Free As Red as Blood (The Snow White Trilogy) by Salla Simukka

stumps. On the soles of her feet, she felt the soft moss, the sun-warmed sand, the prickly pine needles, the dewy grass. She trusted that her legs would carry her wherever she wished to go.
    The girl laughed as those laugh who have not yet known humiliation. Her laughter started deep in her belly. It filled her chest, gurgled in her throat, and bubbled on her tongue. Finally, it wriggled out of her mouth, shot through the air, and burst into apple blossoms on the trees. Her laughter warmed and brightened all that surrounded her. Often it ended in hiccuping, but that did not matter because the hiccuping only made her laugh all the more.
    The girl trusted as those trust for whom the earth has never given way, whom no one has ever betrayed. She hung upside down and trusted that she would not fall. Or if she fell, someone would catch her before she hit the ground.
    Once upon a time, there was a girl who learned fear.
    Fairy tales do not begin this way. Other, darker stories do.

Lumikki was little again. She was nine years old. Or ten. Or twelve. In that hell, the years ran together, sliding forward interlocked as one black, indeterminate mass. Distinguishing or remembering what had happened when was impossible. What was real and what was nightmare.
    But one thing she did know. She had never been afraid without good reason.
    Lumikki curled herself up as small as possible and listened. She knew how to squeeze into an incredibly small space. She fit in cabinets. She fit in the dark, cluttered corners of closets. She fit into flat spaces where no one ever thought to look. She knew how to be so quiet that normal breathing sounded like a buzz saw in comparison.
    Her nose ran. She let it run, controlling the overwhelming urge to sniff or wipe it with her sleeve. Thin, watery snot ranonto her lips. She did not lick. The mucus continued down to her jaw and then dripped onto her knee. It had no significance. Her jeans were already dirty anyway. Mom would wonder about it at home. Mom would wonder, and she would keep her mouth shut tight.
    There were things best not talked about.
    There were things that only got worse if you named them out loud.
    Lumikki listened. She heard the steps as they approached. She concentrated on them in order to stay calm. If she gave power to the fear, staying quiet would be impossible. She closed her eyes and thought of untouched, freshly fallen snow. She imagined the blue twilight. She made a rabbit bound across the snow, leaving beautiful, uniform tracks. Two small circles, one in front of the other, then two oblong marks side by side. The tracks calmed her nerves.
    Nothing bad could happen once the rabbit had run safely across the snow.
    Nothing bad could happen with the first stars appearing in the sky.
    Nothing bad could happen with Grandmother’s snug cottage just a few steps away and the porch light burning brightly.
    Lumikki listened as the steps retreated. She breathed a little more freely.
    She had succeeded in staying hidden. She had not been found out.
    What would it feel like not to need to be afraid every day?
    Lumikki did not wake up with a start. She shifted gradually from sleeping to wakefulness, feeling her legs and arms growing longer, her body changing from a girl’s to a woman’s, uncoiling from a ball. She accepted the years that separated her from the Lumikki of her dreams. She was not small anymore. She was seventeen. And she hadn’t needed to be afraid every day for a long time now.
    Except she was again. Because she had gone and meddled in someone else’s affairs.
    Elisa had been calling her all night, hysterical, jumping at every squeak and groan of the cold house, wanting to hear Lumikki’s reassuring words. She had panicked when her father didn’t come home when he said he would. In the middle of one call, Elisa suddenly shrieked. Lumikki listened as Elisa ran somewhere, slammed a door behind her, and turned the lock.
    “Someone just came in downstairs,” Elsa croaked into