Snow White tried. Try to be silent. Try to be emotionless. Try to curl up like a shadow. But the strength within her… wasn't something that would die when abandoned.
In the small wooden house, seven dwarves stood around her. Snow White knelt on the floor, her hands covering her head.
"Make it stop…" she sobbed.
"Please… make it stop…"
There was no light. No wind. Only—pressure.
The glass on the table cracked. The wooden floor warped as if a giant object were pressing down.
Doc was the first to understand. He looked at the silver spoon on the table—it didn't fly up. It was pressed down. Doc whispered, almost to himself, "Not pushing… but pulling…"
He looked at Snow White with fear and anxiety, saying: "You're not controlling force. You…" Doc paused, then uttered a sentence that sent chills down everyone's spine:
"Controlling… gravity!"
Snow White screamed. Not out of fear anymore. Out of pain.
And in her mind two names flashed like knives piercing a nonexistent memory.
Glorfindel. Galadriel.
She had never heard of them. But anger flared up—primitive, fierce, almost instinctive.
"SHUT UP!" She screamed.
The ground around the house cracked into thin, spiderweb-like fissures. Birds fell from their branches. Not dead, Just… crushed. Snow White trembled.
"I… hate…" she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
"I hate them…"
not the dwarves, but somewhere deep she knew they represented something that could… stand before her. Doc approached, slowly, as if approaching a storm.
"Snow White… listen to me…"
She didn't look up.
"Gravity isn't destructive," Doc said.
"It holds things… together."
A silence. The pressure in the room fluctuated—then weakened slightly.
Hundreds of miles away—
Sauron stood on a stone balcony. Seraphelle stood beside him. No ceremony. No throne. Just two people—
Accustomed to being seen as symbols, not as human beings. Seraphelle spoke first.
"I have never been loved."
No trembling. No drama. Just… a truth worn thin from being repeated too many times in her head.
"They want me beautiful.
They want me perfect.
They want me strong—but not too strong."
She chuckled softly.
"If I weren't beautiful… I would disappear."
Sauron was silent for a long time. Not because he was calculating. But because… he wasn't used to answering questions unrelated to power.
"I have never loved anyone," he said finally.
"And never been loved."
He looked at the hand wearing the Ring.
"Only fear. Or worship."
Seraphelle turned to look at him.
"I do not fear you."
A simple statement. But the Ring. It trembled slightly. Sauron turned to her.
"You should fear."
"Perhaps," she said.
"But I do not want to."
The distance between them —
Only a breath remained. No touch. No need.
Far away —
Snow White collapsed, exhausted. The ground around the house gradually healed. But deep beneath the earth, something… responded to her.
That night —
Seraphelle dreamed of a world without a court. Without subjects. Without responsibility.
Only her and Sauron Standing in a silent world. And for the first time, that dream…
Did not frighten her.
The wooden house shook again. Not from anger. But from chaos.
"We must tie her up!" Grumpy roared.
"Are you crazy? That's Snow White!" Happy retorted.
Doc tried to remain calm. "We need to understand the mechanism—"
"NO TIME!" Dopey yelled.
Voices overlapped. Emotions. Fear. Love. Anxiety. Snow White huddled in the corner.
"Stop …" she whispered.
"Please… don't argue…"
But that voice—Cold. Ancient. Patient.
Witch-king.
"They will fear you. They will abandon you. Like all the weak."
"Shut up…" Snow White groaned.
Then a moment of emotional breakdown. No screaming. No explosion. Just collapse. Gravity around her surged. Tables broke. Walls cracked. The air felt heavy as lead. Six dwarves were pinned to the ground.
Not dead. But their bones were fractured. Their lungs were crushed. They couldn't breathe.
Doc tried to lift his head. "Snow… White… stop… please."
Bashful—the furthest one, the only one still standing tried to get closer to Snow White.
Snow White looked up. She saw them. She saw blood. She saw them crawling toward her—not to run—but to get closer.
"No…" she gasped.
"No… no… NO…"
Gravity shattered like glass. Everything bounced back. Snow White sprang up
Running. Crying. Denying.
"I'm not a monster… I'm not…"
In her head—a whisper clearer than ever.
"You are a weapon.
You are power.
You are the end of the weak."
"SHUT UP!" she screamed, running deeper into the forest.
But the voice only… got closer.
Snow White knelt on the damp ground, gasping for breath. Tears and mud mingled on her cheeks.
"I didn't want… I didn't want to hurt them…"
No more whispers. No more voices in her head.
Only the presence. The air grew cold. The dim moonlight seemed to be swallowed by something.
And then—
He emerged from among the trees.
Tall.
His cloak as black as an abyss. His armor, sharp as if forged from fear. His long sword—not gleaming—but seemingly absorbing light. And his helmet without eyes. Only the void staring back at her. Snow White didn't scream. Didn't run. Just… trembled.
"You…" she whispered.
The Witch-king stood before her. Not attacking. Not threatening.
Just acknowledging.
"You hear me," his voice echoed—not through her ears—but through her bones.
Snow White shook her head.
"No… I don't belong to you…"
Silence.
"Not yet."
The ground around them caved in a few centimeters. Not because of him. Because of her.
"You fear yourself," the Witch-king said.
"I fear what I become."
"You haven't become anything yet," he replied.
"You're just… remembering."
At the same time; In the forging room. Sauron held the Ring. No longer metal. No longer an object. But a Will frozen into form. Seraphelle stood before him. Unwavering. Without doubt. Her eyes—only him.
"I don't need the world," she whispered.
"I only need you."
No insinuation. No metaphor. Absolute truth. Sauron looked at her—
And for the first time. He saw no tool. No chess piece.
He saw—
Something… that reflected himself. He put on the Ring.
The moment the metal touched skin. An invisible flame erupted. Not in the room. In reality. The Ring resonated.
Not just with Sauron. But with—
Seraphelle.
Seraphelle stepped forward. "I choose you," she whispered.
"Even if you destroy the world.
Even if you destroy me.
I still choose you."
Sauron placed his hand on her cheek. "You are my weakness."
Seraphelle smiled. "Then… I will be your strongest weakness."
They kissed.
The Ring—BRIGHT. Not gold. Not red. But a light like a falling star.
Everywhere—
Mountains trembled. Seas surged. Ancient magic awakened.
The Ring was complete.
Not just for power. But because it now contained two wills.
Seraphelle shed a tear. No pain. No fear. Happiness.
In eight different places—
Eight souls were dragged down into darkness. Eight Nazgûls—Complete.
In the forest—
Snow White collapsed. Her fingernails clawed at the ground. The Witch-king's voice whispered in her ear: "You are drawing near."
Further away—
Pinocchio felt his chest was warm. As if fire were burning inside.
"Udun…" he whispered.
And deep underground lay something ancient. Heavy. Patient. Waiting.