Roses and Black Glass: a dark Cinderella tale

by Lenore, Lani

  Rising up and heading for the door, Cindy passed before a dirty mirror. Gazing at herself, she could see that she looked a wreck. There were dark circles under her eyes and the nasty cut on her face looked angrily back at her. Dried blood covered her skin and flooded across her neck. Her eyes were bloodshot and the tears smeared the blood and dirt on her face. She was quite a sight.

  Through all of this, resting in the middle of her face was a little smile. Many thoughts had been stirred within her. Pulling her short hair over her right eye and cheek, Cindy turned from the mirror and walked upstairs. For the first time in her life, she truly felt wicked.

  Chapter Eleven

  1

  Isabella stared across the room, hardly aware that her feet were moving her toward that which had her affixed. Christian was standing there with a young woman he hardly knew, ignoring the one he should have been with. Her. He would learn. He would learn soon enough that he could not escape her.

  It was not Christian who Isabella watched so intently, but the girl with him, plump as a cherub, wrapped in a mink stole and holding a slender glass of champagne. Isabella was intent on her downfall, though she knew nothing about her.

  This is the way it must be, she told herself. Sacrifices must be made.

  Christian had noticed her, but Isabella did not regard him. When she was only a few inches away, Isabella lurched forward as if she had tripped, falling into the girl named Morgana, who had recently become her enemy. Isabella’s hand slipped into the fur shawl that the girl had wrapped around her, and with another little stumble, she pulled it from her shoulders. It fell to the floor.

  Morgana looked up to her, flustered, not even noticing Isabella until they had collided. The brown-haired girl then looked down toward her fallen ornament.

  “Oh! I’m so clumsy!” Isabella said, putting a gloved hand to her lips. “I apologize.”

  Isabella stooped down to pick up the fur, handing it back to the girl with an apologetic smile.

  "Quite alright," Morgana said good-naturedly, unsuspecting. She moved to take it back, but then remembered she had a drink in her hand and couldn’t very well put the shawl back on without setting it down.

  “Allow me,” Isabella said, taking the drink from Morgana’s hand.

  “Thank you,” the brunette said softly, assembling herself once again.

  Isabella dared to look at Christian, finding that his eyes bored deep holes into hers, but she tried to counter it, pleading for mercy with her own eyes. It did little good, and then Morgana was done. Isabella gave her back her drink.

  “I just wanted to be sportsmanlike and wish the both of you good luck,” Isabella said. “Knowing Christian as I do, you’re going to need it.”

  Isabella said it as if to be a joke, but Morgana wasn’t quite sure how to take the comment. Christian, however, knew exactly.

  “We appreciate that, Isabella,” he said. “So good to see that you can accept defeat so graciously.”

  Isabella’s little smile became a deep scowl. She averted her eyes and then turned away, looking defeated, but secretly feeling triumphant.

  “What did she mean by all that?” she heard Morgana ask to Christian.

  "You must know how jealousy goes, my dear,” he replied.

  2

  Stepping through the rain outside, Cindy’s hazel eyes rested on the Charming house. There were several carriages out front, but everyone was inside to avoid the weather. She could see their shadows playing about the windows. Would she be able to get inside unnoticed, even with so many guests? Somehow, she was feeling confidant.

  Cindy picked up her feet and moved on through the mud.

  3

  So it was that the house was full of women again on this night. Christian’s fiancé had arrived that morning, bringing a smiling face a cheerful heart. Already, he had spent his whole day with her, flanked by his mother and hers. She was a well-bred, wealthy farm girl, lovely too look upon with a round face and blue eyes. Her long brown hair hung in perfect curls from underneath her bonnet. The girl reminded Christian of a doll – the kind that sat in the store window downtown with painted cheeks of rose and delicate little smiles.

  He supposed she would do. He wasn’t feeling so picky anymore, now that his dreams had been smashed. The wedding would be in three weeks, and no matter who he married, it would be the same. Morgana seemed nice enough, and perhaps over time she would be able to ease some of his pain, yet he doubted she even knew what she was getting herself into by marrying him. What’s more, he could not believe he was actually accepting marriage to try and be happy. He’d never tried for any such thing in his life.

  Still, Christian felt sick of all the women gathered here. They were of all ages, but Morgana knew none of them, and Christian knew they had only come to see who she was and compare themselves to her. He had stayed downstairs for a while, giving Morgana all sorts of adoration, until finally he had excused himself.

  He had noticed Beatrice across the room, a strange look upon her face. She was jealous – jealous of her own cousin. It would seem that the woman had wanted him to begin with, yet when he'd met Beatrice again and refused her proposal, she had hardly spoken a word, only continued to stare at him longingly with a scowl. He remembered her face when he had asked for her cousin.

  How sad…

  Then there had been Isabella. The nerve of her! But he’d put her in her place as well. Was there no end to her harassment?

  On this night, they all continued to look at him as if he had not been claimed. Did they think that he would change his mind? Not many of them spoke to him, but some did offer a polite ‘hello’. Christian found it amusing that even the youngest of girls there – eight to ten – stopped to stare at him when he walked past. He offered a word to a few of the small girls, thinking they would be much better to talk to than the older ones, but already he could see their influence on the children. They were already in training, and he could hardly tolerate it. That was what had eventually turned him upstairs, leaving Morgana to fend for herself.

  Now, he entered his dark room and closed the door. He sucked some of the cold air into his lungs; winter was settling in on this place. Bolting the lock on the door so that no one would disturb him, Christian stepped back and pulled off his coat. As he hung up the garment, a strange smell drifted past his nose. It smelled of blood – and roses.

  Turning his head slowly, his eyes fell upon a small, dark figure standing in front of his book shelves on the far wall. It was a thin woman, and she was running her finger across the spines of the anatomy books he had there. Her back was to him, but she must have been aware of his presence, for she spoke up in a cracked voice.

  “Some of these are my father’s books…”

  A cold chill ran up his spine at the sound.

  “Cindy?” he asked, one half of him confused and angry, and the other thrilled that she had come. How in the world, with all the guests roaming all over the house, had she gotten up here without being seen? He wanted to ask, but knew it didn’t matter – only that she was here.

  “Yes,” he said instead. “Anna was more than happy to sell them to me after he passed.”

  Cindy lifted one of them off the shelf, flipping through some of the pages until she paused and lifted something from between them. He saw her hold it up. It was a dried flower, and she twirled it absently between her fingers. She still would not turn to look at him, but he heard her sob once before she swallowed it, and then she wrapped herself around the book at her chest as if it would hold her in return.

  He turned up the light, took a few steps closer to see her more clearly. She was wearing a dirty and wet green dress. There were blood drops browning on the front of it. Her hair was dripping from the rain, spiraling in wet tendrils around her shoulders. She had cut it.

  “Your hair,” he said, unable to understand. What had happened to her? Why had she come here?

  His anger faded. He moved closer toward her, wanting to embrace her – wanting to prote
ct her from whatever demons had ravaged her.

  She stopped him with words.

  “When were you in my room?” she asked abruptly.

  “What?”

  “You told me the other night that you had been in my room,” she said. “How is that possible?”

  Christian sighed out. He didn’t know what this had to do with anything. If she had come to him now to confess her love, that was a different matter. Now though, he didn’t think that was what she was here for.

  “It was a couple of nights ago,” he said. “I was in the house– Well, I might as well be honest about it; Isabella invited me to come to the house in the night. I was there, but I never went to see her.”

  The girl nodded solemnly. Christian fell silent. He remembered that night clearly, but he’d tried to put it behind him. He remembered the voice he'd heard that told him he shouldn’t have come there. He remembered the woman he had followed up the stairs - how she had simply vanished into thin air. Had he been crazy? Was he crazy now?

  “I saw something going up the stairs,” he continued finally. “I thought it was you. I followed, and I found your room, but I guess what I saw wasn’t you, because there was no one there when I reached it. I knew then that you hadn’t really gone away like they said, and so I couldn’t go through with what I'd come there for. I went home.”

  Cindy said nothing. She didn’t move.

  “Still, I swear I heard you say my name in that room.” He shook his head, averting his eyes from her. Did he feel shame for admitting what he’d seen? What he knew he’d seen? But what he didn’t know was that she had heard him call her name as well when she had been sitting at her mother’s grave.

  “Funny…” she commented.

  “What is?”

  “Nothing.”

  He closed his eyes to gather his patience. He’d certainly had a trying day, and this girl was confusing him.

  “Is this what you came here for? To ask me that?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “What do you want from me, Cindy? You come to the party, and unlike everyone else there, you’re not trying to get me to marry you. You took my ring, and it’s as if that’s all you came for. You leave me with a kiss that exclaims more than passion and tell me we won’t see each other again. It’s been a day. Here you are again.”

  “I came because I need you,” she said, finally turning around toward him. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?”

  She reached her hand up to touch her hair. Drawing back the locks from her face, she revealed the cut Isabella’s knife had made. Her face had begun to swell and there was still a trail of dry blood leading from the clotting wound. Christian moved to her and gently took her face in his hands, examining whatever he could see in the dimness. She was still.

  “My God… What happened?” he asked, tilting her head a bit.

  “Lots of things,” she said quietly.

  “None of this,” he said. “I have too many things on my mind without having to worry about you in that house. Tell me what’s happened.”

  She took a deep breath. With a straight face, she told him everything. She told him that after her father’s death, she was made into a servant and that Cindy Madison didn’t exist here anymore. She told him of how her step-mother and sisters had been running a scandal for the longest time and how they had murdered her mother, father, and several others. She told him about Amanda and what the woman had done for her. She then told him about the prophecies and the strange illness and her mother’s ghost and the dreams – then the cut on her face.

  He sat back without words while she spoke, simply taking it all in. When she stopped, she directed her eyes to him and acted as though she hadn’t just told him all those horrible things, focusing on the problem at hand.

  “So, what about my face? Do you think you could stitch it up for me?”

  Christian was shocked by all that she’d said and how quickly she had dismissed it when she was done. He did not, however, think she was insane for speaking of such outlandish things. He believed every word.

  He gave a small nod to her request and got up to walk across the room to the desk where his bag of tools sat. The items were expensive – if he was going to be a surgeon, his parents were going to make sure he did not disgrace their name. Pulling the proper elements from the bag, Christian walked back over to the girl.

  “You’ll have to lie back on the bed and not move,” he instructed putting some alcohol from a bottle on a clean white rag. “This will clean the cut, but it will sting a bit.”

  Cindy obeyed and laid her head back against the pillow and Christian set to work sanitizing the cut. He knew the substance stung her, but she said nothing for the discomfort.

  “I can’t believe she did this to you,” he said.

  “She had wanted to before. She was only using a defensive guise as an excuse.”

  “What should be done about it?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  He stopped his work. “I figure you to want my help in whatever you’re planning – revenge or escape. That’s why you’re here.”

  “Why do you think I’m planning something?” she asked.

  “Of course you are,” he said. “From what you told me, and of the things that woman, Amanda, meant for you, there must be more to come. All the deaths… You said yourself that you’ve been touched by dark magic.”

  “As have you,” she said. “You’re right there with me.”

  He smiled, somehow liking the idea that she acknowledged their connection.

  “I know you smell the roses,” she went on. “The ever-budding roses of the dead – you smell them.”

  He sat back in thought for a moment. How could she know?

  “It only took me a moment to think of,” Cindy began. “But Amanda had mentioned it in her letter. As soon as I read it, I knew it must be you. My dress was made from the petals of enchanted roses. You had to be the one to smell them.”

  “The smell drew me to you,” he said.

  “Because they are wicked flowers,” she said. “And I am wicked.”

  “You are not wicked,” he assured her. “They are wicked – and will soon get what is coming to them.”

  “I suppose,” she said. “But I must say that you were right when you said we are connected. There is something meant for us.”

  “Is it this?” he asked. “To bring back what is rightfully yours?”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But you also are rightfully mine.”

  He smiled more, staring back into her, peering deep into her eyes. His lips yearned to press against hers gently. He wanted to move his hands across her soft, bare skin in a deep embrace. He wanted to feel her heart against his chest and count the beats as the rate sped. He would even lick the sweat and blood from her face to savor her taste. Perhaps he was truly the wicked one.

  “One should not think such thoughts,” he muttered aloud, turning away from her.

  “Then don’t,” she said, touching his face. “Let thoughts be actions.”

  The notion gathered in his mind like music. The flow of thoughts again trailed past him and he had the mind to act. She sat upright on the mattress.

  "I didn’t tell you about my last vision,” she said.

  “What's that?”

  She leaned forward, not allowing the hunger she felt for him tarry on any longer. She kissed his lips, feeling the pressure of his mouth as he pressed back. Cindy kissed him continually, softly and slowly, and it was all he could do to keep himself restrained. Her fingers opened his shirt, button by button, and by then he knew he did not have to hold back. He urged her back onto the bed. Her hands slid down against his strong chest as his own touched her searchingly, trying to discover how she might be his. For just a moment, she broke their kiss, looking into his eyes.

  “I need a sheet,” she whispered, not nervous or afraid, “with a very specific spot of blood.”

  Christian was already aroused, but the words sent a tingle
of anticipation through him that he didn’t want to – or have to – deny any longer. He moved back in for her lips.

  “That can certainly be arranged,” he promised.

  4

  In his arms, Cindy felt complete. There was pain, but it was worth discomfort. She had known suffering in her life, but this was nothing near to that. This pain was sharp, piercing pleasure. It was worth every cringe and bite of the lip.

  Christian was gentle with her, though he’d admit he’d never known himself to be that way. Was this what love really felt like? The true act of making it other than it simply being the achievement of release? It had never been like this. Never like this.

  The blood was there long before he was done, but he’d seen no reason to stop for it. Her breath was calm, though at times he caught her holding it. Could she have been more perfect or deep?

  Christian stopped his motion before he’d had enough for the sake of sparing her greater pain. He’d released one flood; that was enough for now.

  Cindy opened her eyes when he withdrew, seeing that he was still there, peering down at her. It was like a dream. It couldn’t have been possible that they were here together in this bed. How unfortunate that it would all be gone in the morning, just as her enchanted dress had fallen away at midnight.

  “There’s something you need to do?” he asked, slightly out of breath. She nodded shortly, unable to gather any words at that moment.

  He helped her up off the bed, steadying her until she could stand on her weakened legs once again. He gathered the bloodied sheet from the mattress. Cindy put his ring and her locks of hair into the sheet and tied it up. In the morning, there would be something there, and whatever it was would be what she was supposed to use. She knew that; trusted it.

  Christian wrapped his arms around her as she stared down at it. She smiled as she felt his warmth.