Ariel - The Next Generation: Kayla White

Snow White gazed down at her grandson, Wendell Winston Walter White. He was lying on the icy, snow-white floor, his skin cold and pale; his eyes closed. She took a deep breath. It was time.

“Wendell,” she whispered gently. “Dearest Wendell. Rise, Wendell. Rise.”

A groan escaped from Wendell’s cold, pale lips. She laid her hand on his forehead and let her magic ease the pain.

“Rise, Wendell. Rise.”

After a little while, he slowly sat up, dazed, and rubbing his head. “Oh, I’ve drunk too much champagne…”

“Wendell?”

Startled, he turned towards the sound of the familiar voice.

“Grandmother?”

Snow White nodded.

“But it can’t be! Just a moment ago I was at the Winter Ball –“

“I have a lot to tell you, Wendell,” Snow White said patiently. “I know you’re confused.”

“Do start at the beginning. How did I get here?”

“Your wife poisoned you at the Winter Ball. To put it frankly… you’re dead.”

“N-no! N-not h-her!” Wendell stuttered, disbelieving. “Jazzy would never do that to me! Why are you lying?”

“I am not lying.”

“But I’m quite alive! Look at me! I’m sitting up and talking, aren’t I?”

“I can make the impossible possible, Wendell. You know that as well as I do.”

“Are you saying you brought me back from the dead?”

“You could put it that way.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Your daughter needs you, Wendell. She is in grave danger.”

“Danger! What sort of danger?”

“The queen is determined to kill her. She has already framed Kayla for your murder.”

“I don’t believe you,” Wendell said stubbornly. He stood and brushed stray flakes of snow off of his pants. “I’m leaving. I remember this cave. This is Dragon Mountain, isn’t it? I’ll just look for that waterfall.”

He looked around the room for an exit, but he couldn’t find one.

“There’s no door,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“Maybe this will help.” Snow White came over to him and gently pressed her cool hand to his forehead. At once, he was rushed back in time.

He was at the Winter Ball, sitting with his wife, getting ready for the Royal Toast. Kayla was walking towards him, holding her glass of ginegerale. He saw Jazzy pick up his glass.

“That’s mine,” he said, laughing at her carelessness.

“Oh!” she said, giggling. “Sorry.” As she set his glass down to go pick up her own, he saw her sprinkle a tiny bit of powder into it.

It was as if someone else was controlling his life. He was doing things without thinking, and he had no control over his actions. He didn’t want to drink the champagne that he knew was poisoned, but there was nothing he could do.

He fell down dead.

Dead wasn’t really the word to describe it. His body was dead, but he was seeing everything, seeing the people hovering over him, seeing Jasmine sob on his chest. He watched helplessly as Jasmine accused Kayla.

No…no…she didn’t do it…

“Enough!” Wendell cried, and he came back to the present. He was panting and sweating. He glanced at his grandmother, who was staring calmly back at him.

“What must I do?” he whispered.

“I will send you back to your palace. You must save your daughter, and all of her friends who have been helping her.”

“Friends?”

“Gregory Sampson, Tony, Wolf, Virginia, and Warren.”

I should’ve known it would be them.

“Gregory Sampson? Lord Sampson’s son? How did he get into this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Now go.”

Before Wendell could say anything else, he found himself standing in the bedroom that he had shared with Jasmine. He sighed, and began to think of what to do next.