Grimhilde, the Evil Queen of old, stood before her mirror. Its dark glass rippled with silent laughter, showing her reflection not as a monarch, not as a sorceress, but as a woman left behind.

"Why is it that Snow White gets the storybook ending, while I am doomed to fade?" she asked, her jeweled fingers curling against the glass.

The Mirror’s voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"Because, Majesty, you are not alone in this fate."

The room shimmered. The air folded in on itself, and suddenly, Grimhilde was no longer in her lonely chamber. She stood in a twilight hall where thrones of bone and obsidian stretched into infinity.

One by one, figures appeared:

Regina, the Queen from another tale, her eyes sharp as daggers.

Claudia, the embittered widow, regal in her grief.

Clementianna, whose beauty hid a venomous wit.

Another Grimhilde, older yet calmer, from the bloodline of Descendants.

Yet another Grimhilde, reimagined in mortal flesh from the live-action world.

Mira Shards, fractured and glittering with Ever After High’s curse.

The grotesque yet comical Queen of Shrek.

The pale Mirror Queen from The Brothers Grimm, hauntingly beautiful.

Ravenna, fierce as winter steel.

Lady Vain, dramatic as ever.

Audrey, bitter princess-turned-villainess.

Narissa, serpentine in her charm.

Malvina, all thorns and velvet.

And lastly, Morgana Le Fay, the sorceress whose name alone carried ages of dread.

They circled each other like predators, like reflections fractured into a thousand shards.

Regina smirked. “Seems we’ve all been cheated of our endings.”

Ravenna’s voice was like ice: “Then perhaps it’s time we rewrite the tale.”

The Mirror Queen raised her arms, and the twilight hall echoed with the resonance of a single song—a dark hymn of power, pain, and determination. Each Queen lent her voice, their tones weaving together into an anthem that was less music and more spell. Their song spoke of hearts broken, of kingdoms lost, of beauty cursed, of power denied. A song of being heartless, yet unstoppable.

The hall pulsed with their voices, the walls trembling as though the storybook worlds themselves were listening.

When the last note faded, silence reigned. The women looked at one another—not rivals now, but allies.

“Let the heroes have their weddings,” Morgana said, her smile wicked. “We shall have the world.”

And in the shadows, the Mirror whispered:
"At last, Majesty… a story where the Queens shall win."