You have no idea how irritating it is, to have your story retold incorrectly time and again for hundreds of years.
I mean, honestly. My story is so unique, so dark and morbid and saddening, so full of life and love and emotion, that it's insulting to see children reading some bright, happy, overdone Disney story and thinking it to be the truth. Or, worse, to think it to just be a nice story.
Few people believe that I ever existed, let alone that I still am. Disney certainly didn't help make me any more credible. People see my story on their television screens, animated and oh-so-cute, and can't help but smile; it almost makes me feel sick. My story had some smiles in it, but it was not all fuzzy animals and whistling while we worked. In fact, I don't remember whistling at all. I don't even know how to whistle, and my companions were not exactly the whistling kind.
Even the dark, morbid Grimm brothers, as nice as they were, got the story all wrong. We wanted it altered quite a bit, of course, so people wouldn't quite guess at the truth. But come on- an old hag witch? A poisoned comb? Prince Charming and his white steed? A talking mirror? And, worst of all… dwarves?
Where did they come up with all that nonsense?