Prologue
There was morning—
but no songs.
The forest had no names.
One day, the world forgot how fairy tales sound.
Not in a moment.
Not with a snap—
But slowly,
As if winter stretched on for years.
The dwarves faded into legends.
The castles became office towers.
And the magic mirrors—
turned into screens
that reflect everything
except the truth.
Snow White slept.
Because of the apple.
Because of the curse.
Because no one called.
Fairy tales, when no longer believed in—fall asleep.
Until one day,
A drilling machine pierced the layer of ancient time.
A spark touched a crystal coffin.
And someone said:
“Stop.”
And time flinched.
That’s how it began—
The story no one believed in
but that dared to open its eyes again.
In this world,
Where likes mean more than words,
Where voices become whispers,
And souls get stuck in fatigue—
She awoke.
Snow White.
Not as a princess. But as a question:
What does it mean to be alive
When everything around you is asleep?
Chapter 1: The Awakening
Once upon a time, in a cave beyond seven hills, a girl lay in a crystal coffin.
At first, she was guarded by dwarfs – their hands wrinkled, their hearts sharp as flint.
But time spares neither magic nor memory:
the dwarfs aged, one by one disappeared, and the forest forgot their names. The cave grew over with moss.
The entrance collapsed under stones.
And then came the 21st century. Noise. Light. Trembling earth.
New people, wearing helmets, with drilling machines, digging tunnels,
searching for superconducting crystals and holographic minerals. A machine operator named Marco – tired, half-numb to the world – suddenly saw a strange reflection.
A light pierced the rock face and bounced off something transparent. “Stop,” he said,
and the drill froze – as if it, too, were afraid. They found a cavern.
In its center – a coffin, gleaming like frozen glass.
Inside – a girl, seemingly asleep.
Next to her – a young man in a theatrical costume, a fleck of dried blood on his lip. Marco called 911. Sirens. Helicopters.
Hazmat suits. Cameras. IV drips.
Snow White and the young man (listed in reports as “Unknown, artistic type”) were taken to a clinic.
Diagnosis: prolonged exposure to unknown toxins.
Possibly – ancient chemical contamination. They didn’t age.
They didn’t die.
They were simply… waiting. Slowly.
Silently.
Like music resting on a forgotten staff,
waiting for someone to play it againNow, Snow White lies in a hospital bed – pale as snow – with an IV in her arm.
Green monitors blink softly. The young man is on the balcony outside,
gazing at the sky, relearning how to breathe. He’s not a prince.
