Roses and Black Glass: a dark Cinderella tale

by Lenore, Lani

  “Charlotte…”

  The girl heard her name like wind whispering in her ears. A familiar voice was calling to her. She lifted her tear-stained face and looked forward carefully, seeing that she was alone. Still, she knew the voice.

  “Mother?” she asked quietly.

  The voice came back to her without hesitation. “Do not cry, my little girl,” it said. “All is well.”

  “Mother, where are you?” Charlotte asked frantically, looking around like a helpless child. “I can’t see you.”

  “I am far away from you now, but you must listen: Charlotte, you must make the shoe fit! It is your only chance!”

  Charlotte shook her head helplessly. “I can’t!” she cried. “I tried so hard!”

  “No excuses!” her mother said harshly. “Isabella has betrayed what she knows is right! You are the only one who knows what must be done!”

  Charlotte buried her face in her hands as they began to shake. The girl did not stop to think that her mother was dead and that the woman could not possibly be talking to her. Here she was, listening to the words and knowing they were what her mother would have said if she was still alive. Charlotte could not know that her own mind was generating the words and dragging them through her head like a knife on glass.

  “Tell me what to do mother,” Charlotte begged. “I’m afraid.”

  “Look on the table.”

  Charlotte raised her red eyes to the tabletop and stared on at the object there, just within her reach. The knife gleamed up at her, with a sliver of Cindy’s dried blood along the edge.

  “Take the knife in your hand,” Anna’s voice said.

  “What shall I do with it?” Charlotte asked, awaiting her mother’s commands anxiously.

  “Make the shoe fit,” she said. “It is your only hope. In the end, the reward will be worth your pain.”

  Charlotte stared down at her smooth white foot in uncertainty, but this feeling only lasted a brief moment. She trusted her mother; she knew best.

  Taking the knife carefully and staring into it at her reflection briefly, Charlotte lowered the blade to the back of her stocking-shielded foot and began to slice the skin in a circle around her heel to map the spot she would cut. Her heel would not let her fit into the shoe. She would rid herself of it.

  Closing her eyes, she dug the knife deep into her flesh. She winced in pain as the blood from her cut soaked into her white stocking. She took hold of the bloody flesh flap and sliced through the rest of the meat, laying the mushy slab of skin on the table.

  The pain was intense and the sight of her own blood was less than pleasing, but in the end it would be worth it – just as her mother had said.

  She picked the shoe off the table and forced her foot down into it. The pain was even worse once the back edge of the glass shoe touched the open wound, but she tried to ignore it as best she could. She pushed her foot as far as it would go into the shoe, but still it would not fit. Standing up, Charlotte tried to force her bloody foot down into the shoe by stomping it on the floor. This still did not work.

  She began to get angry at this. She could swear that she had cut off enough of her heel! Yet still the shoe would not fit! It was almost as though the glass slipper had magically shrunken.

  “Do not give up, dear daughter!” Anna’s voice hissed. “There are still your toes! Rid yourself of them and then the shoe will fit!”

  Charlotte smiled and laughed madly, tears streaming down her face.

  “My toes!” she cried. “Of course!”

  Peeling the shoe off her foot and ripping away the already sticking blood, Charlotte placed her foot on the chair and wiggled her dainty toes one last time. She laughed down at them. Raising the knife, she forced the blade down and chopped off her smallest toe in one swipe, cutting the toe next to it in the process.

  She chopped down at the toes, hacking them to pieces, screaming and crying and laughing. Her bloody job being complete, she shoved her foot inside the shoe.

  The glass slid around her foot perfectly, hugging tightly and causing the blood to split over the top of the shoe. Charlotte smiled happily, smelling her own blood as she threw down the knife and stood, placing weight on her injured foot in triumph.

  “I did it mother!” she said deliriously, swaying for the pain. “I did it! It’s just like you wanted!”

  The girl received no reply.

  “Mother?” she questioned.

  It was only then that Charlotte realized that she was truly alone. She looked at the mess she had made as she stepped on one of her own dismembered toes, splitting it into a bloody mush across the floorboards. She moved the muscles that would normally operate her toes, yet there was nothing left to move. All was numb with a dull pain. The girl began to cry in fear as she looked down at her own blood trail.

  What have I done?

  She looked at the blood across her hands and felt confused. How could she have done this? She felt a shot of insanity to her heart. Then her eyes rolled into her head and she fell towards the floor, lying in her own blood.

  Beside the fireplace, she fell and her hands disturbed a log from the fire. The burning log flipped across Charlotte’s unconscious body and touched the end of the tablecloth that had fallen into the blood.

  The fire ignited instantly as if there was a strange force feeding it. The door was locked on Charlotte and the girl’s selfish actions had led to her demise. The fire burned the whole of the dining room and kitchen, spreading through the house, not giving time for anyone to try and save it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  1

  Down by the lake, Christian smoked while he waited. The rain had passed on, but droplets still dripped from the trees. He was here for only one reason, and it was not because of the pretty young woman standing beside him. He had lured Isabella here because he wanted to give Charlotte plenty of time to destroy herself with that glass shoe – however she might manage it.

  “What is it that's so urgent that you had to drag me all the way out to this bank?” asked Isabella’s pleasant, laughing voice. “Advice about your dearly beloved? Or perhaps you’ve had a sudden change of heart?”

  “I have been thinking about you,” he admitted a bit smugly. “It seems that even in my engagement, I cannot escape you.”

  Though he sounded somewhat disgusted by the notion, Isabella felt pleased to hear it. He had finally realized it then? He could not be without her. A few falling drops from a tree branch hit against the parasol over her head.

  “I lied to you before,” he went on. “I lied when I said I could never love anything. I realized just recently that there’s something that I’ve been in love with ever since I saw it. I knew I wanted it more than anything else, and even though I had given up on attaining it, I know I could never be happy to settle for anything else. That something was, surprisingly, a girl. I never thought I’d find one I liked, but I did. I only just opened my eyes enough to realize it.”

  Isabella had never imagined such sweet words could come from his lips! But it was alright. She forgave him for being so blind as to not realize this thing until now. Now that she knew he loved her, all was well.

  “Christian, I– ” she began, but was swiftly cut off.

  “The girl’s name is Cindy. Or a servant named Ivy, if you prefer.”

  Isabella’s look of happiness fell to harsh anger and jealousy. Christian turned to her then, dropping his smoke and leaning close to her – just as she had once done to him in this very spot.

  “She was gone last night,” he said lowly, but not as in a secret. “Perhaps you didn’t notice? She was with me – in my bed. That must make you angry, having strived so long just to be surpassed in the race by the one you hate most. And it was so easy for her. She had to do nothing but be herself."

  “I only did the same!”

  Isabella had become hateful toward him for the first time, her voice coming to a low growl of insistence. Christian moved further into her face. If he’d aimed to get closer,
the only thing left to do would have been to bite her.

  “Well I suppose then that yourself wasn’t good enough.”

  It was raining now. The pitter-patter of tiny drops was hitting atop the parasol, striking the leaves, and adding themselves to the lake.

  “I want you to know that whatever it is that you did to Morgana only put Cindy and I one step closer to being together. And we will be together.”

  Isabella fought with the words that should come out of her mouth. She opened and closed her lips several times, shaking her head in small jerks while staring into his face. He tilted his head to her like a curious animal.

  “Is there actually something you want to say to that?”

  Just by chance in her desperation, Isabella’s eyes drifted past Christian’s shoulder, and with a sharp furrowing of her brow she forgot what she had meant to say.

  “Is that smoke?”

  For a moment, Christian had no idea what she was speaking of. It might have been some ploy to make him look foolish, but Isabella’s eyes stayed fixed, and a strange realization dawned on her face. Christian could not help himself. He turned to look.

  It was smoke! Large billows of it! But where…? Could it have been coming from the Madison house? It had to have been! That was the only building in that direction!

  Cindy! It was the only thought he could think. She was in the house! She would have been there until night when she came back to him! With little more thought that that, Christian began to run. He did not stop to think that the flames must have been too high by now, or that he could never get there in time. Forgetting all else, he moved toward the hill.

  “Christian!” Isabella screamed behind him, left standing alone on the bank.

  He did not heed her voice.

  2

  Several people had come to see the fire, but none of them moved to stop it. There was a great deal of smoke coming from the Madison-van Burren home, but it was not as if the whole place was taken by the fire yet. There was a glow in all the windows of the first floor, and a couple of the panes had burst for the heat within, but perhaps it was not impossible to put out the flames. Still, the people did nothing. They only watched quietly, letting the house burn before them.

  It was a terrible, inappropriate spectacle, like people gathering a picnic and heading out to watch a war rage. Perhaps they felt saddened by the possibility that Isabella and Charlotte were still inside, but in their hearts, they couldn’t help but feel that some demon was being removed from their town. The house would burn, its presence would no longer loom over them all, and as days passed, it would be forgotten.

  The people stood stiffly and without emotion, like statues, as if they would not believe the house was gone unless they watched it fall to the ground with their own eyes. This was the scene that Christian found when he reached the hill.

  Even though it might have been distressing to see that no one was doing anything to save the house or whoever might have still been inside, Christian was more concerned that no one was standing in his way. He moved up toward the house as swiftly as he could after his run back from the lake. His legs were tired and his clothes were wet, but he elected not to care. A short sprint through the mud and his boots were clomping on the wooden porch. A moment later and his shoulder had knocked down the weakened door.

  “Cindy!” he bellowed as soon as he’d come into the house. Immediately, smoke came into his lungs, stronger than one hundred cigarettes. He coughed once. “Cindy!”

  Small fires were burning in various places, farther toward the dining room and kitchen than the main hall. There was a haze over everything. His eyes began to itch and burn, but he could not leave – not until he found her or until he had assured himself that she was not in the house. The main stairway. It seemed untouched by the flames yet. He could get to the attic room. He could see if she was there!

  He began up the steps eagerly, breathing as little as possible, but coughed nonetheless. Christian had made it past five steps when he stopped dead in his tracks – staring at the figure at the top of the staircase.

  She stood with her back to him, dressed in a white gown. Long dark curls hung down her back. He had seen her before. He knew he had. She had been the one who led him up to the attic room several nights ago. She looked like Cindy, but was not Cindy. Who was she? Though he could hardly breathe and could feel his lungs struggling, he could not break his trance. Slowly, he climbed the steps toward the mysterious woman as the flames rose around him.

  He reached the top of the stairs, unable to move and unable to address her. Slowly and deliberately, she turned to him, and he might have gasped if he was able but he could not breathe at all. The woman’s face was like Cindy’s, only older – different. He stared at her and she smiled gently at him. She pressed her hands to his face on each side. Her touch was clammy and as cold as death despite the fire. Christian knew her then for who she was. She was a mother that was lost but not forgotten, a lover who had been the center of everything, and one who was finally finished.

  He felt the need to say something then – to say that he was grateful or that he was sorry – but he could not breathe. His lungs were full and he was dead. She would take him away now. She would take him away…

  The woman closed her eyes and stroked his cheek. And then she was gone. Her fingers were gone from his face and the smoke was cleared immediately from his lungs. As if by some unseen wind, the entire house was snuffed out like a match. Christian was left standing at the top of the stairs as small tendrils of light smoke rose around him. He took a deep breath.

  Everything was silent.

  Chapter Sixteen

  1

  The shoe had melted in the blaze and Charlotte’s body had been burnt to ashes. Isabella mourned her sister’s death but could still only think of winning Christian. Samantha Charming took pity upon the poor van Burren maiden and welcomed her into the Charming household. Cindy had not been seen since the fire…

  2

  Isabella looked in on Christian as he sat in front of the mirror, staring at himself. How long had he been sitting there? She did not know. It was well past dinner and he had hardly eaten a thing, and afterward he had retired to his room and now that she had come to check on him, opening the door gently, this was how she found him. It was obvious to her that he had been here for a very long time, but what he was doing, she had no clue.

  He was quite rattled by Cindy’s death. Yes, Cindy’s death…

  Isabella tried very hard not to smile, knowing that once she came into the room with him she could look nothing but sympathetic. It was only that things could not have worked out better. Certainly it was a shame about her own sister, but cutting that loss, her gain was far greater. The loss of her house and the very few possessions inside it had gotten her the pity of Samantha Charming, who took her kindly into her home. It was not only so fortunate that she was in the same house with Christian, but she had been able to let everyone believe that Cindy was dead. Granted, no remains had been found, but Isabella had insisted she’d been in the house. No one was the wiser.

  The fire had reflected in Isabella’s eyes as she stood and watched the sight. She was unsure of what had happened to start this fire, but she had a suspicion. Of course it must have been Cindy’s doing. Some form of revenge perhaps. Charlotte had not been lucky as to have gotten out of the house. Isabella knew for certain that she was dead. Still, she had no tears for her. The girl was beginning to be a burden anyway.

  Isabella had glanced around her at the people who stood in the rain with her and gawked at the fire. Some whispered that the house had been bewitched by the woman who had stayed there, but Isabella would blame Cindy a million times before thinking to blame the strange woman they had hung earlier today. This was Cindy’s doing. No doubt.

  It had only been by chance that her eyes had caught sight of the girl at the rear of the house. She was separated from all the others, her dress damp and dirty, her short hair wet and tangled. Anger had risen high
er in Isabella than she could ever recall. Most of all, she was angry that the loathsome girl was not inside the house burning to death.

  Very carefully, she had slipped away and come behind the house, approaching Cindy heatedly. She cast down her parasol, letting the rain strike her. Cindy turned to her then with a bold look in her eyes, and past the matted hair, Isabella saw the neat stitches across her cheek. She remembered what Christian had told her about them being together last night. A beast of rage overtook Isabella. She struck Cindy with her open palm, pulling a couple of the stitches.

  Cindy did not shriek as blood began to trickle down her face with the rain.

  “I want you gone,” Isabella screamed. “Do you hear me? Gone!”

  “What was that?” Cindy asked, turning back and menacing with her eyes.

  “I said I want you gone! I still own you, servant girl, and I banish you from this place!”

  Cindy stared back in silence for a moment. Isabella did not know what was going through the girl’s mind and she did not care.

  “You think that will solve your problems?” Cindy had asked quietly. “You know he doesn’t love you. Though it kills you to admit it, you know it eats you inside to think you were chosen first by a man who desires men. Beatrice got that deal; you saved yourself. Only now you are to have Christian ignore you as well. Besides that, you know it’s me he desires.”

  “Silence, you devil’s wife! I know what you’ve done! I know all this is your fault! You have taken everything from me! And I have the authority to take everything from you! Do you think calling the dark forces – like your godforsaken mother! – to aid you makes you more capable than I?”

  “Perhaps not,” Cindy said coldly, making sure to keep her voice low. “But I have Christian’s love and that’s something that will never touch you.”

  Isabella’s anger had risen in level and she had begun to shake, staring at the girl who stood with a simple smile. She tried not to burst for embarrassment. She sucked in a deep breath and chose her words carefully.