Her bright copper curls blew in a brisk breeze that were not all that unattractive. It's just that those locks were far from the deep rich mahogany he'd been looking for.
He pulled back his shoulders. "It appears to be a fit," he said, not at all surprised at the composure he was able to project. He'd had nineteen years of training in self-possession, impassive expressions, and reinforced tactful negotiations. Imperative skills when one wrestled with a terror building so deep within one's chest, one might expire on the spot.
"Well, of course it fits!" The hideous mother said, benevolently.
Sainthood. After this disastrous journey, he'd surely qualify for sainthood.
"Do quit batting your eyes, Esmeralda. You could stir up the soil," her mother snapped.
Just beyond the girl's shoulder Prince caught sight of cheery red and white curtains fluttering at the window.
Amazing. Her eyes did seem to create a wind. He fixed an impassive gaze on his new betrothed, Egeld…Este…well, her name escaped him at the moment-and contemplated the situation. The sense of dread settling over him, along with a picture of Maman's pained expression leaped through his mind.
He was not a religious man, by any means, but divine intervention would not be amiss in this moment.
*****
Cinderella darted from the window gasping for air. She should have heeded Stepmama's direction for the basement. How could it have not occurred to her that Esmeralda's foot would fit her slipper? The pain in her chest threatened to shatter. Could one die of a broken heart? When Papa passed gently from this world to the next, Stepmama had confiscated all of her belongings.
Even on the rare occasion when Cinderella found herself lucky enough allowed to her own devices, did she not steal into Esmeralda's closet to try on her shoes? Both Esmeralda and Pricilla had lovely slippers. Esmeralda's fit Cinderella perfectly. Her gaze swept the darkness in a terrifying panic. Who was she to turn to for help? It was not possible to confront them now. Her shoe fit Esmeralda. Deflated, she realized, there was no one.
Frustrated tears spilled forth. Should Fairy Godmother even be willing to help, why should she? Cinderella was the ninny that slipped out of the blasted shoe in the first place. She paced the dingy basement unable to stem the flowing river of tears. It was all so hopeless.
She spun from the bottom of the stairway, retraced her steps, and dashed a hand across her face. Marcel squeaked in sympathy from the corner.
"What am I to do?" she cried.
He shook his head. She was touched by his forlorn compassion.