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Once upon a time,
in a faraway kingdom,
a just, imperious, kind king was devastated at the sight of her wife and his newborn daughter. Both where as white as the heavy snow falling from outside. One that he truly loves was souless and the other one love-to-be was like him crying about being separated
from the queen. As she wishes, he calls her daughter Little Snow White.
But time was not for white, but instead black, more suitable for the dead, and the king was more and more drowning in despair, although her girl was smiling to life, hatching herself like the flowers in spring. The once joyful kingdom was still mourning their
tragic lost. Summer was up, but the heat and the sun forced the king to hide, wandering near the empty shadowing dungeon, and he feels himself at ease as he finds himself a place to cry and to suffer openly his pain. Falls arrives, everything in the countryard
was dying, cold was more and more poignant. Wrinkles was ravaging the falling face of the king, his heart was not beating properly. Old women in this great kingdom had their knees unpeasantly aching. Winter's gonna be really rough.
And there it come, a cold, icy winter with bitter snow. Hopefully, a joyfull Snow was now crawling on the groud, smiling, saying little oh so cute word, the servants giving great care to the only happiness still existing in this otherwise desparing castle.
But the worst was to come.
Outside, it seems that wind was being blow par de devil himself, making even the dungeon's stones cracking sounds heard by a now empty and cold king. And from the hills came a huge black cloud spitting thick black ice on the ground and, as it came closer to
the castle, a thin black spot was being seen. An tall woman, with impure white skin, sick coloured green deep eyes, purple eyelid, pink sultry lips and emotionless face was in her carriage, noone seeming to drive it, pulled by six muscular stalion, their feet
merely touching the groud, blinders hiding their lifeless blank eyes. As the carriage pass by the castle surrending town, peasants and middle-class persons got un unknown fear as a bit of joy and hope for a better tomorrow fanished from within their souls.
And as she passes the gataway, a smile, cold, empty wicked, but still seductive appears on her lips.
Servants comes to great the unknown woman and they do all that they had to do like they have learn, but also from a mix of hope and fear. A mix of dark hope and exciting fear. The woman step out of her carriage, request to see the king and no one could have
muster the necessary courage to deny her demand although the king expressly order to be alone. So the queen enters in the castle, seductively walking, creating a combinaison of despair and excitement as both the men, their cocks slightly hardening, and the
women, their vagina getting a little wet, was subjugate by her cold beauty. She reaches down the dongeon, seeing a wonderful, marvelous colded-heart king who had all the trouble to lifted up his head and face the newcomer.
As soon as he sees her, his penis is getting hard, and we walk toward him. He is still not feeling anything and, as she close by, she kisses him. When they break it, the king look straight in her eyes, emptyness in both of then. She is aroused, his member is
fully erect. There is love between those two. Not the passionate love, not the common love, not even the bestial love. But the love of nothing, the love of emptiness, coldness, blackness. He understands that she will be his new queen. She understands that
she has now a kingdom to do her biddings.
The next day is the first anniversary of Snow White. But their was no gift, no attention at all. She has been totally forgotten, seeing only her nanny for all day as the king married her newly queen, all dressed in black, no celebration before nor after occuring.
Two dead beings getting together for the rest of if we can call it lives. They unheartly make love, him ass-fucking her for hers and hers only joyce, then her giving him a blowjob to for the only purpose to taste her own ass, sticking her nails deep in his
legs and torso skin, small spots of blood sliding on his body, following the bloody penetration of her black swollen hymen, no one having any kind of pleasure whatsoever, the king come without any feeling, his face livid, his mind vaguely noticing the darken
beauty of his queen, of the queen, the one who is nothing, empty, and he vows his inconditionnal submissiveness to her. For her people, he would be the king, but to her, he will be is puppet, as she leads him in a greater world of despair and and blackness.
The Queen then cums hardly like only demons can orgasm.
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