Sinful Cinderella

I lunge at the cupboard and open it. The crystal decanter stands tranquil and sedate, but inside the bottle, the surface of the white liquid glitters. I spit a hard curse. The liquid glitters only when I gain magic or lose magic. And my tantrum just now certainly couldn’t qualify as good behavior. I lift the decanter to eye level. It still looks like two inches but I know I lost some. Probably a few spoonsful.

I growl and lock the bottle in the cupboard. No more tantrums. Finish the dumb dresses, make your own, go to the ball, win the prince’s heart, move out of this house, become queen, find a nice cliff to drop Stepmother off of. That’s all.

Sigh....

I sew until the sun is long forgotten, until my candles sputter down to stubs. Until my head flops around like a homespun doll’s, until the night is silent as a cave. Even my rats are asleep.

Done with Loony’s gown. Cutting the pieces for Moody’s. Tomorrow is the ball. What time will it be? Seven? Eight? I can’t remember. The stitches are blurred and I can’t bring them into focus. I prick my finger with the needle again and suck a drop of blood into my mouth. It makes me thirsty.

My body slides out of the chair. Fine, I’ll take some magic. But just one spoonful. I have to keep sewing.

Four tries before I manage to aim the key at the keyhole. I droop against the wall and fill the silver spoon. “Awake,” is all I can say. I’m almost too tired to swallow it.

The warm sparkles sink into my body, then rise up through my head. And I’m awake. Not bouncy or cheerful, but I can think now. And sit straight. I pick the pieces of Moody’s gown off the floor and flop into the chair again. Get it done. Get it done. Get it done.