “but I’m sure it’ll buy a nice spot on the ferry.”

The undertaker breathed a quiet sigh and muttered something kind before quickly hammering the box shut. He probably couldn’t wait to escape the cottage, but I had to sit and wait for the visitors to come and drift to my home.

********************

The funeral did not take long; few people cared to come this close to the forest, but my mother had a few visitors and the priest was kind enough to say a few words before we carried my mother out to the hole in the ground and laid her to rest. With that, everyone fled, although tradition dictated that at least one of them should have offered to keep the vigil with me.

I didn’t fault them for it. After all, it was not like I would be alone for long.

One gentleman did at least offer to build me a bonfire to discourage beasts during the long night; I thanked him and had him gather the wood while I went into the cottage and sifted through my stores of herbs and powders, tucking some into my box of kindling. After the fire was lit and my last guest left, I settled down next to the fire and my mother’s grave, waiting a long time until dark finally fell.

The moon never rose that night, which made the next part easier—the darker the night, the brighter the flame of my bonfire. Turning from my mother’s grave, I built the fire higher. Once I judged it bright enough, I started to toss in bits of my powders and herbs, letting the flames briefly change colors and strange perfumes to drift away on the breeze, deeper into the wood.

I knew my sister never truly strayed too far from our birthplace, but I needed her more than ever that night. I had to sit and wait an uncomfortably long time, but at last I heard the stamp and snort of a great beast in the shadows before I finally saw the shadows moving and my sister came tumbling from her husband’s pelt and walking out into the edges of my bonfire’s light. The only reason I didn’t run to her side in that moment is because I truly was at a vigil and could not have left my mother’s grave.

Even in the dim light, my sister’s paleness reflected the light off her like her namesake. Snow was white all over, where I was as ruddy with life as my own namesake; living in the depths of the woods, far from the sun, had only made her more pallid, to the point that the pale washed gold of her hair faded into the bleached hue of dried wheat husks. And yet, my sister was more like her name now than ever—her time in the woods only made the world grow quieter around her, muffling it, calling it to sleep, calling to me to lay my head in her lap and let her wave away my woes as she brushed her hand over my hair.

At last, she was before and when she opened her arms, I fled to them. “Mother is gone,” I whispered, for it hurt to hear the words even now.

“I see,” she murmured, petting my hair like mother had done for us. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the funeral, but I thought you knew I couldn’t be.”

I shook my head—of course I had known and I didn’t want her to think I was sulking because of that—and drew back from her. “No. Mother is gone and soon I will be too.”

My sister froze, still as our mother in the dirt besides us, and then she said, “explain.”

And so I did; the tale was thankfully short and my sister pulled me close so she could comb her fingers through my hair. “Our fool of an uncle would do this,” she did not grumble because since she left our home she’d become too mature to pout, but the venom in her words didn’t escape me.

I sighed. “I thought he’d at least do something sensible like try to barter me off to get a parcel of land. But, no, I get the feeling he’s trying to gamble me away instead.”

“You give him too much credit thinking he’d do anything but gamble.”

“I suppose that might hurt less than underestimating his greed, but all the same, I don’t think I dare try the same with my bridegroom.” I locked gazes with my sisters. “That man has gone through his brides like uncle goes through his liquor.”

Snow narrowed her eyes and stopped combing my hair with her fingers as we spoke. Hours passed, but we pooled what we knew, brainstormed ideas, and by dawn, she had braided our hair together in a single plait. Between us, we had an idea, which was more reassurance than I’d had the day before.

When my uncle arrived to fetch me that morning, he flinched when my sister stepped out of the cottage as well. Before he could argue, she offered me one handle of my mother’s small hope chest and turned to our uncle with a flat look. He hemmed and hawed, but in the end he dare not protest as we began the long march to the baron’s mansion.

We left the forest—our nursery, our classroom, our cemetery—and met with a carriage in town. Baron Bluebeard didn’t care to have his new brides stroll around when he could instead be showing off his new pets. My sister and I shared a look before climbing in and then snapping the door shut behind us so that our uncle had to ride up with the coachman instead.

What should have been a long walk was made into a short drive and I had to cling to my sister’s hand for courage as we saw the high brick walls of the estate when we crested the final hill. For such a horrible man, his mansion was surprisingly handsome and tasteful. I’d half expected it would have been an opium den or gambling house. And there, waiting for us as promised, was my bridegroom and a priest. No doubt he meant to marry me right there on the stairs leading up to his front door; perhaps he meant to send the priest and any guest away in the carriage immediately after the ceremony itself.

As it turned out, I wasn’t entirely wrong. My wedding ceremony was a very short affair, maybe three dozen words total—the priest asked for my uncle’s permission to marry rather than asking me if I wanted it at all. The priest mumbled his way through the ceremony quickly, never once daring to look up from his little prayer book. Baron Bluebeard spent more time staring at my sister in confusion than the time he spent marrying me. And then, just like that, my wedding was over and the priest scurried down the private lane at an unseemly pace.

“And now, I’m afraid I have business back in the village,” the baron said, his smug face turning to mine. The man hadn’t even noticed yet that I wasn’t wearing his ring and already he was abandoning me. “But I will return by this evening. Before I go, however, as mistress to my estate, I present you your tools of your office—the household keys.”

He handed me a large, thick ring of keys, heavy with the sheer multitude of keys attached and explained that it was my duty to keep track of them all. Most of them, I was sure, were for cabinets or chests, because I don’t think there was actually that many rooms in the house to need all of them. And yet one of them was unlike the others—smaller than the length of my pinkie, this key was a bright gold.

I refused to touch it.

And then my groom forgot me again, turning instead to my sister. “And you, my new sister-in-law, shall I give you a ride back to the village? I’d hate to have to make you travel so far on foot.”

I had to resist the urge to glance my sister; my faith was quickly rewarded when her steady voice announced that she would stay for night, to help me adjust to the role of wife. Our uncle started to speak up, to try and order her away, but Baron Bluebeard only held up a hand.

“How very good and thoughtful of you. It always does one heart’s good to see such loyal family members. And,” he added with a vague smile, “how could I turn down the opportunity to share an evening with two such lovely ladies?”

My skin crawled, but already my husband had discarded the subject, heading towards the carriage.

“Feel free to explore the house,” he called over his shoulder, although he paused before he stepped into the carriage. “Except the room at the back of the house.” He grinned widely with those too white, too perfect teeth. “It’s little more than a storage room for tools and old junk. I’m sure you’ll be able to amuse yourself in any of the other rooms instead.”

Then he climbed into the carriage and vanished back down the lane, leaving our uncle to jog behind him when we glared down his attempt to come in for something to quench his thirst.

Alone together once more, I shared a long look with my sister before I finally worked up my nerve. Without speaking, I knew that we should not waste any time; after all, my husband had laid his bait so openly, it would be mulish not to take it. I took up one of the handles of the chest and walked with her into the mansion.

Much like the outside, the inside of the house was surprisingly tasteful and clean. Despite there being no servant or maid in sight, there was hardly a speck of dust anywhere and you could see your own reflection in the floor polish.

I held up the ring of keys to my sister. “Shall we start by matching each key to a door?”

My sister considered it. “Yes. Better to find a surprise lying in wait before we go blundering in.”

And so began our long search of the house; with each new door, I would flip through the keys until we found a match. The first room we tried was a parlor, then a dining room, then kitchens, the laundry, closets, bedrooms, and even a great library that would have impressed me more if I was able to read. My sister even urged me to open up all the cabinets, chests, safes, and cupboards we came across. At each successful match, I would remove that key from the ring. We found storerooms with mountains of linens, furs, gold and silver coins, jewels, and fantastical weapons from far off lands, but each time we would just abandon the room and move on.

At long last, we arrived at the room the baron had barred from me and the only key that remained on the ring was the small gold one. I glared at it, hesitating to touch it, until I finally had to speak my fears aloud. “This one has a terrible something about it.”

“An urging,” my sister said after a moment. “It wants to compel you.”

I wrinkled my nose at it. “It’s failing.”

“That is because you haven’t touched it yet. Open the door, Rose, and let’s be done with it.”

My sister was, of course, correct. The moment I touched the small key, I nearly scratched the finish off the doorknob trying to jab the key into the lock. My urgency made me fumble it, but I got it in and swung the door open with so much force the key flew out of the lock and into the room.

For one moment, I saw the glint of gold as it flew through the cavernous room—a storeroom for tools and junk, my husband had said, but in reality it was probably once a great ballroom, the sort of room you would expect a royal party to be in. It was taller than the ancient trees outside and wider than the village at its farthest parts.

And, of course, the room had its occupants.

Hanging off hooks, dangling from chains, my husband’s past wives waited for me like forgotten linens on the line, but far more than just the four or five I’d originally thought. I was not sure how many corpses were in that room, but judging from the blood on the floor, it must have been dozens.

My breath caught in my chest and my sister almost let go of her handle of the chest. And, flying through the darkness, the little gold key landed in a tacky pool of something I dared not investigate. The moment the key hit the floor, a strange wind blew through the room, out past me and my sister, and seemed to slam open every window on the way out.

And then the wailing started.

“Liar! Cheat! She’s opened the door, baron, she’s opened the door!” the key screamed as the wind carried the message out. On and on it shrieked, calling for its master to come and punish me.

Part of me wanted to run in and silence it somehow—muffle it, bury it, something. But next to me, my sister only sighed and took the chest from me. “He’ll be here soon. Come, we have little time.”

Trembling, I obeyed and followed her into the room. There I had to stand, listening to the shrieking key and the faint creaking of the chains above me. I tried not to look at my fellow brides, tried not to see what he’d done to them all. I pitied them, yes, but everything was horrible enough already. I did not need to sear the images of their poor bodies into my mind forever more.

It was almost a relief when I could hear the stomping of my husband’s return. I turned, watching the door as he grew closer and closer.

Finally, he appeared—his coat torn open and face a striking red against all the blue of his hair, his eyes nearly bulging from his sockets, but worst of all was his smile that spread wide as a gash across his face. Disheveled and wild looking, he laughed in manic delight as he stood in the doorway. “Ha! I’ll give you this, girl, you work in a record time. Faithful he said, bah! You couldn’t even wait a single day to break my only rule for you, could you? COULD YOU?”

The room rattled with the force of his scream and I nearly slid as I took a step back. High above, I could hear the other brides swaying as if the foundations of the house itself shook. Maybe it did.

The baron began to rant, a long, filthy tirade on the “faithlessness” of women, on my sex’s unanimous worthlessness. Unceasingly, he shouted as he advanced into the room, spewing spittle and vile words as he stamped forward. In spite of myself, my knees shook as he filled up my vision; how horrible he was in that moment. Was this what each of the brides before me had seen? Had they been forced to watch as their doom advanced on them slowly, or had they tried to run and then were chased down like a doe by a pack of dogs?

I saw, almost belatedly, the baron’s hands reaching for my throat as his tirade reached a fever pitch. But that was not all I noticed, and what I saw gave me back my voice.

“You are mistaken, sir,” I managed with far more poise than I felt. “As far as women go, I think you will find my sister most faithful by far.”

Confusion drew him to a stuttering stop for a moment and I looked away from him, lifting my face up. From the bottom of my eyes, I could see him turn and look behind himself.

Because he was closer to her, he had to lift his face higher than I. He must have strained his neck and how confused his face must have been when he spotted the expanse of white fur and then followed it up, past the broad chest and the massive arms, past the long claws, and perhaps focusing at last on the curving jagged teeth of the great polar bear that stood on its hind legs before him.

I can’t be truthfully sure as I was the one behind him, but my disappointment was tempered by the fact that I was in the perfect position. With one little push, I sent my husband staggering forward. All my sister had to do was fall down on him with her hundreds of pounds of muscle, claw, and fang.

I did not watch my sister work, but I could not turn my head unless I wanted to look upon the poor brides’ bodies either, so I had to stare over Snow’s back as she destroyed him. At least Baron Bluebeard did not cry and beg like a coward, but perhaps that would have appeased the brides around us. I do not know, but I do know that when my sister was finished her fur was dyed a new color.

With a grunt, she shook her broad shoulders and the fur around her shifted, became loose. The paws that had been tearing into the wood floor went slack and the noble head of the beast went lopsided. At last, my sister shook off the bear pelt, and stepped forward.

“Well,” she began, pulling a face. “He tasted as foul as he looked.”

I shuddered. “Let’s go back to that last bathroom. You wash up while I get the next part ready.”

I left my sister to wash the pelt free of Bluebeard’s gore as I took my time gathering firewood and breaking what furniture I could for kindling. At last, my sister appeared, hope chest in hand, while I finished striking the flint to start the last fire the house would ever hold. I paused as the fire caught and turned to look at her. “Got the pelt clean?” I asked, hoping that if I could fake normalcy that maybe I could trick myself into believing that I was not still reeling in the horror of it all.

My sister hoisted up the chest. “My husband’s spic and span.”

In spite of all the horror of the day, I couldn’t help the hysteric smile that came to my lips. “My dear sister, you give being ‘married to your work’ a whole new meaning.”

Snow shrugged. “I have a duty to protect the forest and village. But for you, Rosie, I’d call this a pleasure.”

I laughed, and despite the tears that stung my eyes, part of me could not help but think that one day she too would take on a spouse as the wizard before her had done with her. She would train and teach them the ways of witchcraft, and then leave them the bear pelt to guard the forest as she came home to spend our last years, together again. The thought gave me hope enough to stand and join her as we left the smoldering building. Soon, the fire would spread and devour the edifice. Under its purifying power, maybe the horror would be burnt away. My husband’s corpse would be incinerated and maybe his ashes would mingle with that of his brides, but I like to think that a gentle breeze blew through and set them free while his would remain buried in the rubble.

Snow and I watched the house burn for awhile, just to make sure it truly all went up, but at last she turned to me with a satisfied nod. “Let’s go home.”

I eagerly nodded. “I’ll make us a lovely tea when we get there. But first,” I paused to straighten my shoulders as I turned my gaze back to the village. “We should pay our uncle a visit. Remind him that the witches of the woods are not to be crossed.”

Already my sister was reaching to open the chest and pull her husband back out to settle on her shoulders, where the magic would change her into a massive white bear once more. “I’ll let you ride there on my back.”

I had to smile because that was just the perfect crystallization of everything my sister was. Faithful and loving to the last.