Cinderella Dressed in Ashes tgd-2

by Cameron Jace

  “Who is Bianca?” Shew needed to confirm her suspicions.

  “My mother,” Cerené titled her head and her lips twitched again.

  Be careful when her lips twitch, Shew, or she will lose it again.

  “I thought you were an orphan.”

  “I am,” Cerené said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I will understand. All you have to do is trust me like I trusted you in passing the Wall of Thorns,” Shew didn’t comment on the fact that she shouldn’t have trusted her, but she knew that Cerené had meant no harm.

  “My mother is dead!” Cerené stood up, sparkles of anger floating in her eyes again.

  “So she taught you all of this when you were younger?” Shew stood up. She had to pressure her to learn more about her.

  “No,” Cerené stomped her feet. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand. Bianca died a long time ago, when I was about three years old.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense, Cerené.”

  Cerené said nothing.

  “If Bianca died that long ago, how did she tell you all of this?”

  “In my dreams,” Cerené said, her back still facing Shew.

  “I see,” Shew nodded, although this wasn’t a satisfying conclusion at all. Was her mother a ghost, another Dreamhunter, maybe? “Do you have an idea what Bianca’s last name is, or what she did for a living?”

  “She…” Cerené started shuddering. “She…”

  Shew knew she had pressed her too much, but she wouldn’t stop now.

  “People said she was some kind of a witch!” Cerené turned back, on the verge of exploding. The ghostly breeze chilled the cornfield and lightning struck somewhere in the distance, illuminating the ashes hanging in the air. “Are you satisfied? She burned things, many things. She even burned towns. They burned her back by the stake! They way they had burned a humiliated so many witches. Burn! Burn! Burn!” Cerené, hugging her urn, ran away toward the Wall of Thorns, her red dress fluttering over the yellow corn and beneath the ashes.

  “Great job, Shew,” Snow White mumbled, angry with herself. She shouldn’t have pressed her that hard. She should have been careful since Cerené had run away last time when She asked too many questions.

  Watching Cerené run, crying, shattered her heart.

  Frozen in place, Shew watched her disappear behind the gap in the Field of Thorns. There was no point in running after her this time. Cerené was hurt and she doubted she could help her.

  The ghostly wind spiraled again around her feet, and she felt unsafe, alone in the field among the sleeping beauties. With Cerené gone, Shew had the feeling she was being watched. Something other than the girls hid in the cornfield, maybe in the Wall of Thorns itself. Shew began walking slowly toward the gap, wondering if it was Bianca.

  Each of her steps echoed in a dreamy sort of way. She dared not look back but was sure someone was following her. She swallowed hard.

  Her steps quickened.

  Who’s behind me?

  She began running, the footsteps behind her following her.

  Shew stumbled over one of the sleeping beauties. In that moment it occurred to her that whoever was behind her wasn’t chasing her, they were following her.

  On her feet, she turned around to face whoever it was.

  Remember you’re the Dhampir. You shouldn’t be scared.

  Shew saw nothing but yellow corn, ashen skies, and blurry thorn bushes afar.

  “Loki!” Shew screamed from the top of her lungs, thinking he was the one after her, “what are you waiting for? I’m here!”

  Nothing.

  No one called back, no evil Huntsman. Shew let out a sigh and turned around. She walked slowly toward the gap in the Wall of Thorns.

  She could hear the steps behind her again.

  Running, she passed through the gap in the Wall of Thorns—the gab was large and the nearest thorns weren’t close enough to slash at her. It occurred to her that she could have passed through the wall if she’d ran through with a fast horse.

  Finally, Shew entered the Black Forest. She managed to look back briefly and finally saw someone in a black cloak in the distance. Whoever it was, they were not riding a unicorn, but followed her on foot and stopped once she looked back. From such a distance, recognizing this mysterious person was impossible.

  Silently, they stood watching, expecting and waiting. Their silence crept across Shew’s skin, giving her Goosebumps.

  She turned and ran as fast as she could, hoping she could remember the way back to the Schloss.

  Fifty strides later, she tripped over a log, bumped her head and fell unconscious. Her pursuer approached.

  10

  The Girl with One Glass Shoe

  Shew opened her eyes, not to the person following her in the black cloak, but to the Queen of Sorrow.

  Shew understood immediately that she had awaken in another time because Carmilla had her favorite mirror next to her, which meant she’d met Bloody Mary already.

  All other mirrors in Shew’s room had been covered with white blankets so they wouldn’t reflect Carmilla’s true nature. Shew watched her check out her crown and her braided hair in her beloved mirror. Bloody Mary wasn’t present.

  “We need to talk,” Carmilla said, sitting by the edge of Shew’s huge bed.

  Shew sat straight up without uttering a word. She thought she’d better listen to what Carmilla had to say first.

  “I know you’re lonely, Shew,” Carmilla said. “Because you’re part vampire we have been forced to separate you from everyone for your own good. Soon you are going to be cured. You just need to be patient.”

  Shew was a Dhampir who needed to feed, but Carmilla was a vicious murderer of young girls. Shew was ready to scream at her and tell her that her situation was nothing compared to the queens, but held back.

  “However, this doesn’t mean I will allow you to be friends with that Slave Maiden. What was her name again, Tabula?” Carmilla clicked her gloved fingers without looking at her.

  “Chi-re-ney,” Tabula answered, her hands rested upon each other in front of her, her chin almost touching her chest.

  “Yes, Cerené, what kind of name is that?” the Queen rolled her eyes. For some reason, Shew thought the Queen knew Cerené, but was pretending otherwise. It was that devious sparkle in her eyes.

  Uncomfortable by Shew’s suspicious stare, the Queen’s face changed, now acting as if the name rang a bell in her mind. “Isn’t that an Italian name?” she said with a smirk.

  Italian? Shew grimaced. Cerené is Italian?

  “You ever heard of the Roman Empire, Tabula?” Carmilla said.

  “I heard the king mentioning it,” Tabula said. “He said it ended up being something called Italy. What does it mean my majesty?”

  “Italy is a shoe-looking island,” Carmilla brushed something off Shew’s mattress with the tips of her fingers. “There is a myth that says the Creators of the World shaped Italy after a glass shoe. A rather romantic notion, some would argue.”

  Shew didn’t understand why Carmilla was glaring at her. It seemed like she wanted Shew to read between the lines she spoke.

  Why does she know such things about a Slave Maiden, and what is so special about a foreign land shaped like a shoe?

  “But why did the Creators of the World shape it like that?” Tabula asked. “That’s rather strange, shaping a kingdom after a shoe, not romantic at all.

  Shew knew Tabula was an immigrant from exquisite lands in the Eastern Realm of the world where raising a shoe in someone’s face was considered an insult.

  “Wrong question, Tabula,” Carmilla said. She was checking her fingernails, breaking her gaze with Shew. “The Creators are always right. They always have a reason for everything that happens, even our suffering.”

  “Then what is the right question, if I may ask my majesty?” Tabula said.

  “Why one shoe, not two, would be a good start,” Carmilla’s lips waved into a slow smile. “Didn’t
you ever notice that most important things in life come in pairs?”

  “What do you mean my majesty?” Tabula questioned cautiously, a little worried why the Queen was having an actual conversation with her. Carmilla rarely talked to her servants. Even today, she wasn’t actually conversing with Tabula. She was sending Shew a message through Tabula.

  “Most things in life come in pairs,” Carmilla repeated. “Shoes, couples, eyes, night and day, sun and moon, and even good and evil come in pairs. I guess it is the universe’s mysterious way of trying to create balance. Why only one shoe then? Don’t you agree, Shew?” she gazed back at the Princess of Sorrow.

  Shew said nothing. She quietly wished the Queen would leave so she could investigate this dream further, but no one had ever dared to leave when Carmilla was speaking.

  “I’ll tell you why,” the Queen finally said. “There is an old story I was told when I was a kid in my father’s castle in Styria. It was a story of a poor girl who lived with her stepmother and stepsisters. Of course, like any other boring fairy tale, her stepsisters were evil and the poor girl was naïve,” Carmilla rolled her eyes. “One day, the poor girl wanted to attend a ball to see a cute prince she had a crush on—remember the yummy prince, Shew?“ However, the evil stepmother and the two nasty sisters didn’t let her attend the ball. Do you know why? Because the poor girl was much more beautiful than her sisters were. The villainous stepsisters feared she would catch the attention of the prince, so they trapped her in a small, cramped room covered with cinders of its fireplace, and went to attend the ball. It’s no secret that the rest of the story is agonizingly predictable,” she sighed with one gloved hand on her heart. “A Godmother—there’s always a Godmother—” she leaned forward, whispering and winking at Shew, “the Godmother appeared and helped the poor girl with her dress and a coach so she could attend the ball. Of course, the prince fell madly in love with her without even asking her name. Love at first sight, you know. The girl had to get back home before midnight; afraid her stepmother would punish her and lock her inside the ash-covered room in their home again. And finally, we come to the most important part when she leaves a single shoe behind,” Carmilla’s eyes glittered, talking slower, and examining Shew’s face.

  Shew thought it was amusing, compared to the way Carmilla had told the beginning of the tale. She’d been talking fast with no attention to details or passion in her voice, as if she were reading a grocery list.

  “It was a single shoe that eventually led the prince to find his lost love. He walked around town, asking every girl he met to try on the shoe promising he’d marry her if it fit—some stupid prince, I must say.” Shew wondered why the Queen told this tale if she thought it was so predictable and hated it so much.

  “Some stupid prince indeed,” Bloody Mary suddenly appeared in the mirror, growling in her gushy voice.

  Shew leaned back in her bed and looked away. Bloody Mary was young, but genuinely ugly and scary.

  “Shut up, Mary,” the Queen said firmly. “Go back to whatever hell you came from. You’re scaring my daughter.”

  “As you wish, my Queen,” Bloody Mary vanished from the mirror and Carmilla checked her beauty in it once more.

  “So where was I?” she questioned, adjusting her crown.

  “Stupid Prince, my majesty,” Tabula said. “I assume he found the poor girl eventually.”

  “Ah, yes. One of the evil stepsisters, being unable to accept the fact that the prince liked her stepsister better, cut her toe off. Can you believe that? The little brat cut her toe off so the prince would choose her. I am always incredulous about the way girls are portrayed in these tales, helpless, disadvantaged, and afraid to be alone and never married.”

  “You’re right, my majesty,” Tabula commented. “Women should be much stronger. What a horrible thing this stepsister did.”

  “Well, let’s not be too harsh on the little brat,” Carmilla waved a hand in the air. “I did worse than cutting someone’s toe off for Angel—I’ve given him my flesh and blood. Right, Shew?"

  Shew nodded, worried about the Queen’s suggestive implications.

  Of course, you’ve done worse, you child killer!

  “So where was I again?” Carmilla wondered.

  “The girl cutting her toe off,” Bloody Mary snickered from inside the mirror without showing herself.

  “I know you love this part, Mary,” Carmilla said. “So although the world conspired against the prince and the poor girl’s pure, puppy, pitiful love, he finally found her in the home of her stepmother.”

  “Didn’t the shoe fit her stepsister?” Shew finally interacted.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Pigeons warned the prince about the stepsister and urged him to look at her foot after she had tried the shoe on. The prince saw that the stepsister was bleeding from the cut, and immediately knew the girl was an imposter.”

  “She got what she deserved, my majesty,” Tabula said.

  “Yes, she did, but we’re not talking about the stepsister. She is by no means the main character here,” Carmilla said. So, in the end, love, in its most clichéd state, finally prevailed in this little Italian bedtime story. And the Creators clapped their hands, applauding the girl who went from rags to riches and won the prince’s heart,” Carmilla clapped her gloved hands elegantly, her palms barely touching.

  “So what’s the point of this boring story, mother?” Shew dared to ask.

  “I’ve always loved how impatient you are, Shew. You know impatient girls always get what they want, don’t you?” Carmilla said. “Here is the point of this glass shoe story—I told you the Godmother had given her a pair of glass shoes, didn’t I? Long boring story short, the love between the prince and the girl made the Creators cry,” she pretended to wipe tears from her eyes, the way pantomime actresses did in old black and white movies. “So the Creators decided that to honor their love, they’d redesign the landscape of Italy into a shoe, an epitaph to the single shoe that saved the love of the shoe-crossed—I mean star-crossed—lovers.”

  “So this is basically the story of how Italy came to be,” Tabula said. “I understand now.”

  Shew wondered if Carmilla was talking about Cerené. But how was that possible? This story happened centuries ago. Maybe she was talking about Bianca, or Cerené’s ancestors.

  “So back to that Slave Maiden,” the Queen said. “Her name means ashes in Italian. Suits her fine, actually,” Carmilla said. “She is a low life, will live a low life, and will die an even lower life. I’m only telling you this story so you’ll know the only thing she wants is to meet a prince. She wants to get rich without deserving it. Her friendship with you isn’t real. She’s playing with you. I won’t allow you to be fooled by a Slave Maiden like her.”

  Shew wasn’t going to argue. She was now even more curious about Cerené.

  “I don’t want to hear that you’re talking to her again, understood?” Carmilla said.

  “Of course, mother,” Shew finally said, wondering where Cerené was at the moment.

  “Hmm,” Carmilla leaned slightly forward, looking in Shew’s eyes as if trying to see behind them. “Politeness is not one of your virtues, princess. I wonder if you’re trying to fool me. You know the consequences will be dire if you don’t do as I wish,” she patted Shew’s cheeks.

  Carmilla’s words left Shew confused. Carmilla was putting on some kind of show, the same way she warned her about Cerené’s fake act of friendship. She knew Shew as stubborn, and that warning her would only encourage her to break the rule and meet Cerené again. Why would Carmilla do that?

  “You know I make sure you feed, so you don’t want to keep away from me, believe me,” Carmilla said then showed her a small liver-shaped box. “Look what your mother brought you,” she said, opening the box.

  Shew looked inside the box and felt dazed; her body leaned forward against her will, her fangs drawing out.

  She was staring at a fresh liver.

  “It’s ripe,” Carmill
a said. “And it’s young,” she licked her lips. “I want to feed you the best, dear.”

  Shew pulled the liver up to her mouth and bit into it, sucking the blood dry. She didn’t know how the liver had been preserved. It was more like a bag filled with blood. The blood quenched Shew’s thirst, and she felt guilty for liking it.

  This was a dream, a memory, nothing more, she told herself. The Queen was feeding her, awaiting her sixteenth birthday when she could either turn her into a vampire and fight on the side of Night Von Sorrow or kill her and eat her heart if she disobeyed.

  “Good girl,” Carmilla said, a little iffy about the drops of blood spattered on her face. She was planning to feed her dangerous daughter day by day until her birthday arrived.

  “I will be sending Dame Gothel to you later today to weigh your heart,” Carmilla said. “Be kind to her, and don’t bite her like last time,” she patted her daughter gently then wiped some of the blood from her lips with a red napkin.

  Who the heck am I? What does being a Dhampir really mean? If I fed on so many people in the past, and if I killed all those teenagers in the Schloss, how can I be forgiven? How can I be the good one?

  The blood had entered Shew’s veins like a drug, and she liked it. It was her nature, and it explained why the Wall of Thorns wanted to kill her. She was a Sorrow after all, and she had a big choice to make, to stay a Sorrow or fight the Sorrows.

  “What do you mean by weighing my heart?” Shew asked.

  Carmilla’s face knotted slightly. The Queen had a minimalist way of showing facial expressions as if not wanting to wrinkle her beautiful face. She had been working hard—killing girls and swimming in their blood—each week to stay beautiful. She wasn’t going to allow it to fade so easily, just to please her daughter with a tender smile. “Your heart needs to be weighed each week. No more questions asked. I offer you food and shelter and private schooling like a good mother. In exchange, I’d like you to do as I say without too many questions. Are we clear?”

  Shew nodded.

  Carmilla’s tone was scary. She smiled flatly at her obedient daughter then stood up slowly, taking her time. She never did anything in a hurry. She rubbed her dress gently as if she had caught germs from sitting on her daughter’s bed then turned and walked out of the room.