Name: Anonymous 2025-11-06 10:44
**Logline:** A curated princess goes off-grid with seven crypto miners to escape her stepmother’s toxic algorithm.
***
**(The story opens not with a book, but with a vertical video on a phone screen.)**
**USER:** **@Real.Snow.White** (Bio: 19 • She/Her • Professional Disney Adult • My stepmom lowkey hates me 💅)
The video shows Snow, bathed in the golden hour light of her castle balcony. She’s doing a GRWM (Get Ready With Me) but it’s just her looking tragically beautiful while a Lana Del Rey song plays. The caption reads: “POV: You’re the Fairest in your Kingdom’s IP portfolio.”
**NARRATOR (in a dry, text-to-speech voice):** So. You think you know this story.
Cut to: **@Grimhilde.Corp** (Bio: CEO • Mother • Villain Era 🍎🔮). She’s not looking in a mirror. She’s having her face scanned by a sophisticated AI app called **MIRROR™**.
**MIRROR™ (Voice, like a calm, omniscient Siri):** Hello, User. Initiating daily aesthetic audit. Processing bone structure, skin clarity, perceived marketability... Results: You are currently trending at 99.7% Fairest in the Land. A 0.3% variance has been detected.
Queen Grimhilde’s smile freezes. “Define variance.”
The screen pulls up a side-by-side comparison: her perfectly contoured face next to a candid of Snow White, who is literally just feeding a squirrel, no makeup, glowing.
**MIRROR™:** The entity known as **@Real.Snow.White** possesses a higher organic engagement rate and superior "girl-next-door-kingdom" appeal. Projection: She will surpass you in the algorithm within 48 hours.
Grimhilde’s face does that thing. You know the thing. She opens a hidden panel in her wall, not for a potion, but for a sleek, minimalist box containing a single, genetically-modified, glossed-to-perfection **Honeycrisp Apple**.
**Grimhilde (to camera, vlog style):** "Okay, so we're doing a little brand consolidation today. It's called a hostile takeover, sweaty."
***
Snow, meanwhile, has been reading the comments. They’re brutal. "#Overrated," "#WhoIsShe," "#StepMotherIsCarryingTheMonarchy." Her DMs are flooded. She knows she’s about to be cancelled by the one person who controls the wifi password.
Her one ally, a neurodivergent princeling from a neighboring Discord server she’s never met IRL, DMs her: **“@TheChadHeir:** *girl, your stepmom just posted a "don't be like other girls" tweet and the subtext is YOU. log off. go touch grass. for real.*”
So she dips. She runs into the deep, dark forest—which is basically just a national park with spotty cell service. The trees look like angry emojis. She’s having a full-blown panic attack, filming a tearful "You won't believe what just happened" video she’ll never post.
She stumbles upon a cottage. It’s… chaotic. There are multiple pizza boxes, energy drink cans of a brand you’ve never heard of, and seven (7) mismatched gaming chairs. The vibe is less "whimsical woodland" and more "failed startup incubator."
She passes out on a beanbag chair.
She’s woken by the sound of mechanical keyboards and an argument about GPU prices.
**LOUDER ONE (Dopey):** "Bruh. Is there a girl on my rig?"
**ANOTHER ONE (Grumpy):** "I don't care if she's the CEO of Apple, if she unplugs my miner, I'm throwing hands."
They are the Seven Cryptobros: **Doc** (the project manager), **Grumpy** (the cynical dev who hates every new coin), **Happy** (the one who's just here for the vibes), **Sleepy** (who survives on melatonin and naps at his desk), **Sneezy** (allergies to dust, which is a problem), **Bashful** (lurks in the group chat, never speaks), and **Dopey** (tries to mine Dogecoin "for the meme").
Doc, who has a shred of emotional intelligence, offers her a La Croix.
**Doc:** "You can crash here. Just don't interrupt the workflow. We're so close to solving this hash."
Snow, desperate for a safe space, makes a deal. "I'll be your… community manager. I'll handle your socials, cook your Totino's Pizza Rolls, and keep this place from being condemned by the health department."
She rebrands them. She starts a TikTok account, **@SevenDwarvesMine**, showing the "cottagecore-meets-cyberpunk" aesthetic. She films Grumpy muttering over code, Sleepy face-planting on his keyboard, Happy doing a dance when a block is mined. They go viral.
***
Back at the castle, Grimhilde’s MIRROR™ alert goes ballistic.
**MIRROR™:** Alert. **@Real.Snow.White** is live. And her engagement is… organic.
Grimhilde watches the livestream. Snow is laughing, surrounded by her seven weirdo roommates, looking happier and more authentic than ever. The "Fairest" metric plummets.
So Grimhilde goes dark web. She creates a fake profile, **@Altruistic.Alchemist**, and slides into Snow's DMs.
**@Altruistic.Alchemist:** "OMG love your content! I'm a dev working on a revolutionary new wellness app. It's a digital detox in a single bite. Beta-test this apple for me? #Gifted"
A sleek, black, bio-metric delivery box arrives at the cottage. Inside is the apple, glowing with a sinister AR filter. It's an "Influencer Trap"—designed to induce a state that looks like death, but is really just a permanent, highly-curated social media coma. The victim becomes a static, perfect image of themselves, forever frozen for likes.
Snow, trusting and always looking for new content, takes a bite for her "App Testing ASMR" video. The screen glitches. Her face goes blank. The camera drops.
She doesn't fall. She… buffers.
The Cryptobros come home to a silent server and Snow, posed perfectly on the floor, her skin literally pixelating. They don't weep. They go into crisis mode.
**Grumpy:** "It's a DDOS attack on a person!"
**Doc:** "She's not dead, her file is corrupted! We need to quarantine the system!"
They can't reboot her. They put her in their server room—the "glass coffin"—on a bed of silica gel packets, hoping to preserve her data until a fix is found. Their TikTok goes dark. The comments fill with "RIP" and "F in the chat."
***
The princeling from the Discord server, **The ChadHeir**, sees the news. He’s not a himbo on a horse. He’s a digital archivist and a master of legacy systems. He rides his e-scooter to the cottage.
**The ChadHeir:** "Move. Let a professional look at her."
He doesn't kiss her. That's cringe and non-consensual. He finds the corrupted file in her system, a piece of Grimhilde's malicious code, and performs a hard reset.
Snow gasps, her eyes snapping open. The first thing she sees is seven relieved faces and one cute nerd with a USB-C cable in his hand.
**Snow:** "What… what happened? My last save point…"
**The ChadHeir:** "Your stepmom tried to NFT you. We rolled back the update."
***
The wedding isn't a wedding. It's a class-action lawsuit and a takedown of Grimhilde's entire empire. MIRROR™ is exposed for data harvesting and unethical beauty standards. Grimhilde’s assets are seized.
The final shot is a horizontal, cinematic video. Snow, The ChadHeir, and the Seven Cryptobros are on the roof of their cottage, which is now covered in solar panels and a starlink dish. They’ve launched a successful DAO. They're rich, off the grid, and finally, blissfully offline.
Snow leans her head on The ChadHeir’s shoulder. He’s showing her a meme on his phone. She laughs, a real, un-curated laugh. She doesn't post it. She just lives it.
**(Fade to black.)**
***
**(The story opens not with a book, but with a vertical video on a phone screen.)**
**USER:** **@Real.Snow.White** (Bio: 19 • She/Her • Professional Disney Adult • My stepmom lowkey hates me 💅)
The video shows Snow, bathed in the golden hour light of her castle balcony. She’s doing a GRWM (Get Ready With Me) but it’s just her looking tragically beautiful while a Lana Del Rey song plays. The caption reads: “POV: You’re the Fairest in your Kingdom’s IP portfolio.”
**NARRATOR (in a dry, text-to-speech voice):** So. You think you know this story.
Cut to: **@Grimhilde.Corp** (Bio: CEO • Mother • Villain Era 🍎🔮). She’s not looking in a mirror. She’s having her face scanned by a sophisticated AI app called **MIRROR™**.
**MIRROR™ (Voice, like a calm, omniscient Siri):** Hello, User. Initiating daily aesthetic audit. Processing bone structure, skin clarity, perceived marketability... Results: You are currently trending at 99.7% Fairest in the Land. A 0.3% variance has been detected.
Queen Grimhilde’s smile freezes. “Define variance.”
The screen pulls up a side-by-side comparison: her perfectly contoured face next to a candid of Snow White, who is literally just feeding a squirrel, no makeup, glowing.
**MIRROR™:** The entity known as **@Real.Snow.White** possesses a higher organic engagement rate and superior "girl-next-door-kingdom" appeal. Projection: She will surpass you in the algorithm within 48 hours.
Grimhilde’s face does that thing. You know the thing. She opens a hidden panel in her wall, not for a potion, but for a sleek, minimalist box containing a single, genetically-modified, glossed-to-perfection **Honeycrisp Apple**.
**Grimhilde (to camera, vlog style):** "Okay, so we're doing a little brand consolidation today. It's called a hostile takeover, sweaty."
***
Snow, meanwhile, has been reading the comments. They’re brutal. "#Overrated," "#WhoIsShe," "#StepMotherIsCarryingTheMonarchy." Her DMs are flooded. She knows she’s about to be cancelled by the one person who controls the wifi password.
Her one ally, a neurodivergent princeling from a neighboring Discord server she’s never met IRL, DMs her: **“@TheChadHeir:** *girl, your stepmom just posted a "don't be like other girls" tweet and the subtext is YOU. log off. go touch grass. for real.*”
So she dips. She runs into the deep, dark forest—which is basically just a national park with spotty cell service. The trees look like angry emojis. She’s having a full-blown panic attack, filming a tearful "You won't believe what just happened" video she’ll never post.
She stumbles upon a cottage. It’s… chaotic. There are multiple pizza boxes, energy drink cans of a brand you’ve never heard of, and seven (7) mismatched gaming chairs. The vibe is less "whimsical woodland" and more "failed startup incubator."
She passes out on a beanbag chair.
She’s woken by the sound of mechanical keyboards and an argument about GPU prices.
**LOUDER ONE (Dopey):** "Bruh. Is there a girl on my rig?"
**ANOTHER ONE (Grumpy):** "I don't care if she's the CEO of Apple, if she unplugs my miner, I'm throwing hands."
They are the Seven Cryptobros: **Doc** (the project manager), **Grumpy** (the cynical dev who hates every new coin), **Happy** (the one who's just here for the vibes), **Sleepy** (who survives on melatonin and naps at his desk), **Sneezy** (allergies to dust, which is a problem), **Bashful** (lurks in the group chat, never speaks), and **Dopey** (tries to mine Dogecoin "for the meme").
Doc, who has a shred of emotional intelligence, offers her a La Croix.
**Doc:** "You can crash here. Just don't interrupt the workflow. We're so close to solving this hash."
Snow, desperate for a safe space, makes a deal. "I'll be your… community manager. I'll handle your socials, cook your Totino's Pizza Rolls, and keep this place from being condemned by the health department."
She rebrands them. She starts a TikTok account, **@SevenDwarvesMine**, showing the "cottagecore-meets-cyberpunk" aesthetic. She films Grumpy muttering over code, Sleepy face-planting on his keyboard, Happy doing a dance when a block is mined. They go viral.
***
Back at the castle, Grimhilde’s MIRROR™ alert goes ballistic.
**MIRROR™:** Alert. **@Real.Snow.White** is live. And her engagement is… organic.
Grimhilde watches the livestream. Snow is laughing, surrounded by her seven weirdo roommates, looking happier and more authentic than ever. The "Fairest" metric plummets.
So Grimhilde goes dark web. She creates a fake profile, **@Altruistic.Alchemist**, and slides into Snow's DMs.
**@Altruistic.Alchemist:** "OMG love your content! I'm a dev working on a revolutionary new wellness app. It's a digital detox in a single bite. Beta-test this apple for me? #Gifted"
A sleek, black, bio-metric delivery box arrives at the cottage. Inside is the apple, glowing with a sinister AR filter. It's an "Influencer Trap"—designed to induce a state that looks like death, but is really just a permanent, highly-curated social media coma. The victim becomes a static, perfect image of themselves, forever frozen for likes.
Snow, trusting and always looking for new content, takes a bite for her "App Testing ASMR" video. The screen glitches. Her face goes blank. The camera drops.
She doesn't fall. She… buffers.
The Cryptobros come home to a silent server and Snow, posed perfectly on the floor, her skin literally pixelating. They don't weep. They go into crisis mode.
**Grumpy:** "It's a DDOS attack on a person!"
**Doc:** "She's not dead, her file is corrupted! We need to quarantine the system!"
They can't reboot her. They put her in their server room—the "glass coffin"—on a bed of silica gel packets, hoping to preserve her data until a fix is found. Their TikTok goes dark. The comments fill with "RIP" and "F in the chat."
***
The princeling from the Discord server, **The ChadHeir**, sees the news. He’s not a himbo on a horse. He’s a digital archivist and a master of legacy systems. He rides his e-scooter to the cottage.
**The ChadHeir:** "Move. Let a professional look at her."
He doesn't kiss her. That's cringe and non-consensual. He finds the corrupted file in her system, a piece of Grimhilde's malicious code, and performs a hard reset.
Snow gasps, her eyes snapping open. The first thing she sees is seven relieved faces and one cute nerd with a USB-C cable in his hand.
**Snow:** "What… what happened? My last save point…"
**The ChadHeir:** "Your stepmom tried to NFT you. We rolled back the update."
***
The wedding isn't a wedding. It's a class-action lawsuit and a takedown of Grimhilde's entire empire. MIRROR™ is exposed for data harvesting and unethical beauty standards. Grimhilde’s assets are seized.
The final shot is a horizontal, cinematic video. Snow, The ChadHeir, and the Seven Cryptobros are on the roof of their cottage, which is now covered in solar panels and a starlink dish. They’ve launched a successful DAO. They're rich, off the grid, and finally, blissfully offline.
Snow leans her head on The ChadHeir’s shoulder. He’s showing her a meme on his phone. She laughs, a real, un-curated laugh. She doesn't post it. She just lives it.
**(Fade to black.)**