Luda and the apples of old winter

Snow White’s dreams, dreams of coming out, dreams from the very bottom of February.
Imbolk and a poisoned spindle, a tinkling string in the heart of the forest, grasses and flashes of fire in the silence, and all the terrible tales at once, sung by us, tried to come out.
It took time.

Water turns into wine, apples into salad, cobwebs into fire.
It takes a lot of fire in February.

Lest she herself become the evil queen.

…Snow White turns round, and all her fears tuck their tails terrified