Europe has long tiptoed around its Germanic heart, fearful to displease the tyrannical Mirrorqueen. A sorceress of unnatural age, there are few secrets hidden from her mystical scrutiny. Crowded are the cemeteries with those who have plotted against her, then tasted the retribution of her poison.
To the northwest lies Britain. England & Germany are at peace in the same way that two rival anthills seem soundless from above, yet are tearing enemy limbs off below the leaves & soil. In München, traitorous dryads ambush solitary woodsmen. In Oxford, spies posing as theology students steal books of Merlin's secrets.
To the north lies Arendelle. "I don't know how you got in here," says the women beneath Arendelle Castle, "but I want nothing of your sorcery. Vade retro me satana!" But the hook-nosed witch smiles patiently.
To the east lies Corona. The relationship between Queen Gothel & the Mirrorqueen is long & wrinkled with complications. Recent betrayals have poisoned the trust that was cultivated over a century of stable cold war. Queen Gothel stares into a basin of shimmering quicksilver. In the unnatural reflection, the Mirrorqueen's Garden of Fey Flowers shines in twelve colors, none quite as fair as sunlight.
To the west lies Paris. The Mirrorqueen has instructed Quasimodo, by letter from beggar to Beggar King to hunchback, to sprinkle the false Pope's food with soporific powder. Holding the readied apple in his hands, he watches mass from above, praying.