A fairy-tale reimagining of Snow White and Rose Red from the New York Times bestselling author-illustrator Emily Winfield Martin. Filled with stunning illustrations.  "Emily Winfield Martin — reimagine[s] Brothers Grimm fairy tales, treating delight, with a few grisly bits folded in, as its own reward. The deeper meanings of these stories do emerge, but the pleasure they give is paramount." — The New York Times Snow and Rose didn’t know they were in a fairy tale. People never do. . . .   Once, they lived in a big house with spectacular gardens and an army of servants.   Once, they had a father and mother who loved them more than the sun and moon.   But that was before their father disappeared into the woods and their mother disappeared into sorrow.   This is the story of two sisters and the enchanted woods that have been waiting for them to break a set of terrible spells. In Snow & Rose , bestselling author-illustrator Emily Winfield Martin retells the traditional but little-known fairy tale “Snow White and Rose Red.” The beautiful full-color illustrations throughout and unusual yet relatable characters will bring readers back to this book again and again. "The writing is lyrical, with laudable word choice, alliteration, and imagery capturing the magic of the woods. For lovers of fairy tales, this story of sisterhood, taking risks, and being kind is a physically beautiful book with an appealing cover and captivating full-color illustrations."-- Kirkus Reviews "This moody fairy tale emphasizes family, friendship, and the powerful bond of sisterhood. Martin’s characterization of the two contrary sisters is especially moving." -- Publishers Weekly "Like most of the Grimm brothers’ tales, this peculiar story carries sinister overtones, but Martin does a nice job of keeping the dark atmosphere from overwhelming younger readers, largely though her whimsical touches."-- Booklist Emily Winfield Martin is a collector and lover of fairy tales, and the original Grimm’s tale of Snow White and Rose Red enchanted and haunted her all her life. She is a painter of real and imaginary things, and the author and illustrator of such books as Dream Animals and The Wonderful Things You Will Be. Emily lives among the giant trees of Portland, Oregon, and if you need her, you might look in the heart of the woods. Visit her online at emilywinfieldmartin.com. Once, there were two sisters. Rose had hair like threads of black silk and cheeks like two red petals and a voice that was gentle and sometimes hard to hear. Snow had hair like white swan down and eyes the color of the winter sky, with a laugh that was sudden and wild. They lived in a cottage in the woods, but it hadn’t always been so. “Tell me a story,” Snow called in the dark. She moved restlessly, wide awake in her bed. “You’ll wake Mama,” Rose murmured. “Go back to sleep.” Snow sat up, her bed creaking. “Rose?” Her whisper drifted in the dark. “Please?” Their bedroom was a loft that lay above the hearth and kitchen and below a pointed ceiling. On one side were the sisters’ beds. On the other side was their mother’s bed. Rose peered through the gap in the faded screen that turned one small room into two very tiny ones. The blue light in the window showed the curve of their mother’s side rising and falling softly. Rose sighed. “Okay, but I’ll come over there.” The hush of a match sounded as Rose lit the yellow beeswax stump between their beds, followed by a few soft tiptoed thumps as her feet padded across the floor. She climbed under the covers of Snow’s bed. “Your feet are freezing,” Snow whispered. Rose drew her knees up to her chest. “Which story do you want to hear?” Rose asked. Her dark hair glowed with glints of red and gold in the candle’s light. “The one about the magic lamp?” “No,” Snow said, pulling the covers tightly around her shoulders. She smiled, her pale hair a messy tumble on the pillow. “The mermaid and the monkey?” Rose asked. “No,” Snow whispered impatiently. “Not that one.” “Or the fairy tale about—” “No, no fairy tales.” Snow tugged gently on the sleeve of Rose’s nightgown. “Tell the story of us.” After another sigh, Rose began. “Once upon a time,” Rose whispered in her best storyteller’s voice, “there were two girls, one with black hair and one with white. They were born to a nobleman who was as tall and as broad as he was gentle and kind. Their mother was from a common family, but she had a rare and delicate beauty, like—” “Like a Siamese cat,” Snow offered. “Yes, like a Siamese cat,” Rose continued softly. “And their mother was a painter and sculptor, who loved to wake up the things she said were asleep inside big slabs of marble, and her statues filled the sculpture garden. And their father loved to build places that didn’t exist until he imagined them. He loved to read about all the things that other people had imagined and built, so he had a library with shelves that reached to the ceil