Cinderella's Not-So-Ugly Stepsister (Grimmer Fairy Tales Book 2) by Hayton Lee

Author:Hayton, Lee [Hayton, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Retold Fairy Tales
Publisher: Lee Hayton
Published: 2017-03-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

When my stepfather returned, he was empty handed. Empty pocketed to. Even though the week’s wages had been handed to him just the day before, he’d spent them. The house reeked of booze for a week just from what he imbibed that night.

His anger was sublimated when he crawled back home. Dulled down by so much alcohol he could barely control his muscles. Indeed, he didn’t manage to exercise any control over his basic bodily functions. Poor Cinderella had to clean up that fetid mess. I’ve never pitied anyone as much as I pitied her then.

The next morning, when only the painful parts of the booze remained in his system, every drop of pleasure wrung out, his rage was back on full display. We fled the house, grateful to escape to the safety of the castle. We even took Cinderella with us on a pretext that there may be people willing to exchange an advance on our wages for a dress they had spare.

In the castle, no one looked twice when Cinderella accompanied Anastasia and me to our room to work. Everything was in full swing. Each hour grew more and more frantic with preparation. More people were doing more things with less effect than I’d seen gathered in one place ever before.

Even in our polishing room, far from where any visiting dignitaries or other guests would ever wander, bunting decorated the windows. The world’s most foolish decoration. There would be no one in there to admire it while looking out. Nor would anyone outside be foolish enough to scale the walls to the second floor to peer in and see.

Still, it made it nicer and brighter for us as we went about our work. A house-party full of tarnished silver awaited us. And when, finally, somebody popped their heads inside to question Cindy’s presence, we just swept our hands over the abundant evidence she was needed. Add to that the magic phrase, “she’s working for free,” and they darted away to their next task, satisfied.

We giggled at the little deception, and it truly lightened all our spirits. If my mother ever popped her head into our room, she would have seen us hard at work but light of heart.

The sunshine had decided it was the primary guest at our activity. It streamed in a wondrous shade of yellow-white to hit upon the polished stone of the floor. Even the gray slate that usually absorbed the sunlight as though it were a hungry beast and the rays were its only food reflected them back. A gift that turned them from dull and dark into sparkling bright, catching the tiny shards of quartz in their makeup. As brilliant as the silver pile when we were done.

Occasional crashes from outside made it clear that the party would present a hazard to the worker’s health, even if the party guests were safe as houses. At one point a chandelier was dropped, the lovely tinkle of breaking glass lost in the crash from the metal structure supporting the gleaming beads in place.

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