"Please what, Essie?" Pricilla hissed.
Cinderella flinched at the animosity spewing from Pricilla, pressing herself deeper into the space of her own little corner, clenching the fabric deep inside her pocket. A mewed sound reached her ears and she loosened her hand quickly. The bench she shared with Pricilla vibrated with Pricilla's fury. Cinderella was just grateful Pricilla's anger was not directed at her. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and Cinderella let loose a breath. No one had heard Marcel's cry.
Her relief quickly turned to irritation. Pricilla wasn't even the one who was wronged. Resentment burned through Cinderella but she shifted her gaze back to the mountainous view to hide it. The rising majestic splendor against the afternoon sky had little calming effect. Nor did the lush trees or stalks of soft pink heather lining the hillsides. It was all a façade, just like her bland demeanor.
"You know that shoe was not mine, Maman." Esmeralda's voice was soft, determined.
A quick whiplash of a resounding crack crashed through the interior of the carriage. Cinderella whirled in her seat. A stark imprint of Stepmama's hand was already forming on Esmeralda's bloodless cheek. Cinderella bit the inside of her mouth to keep from gasping. Even Pricilla cowered deeper into the folds. Shock filled the enclosure from Cinderella and her stepsisters. Stepmama had never once in Cinderella's memory raised her hand to Esmeralda or Pricilla.
"Never speak those words aloud henceforth, child." Stepmama snarled. Her eyes burned with a maniacal fierceness over each occupant in the confined space that shrunk with each passing kilometer. She tugged a kerchief from her reticule. "Am I quite clear?" She asked with a sudden calm.
Pricilla nodded sharply, then Cinderella. She dropped her eyes. She could remain unscathed if she remained invisible. It was a matter of survival.
Cinderella glanced at Esmeralda, and in an twist her heart reached out to her. How could it not? Just as quickly Cinderella shoved away the sentiment. Her sisters had spent years tormenting her, and only more heartache lay in that direction.
"We seem to be slowing," Stepmama announced with a feral smile.
*****
Prince stood rooted in the Grand Hall awaiting the sound of coach wheels that would propel his nightmare into broad daylight of reality.
In the past fortnight he'd suffered dreams of a ticking clock that pounded in deafening fervor. Streams of white satin whipped in violent gusts behind a vanishing specter he chased, following a trail of glittering jewels that stopped cold before an empty glass shoe. The velvet brown eyes that squeezed the strings of his heart fluttered in a vehement frenzy, before mere seconds passed, fleeing for her very life, a cyclone in her wake.