Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  “Fine. She is right. It’s the last you’ll hear of it from me,” I said, hating myself for it but feeling proud. “But understand this: A true love of my daughter’s is family. You may not realize this, but your grandmother looked out for me in that orphanage. We have history. All of this was meant to be. And you?” I reached out to touch her arm. “Will always have a home with me.”

  The small talk behind the other side of the curtain stopped. There was a moment of silence. Then, in a tiny whisper, I heard my daughter’s words. In a hoarse voice, she said, “Thank you. I love you, Mom.” And that? Well, I’d call that true love too.

  Erin Lee Acknowledgments

  As always, thank you to my readers, who are my happy ending. Your ongoing support keeps me putting the pen to the page. I hope I can make you proud.

  Shout out to my author friends, who keep me laughing and coming back for more including Olivia Marie, Rena Marin, Lorah Jaiyn, and Tiffany Carby. Thank you my diligent editors, who put up with my silly mistakes and the beta readers who find my holes. Of course, thank you to Kimberly Lee and Rita Delude for being alongside me in this journey every step of the way. You two would be my Merna and Sylvia; batshit crazy about finding ways to break the curse and I love you for it.

  Thank you to my true loves: my sons and Matty G, who have tirelessly supported me through my own health issues over the past year. Matty, you have risked your own health for mine and, while it doesn’t surprise me, it’s not unnoticed. Your unselfishness and understanding of who I am is exactly what has carried me through difficult times. You are my reason for everything. It is because of you that I refuse to sleep. I wouldn’t want to miss a second. I hope I can return the favor. I love you.

  Lastly, thank you to my friends outside book world, who help keep me active and living a ‘real world’ life. Without you, I would get lost in the stories and miss moments that can’t be captured with words.

  About Erin Lee

  USA Today Bestselling Author Erin Lee, who also writes as EL George, is a dark fiction/reality/speculative author and therapist chasing a crazy dream one wild story at a time. But she is adventurous enough to delve into multi-genres including sci-fi, romance, YA, vampires, fantasy, and paranormal.

  She is a prolific author, as this (only partial) list attests. Diary of a Serial Killer Series: Jimmie’s Ice Cream, Thing Fifteen, Momma, Cotton Candy, and Lizzie. Psychological/Thrillers: Lola Party of Eight Series: Alters, Host, and Merge; 99 Bottles, The Cell, Dare, Kept, Dangerous Games, Hangman, Twisted Things, and Midnight Kiss. Horror/Dark reads: The Ranch, Moving On, The Cabin, and Daddy’s Girl. Circus Freak Series: Circus Freak, Smoe, Being Martha, The Contortionist, Star, and Blenders. Escape Reality Series: Greener, Circus Freak, Soul-Less, and Apryl’s Fools. YA/Teen/LGBT: Freak, Scary Mary, and Pretty Bones—the prequel to Boned, and The Ghosts Who Raised Me. Horror: Lizzie, The Haunt, Wendigo, Rotten, Soul-Less, Vegan, When Darkness Whispers, and Pawn Takes All.

  Romance/Dark Romance/Paranormal Romance: Something Blue, The Morning After, White Antelope, No Shame, Risking Destiny, Bella Amore, and Unsuitable Companions. Social Work/Family books: Losing Faith, Take Me as I Am, Wave to Papa, Goodbye Unicorns and Fix Me by EL George. New Adult: Nine Lives, From Russia, With Love, To Hell with Russia, and Boned. Mythology/Fantasy/Other: The Curiosities of Seafoam: An Erin Lee Short, Once Upon A Reality: Twisted Spins on the Classics, Twice Upon A Reality, Third Time’s A Charm?, Crazy Like Me, Love Like Crazy, Shrink Rap, and It’s a Rap? Poetry: Between the Cushions.

  She has stories in these anthologies: 13: An Anthology of Horror and Dark Fiction, 13: Déjà Vu, 13: Night Terrors, 13: Resurrection, Carnival of Fear, Carnival of Nightmares, Slashing Through the Snow, Unconditional—ASPCA Charity, Fractured Fairytales: Book One, Craving: Secrets, Craving: Security, Craving: Christmas, Craving: Forbidden, Classic Twists, Wings of the Wicked Box Set, Beyond Oz, Beyond Wonderland, Seven: Virtue, Love (Still) Sucks, What Lies Beyond the Shadows, Desperate Measures Box Set, Love Rocks Box Set, Night, Night Sleep Tight, Shopping List, Volume 2, Beautiful Tragedies Poetry, Mirror, Capture, Insane Insomnia, Unmasking the Ripper, Siren’s Lullaby, After Ever After, Villains Ever After, Freaky Fetish, The End?, Beyond Wonderland, Beyond Oz, Classic Twists, and Infamy.

  Lee has a master’s degree in psychology and works with grieving, end of life families and as a court appointed special advocate. When she isn’t busy dissecting the human experience, she enjoys escaping from reality through reading and a myriad of crazy adventures that will probably one day get her killed. She’s cool with that. Because life? It’s one big adventure and it’s not about the happy ending. It’s about the journey.

  AUTHOR LINKS:

  Follow Erin Lee at:

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/gonecrazytalksoon/

  Fan Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/CrazyInklings/

  Web: www.authorerinlee.com

  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/author_erin_lee/

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13994843.Erin_Lee

  Amazon: http://amzn.to/2vgAePW

  Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/erinlee1974/

  Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/erin-lee

  MeWe: https://mewe.com/profile/5ad803cea5f4e567a900dc8e

  To join her Facebook street team and fan club group, look for Crazy Ink Events and Promo, Crazy Inklings and/or The Outsiders Street Team.

  Follow Author EL George at:

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorELGeorge/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/CrazyLikeMe2015

  Erin Lee is the founder of Crazy Ink Publishing:

  Booksprout: https://booksprout.co/author/4302/erin-lee-crazy-ink

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/CrazyInkPub/

  Crazy Ink promo group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/CrazyInkPub/

  Crazy Ink website: www.crazyink.org

  Cover design group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/435293913643991/

  Swag: https://www.facebook.com/CrazyCreationsCI/

  Online store: Crazy Inklings @CrazyCreations: crazy-inklings.myshopify.com

  Part Eight

  Beautiful Grace: A Romancing Marchen Short Story by Jennifer L. Allen

  A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

  Dedication

  In Loving Memory of

  Aunt Barbara

  Prologue

  Grace

  Fake plastic snow covered the floor of the high school cafeteria, glittering every time the white and blue lights shone on it. White paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, occasionally catching that same light. The tables were covered in silvery cloth, and the centerpieces were metallic silver starbursts. Winter wonderland was the theme, and the prom committee had executed it beautifully.

  I stood off to the side of the room, watching couples slow dance to yet another Boyz II Men song. I didn’t have a date, having chosen to come stag so I wouldn’t miss an important milestone in my teenage life...senior prom. My friends didn’t have dates either, but when I asked them to come with me, they said they’d rather stay home than show up at prom alone. That kind of thing didn’t bother me. I stood out whether I was by myself or in a group. I had spent some of the night chatting with a friend of a friend who had also come alone, but he was in the school’s audiovisual club and got roped into helping out with something behind the scenes.

  So there I stood. I may have been alone, but I was at my senior prom.

  The slow song ended, and couples split up. A techno dance song came on and the girls shrieked and formed little dancing cliques. Their dates watched them in groups from the side of the dancefloor. Occasionally one of the guys would catch sight of me across the way and point, then they and their friends would laugh. It happened periodically throughout the night, girls and guys laughing at me. It had been happening since junior high, and I stopped letting it bother me years ago. “Be the bigger person,” my mother had always said.

  So that’s what I was...always the bigger person
. Classmates would whisper and laugh and say things like “Leatherface,” “Freddy Kreuger,” and the oh-so-original “Scarface.” I would ignore their jeers and go about my business. I would kill them with kindness and grace. I would smile when all I really wanted to do was cry. I would never let them see the hurt it caused.

  “That’s such a pretty dress,” someone said, bringing me back to the present. I looked to my left, it was Rosanna Harris. She was one of the most popular girls in my class, and I couldn’t believe she was talking to me.

  “Thank you,” I told her, resisting the urge to twirl and show off the back of the dress. It was a floor length chiffon gown with a cascade ruffle in the back. The one-shoulder design helped hide some of my scars, and the pale pink color didn’t drown out my light complexion.

  “You look pretty, too,” I said, remembering my manners. Rosanna didn’t look pretty, though, she looked beautiful. She was in a long, black halter gown with a white ribbon around her tiny waist. Her hair was up in a fancy updo, and she had silver chandelier earrings with what were probably diamonds in them. I’d always envied her straight, white blonde hair. My darker blonde, curly hair always looked messy in comparison.

  She laughed lightly. “You’re so sweet, Grace,” she said. “Always so sweet.” The compliment sounded derisive, but she was smiling, so maybe I was imagining things.

  The dance song ended, and the class president went up to the podium on the small stage next to the DJ table. My cheeks warmed as J.T. Bell took the mic and cleared his throat. He was so handsome and a genuinely nice guy. He always seemed to look at me, not my scars. Not that we’d interacted all that much over the years. He was one of the popular kids. In fact, he was Rosanna’s boyfriend. I thought I heard Rosanna laugh again, but when I peeked at her in my periphery, she was just smiling at J.T..

  “Hello, seniors!” J.T. called, earning some wild responses from the crowd. Girls shrieked and guys hooted. Rosanna laughed at the spectacle some players from the football team were making...their end zone dances, maybe? I didn’t know, but I was caught up in the excitement, too, laughing along with her and feeling like I belonged there in that cafeteria with my classmates. We were seniors at our senior prom, and this was our last hoorah before graduation. I gave a “woohoo” and clapped with the rest of them, lost in the moment.

  J.T. and the class vice president, Katy Jordan, went on to award members of the senior class with various superlatives. Everyone laughed as John Wilson did the worm across the stage to accept his award. He was aptly named class clown, and the slideshow showed an image of him from his ventriloquist skit at the school’s talent show. J.T. blushed when he was awarded class heartthrob. A few more awards were handed out for most likely to succeed, best car, and best smile.

  “And now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for...prom king and queen,” J.T. said.

  “Oh, J.T.,” Katy Jordan cooed. “You missed one.” She handed him an envelope and he frowned. They exchanged a few words, but their mics were down so no one could hear what they were saying.

  J.T. shrugged and lifted his mic. “Looks like we’ve got one more category for you tonight,” he said as he opened the envelope. “The winner of most...unique...is,” he flipped over the card just as Katy Jordan pressed the button on the slideshow remote to move to the next picture.

  My yearbook picture stared back at me and the rest of the senior class. My face was angled just so and my hair set just right so that my scars were mostly covered. Of course, it was impossible to completely cover the right side of my face.

  “Grace Adams,” J.T. said, his voice echoing in the sudden quiet. He sounded as confused as I felt.

  That hadn’t been a category we’d voted on the week before when we received the ballots for class superlatives. This had to be a joke, right? A sick, stupid joke. Most unique? Well, yeah. The girl with the scars on her face from a freak motorcycle accident had to be the most unique in the senior class.

  No one said a word, but they all turned to look at me.

  “Go on up,” Rosanna said in her saccharine sweet voice. She even gave me a little push.

  I glanced at her. The smile she wore that I’d only partially seen before was as derisive as her tone had been. I wanted to tell her to fuck off. I wanted to tell them all to fuck off. But I wouldn’t. I would ignore them. I would kill them with kindness and grace. I would smile and push my way through this situation like I pushed my way through every other embarrassing situation I’d experienced since gaining my scars.

  I pasted on my brightest smile, fake as it was, and kept my chin up and my back straight as I left Rosanna’s side and made my way to the stage. J.T. looked uncomfortable and Katy looked pleased with herself as she tapped the rolled piece of paper against her free hand. She smirked as she handed it to me and then took two steps back. I turned to face the senior class, my cheeks--well, cheek--on fire but my smile still firmly in place. They all looked so elegant and classy in their formal dress. They looked like anything but what they actually were...immature children.

  No one said anything as my eyes scanned the crowd, smile still firmly in place. I must have either looked like I was happy to be considered for an award or like I was a little crazy. I didn’t know, I just knew I wasn’t going to let them see me break.

  As I took a step forward to move off the stage, I was hit with something from out in the crowd. It hit my right shoulder and burst. I looked down and my pretty pink dress was stained red. There was what looked like a broken latex balloon on the floor by my feet.

  What the hell?

  I looked up, expecting to see the culprit, but I only saw my classmates looking at me. Pointing and whispering.

  Another hit, this time on the left. Another one, then another one. One hit my forehead, the dyed water running into my eyes. I held up my hands to guard my face, but one after another after another came at me. I wanted to run but I was frozen in place. Where were the teachers? The chaperones?

  People were laughing now. I couldn’t see because whatever they used to dye the water stung my eyes. I didn’t know where the balloons were coming from and which direction I needed to block. I tried to move out of the way, but I didn’t know where to go. I was frozen in place, pelted with balloon after balloon. The small water bombs stung as they pinged off my skin. I took a step to the side in a meager effort to escape and tripped, falling to my knees. Pain shot through my legs and I cried out. Rolling to my side, I pulled my knees into my chest as my classmates continued to pelt me. With my face tucked away, I cried.

  Their laughter and woots...the sound of their fun...haunted me for a very, very long time.

  Chapter 1

  Grace

  My eyes blinked open, catching sight of the ceiling fan. The rotations of the blades were much like my life lately. Spinning, spinning, spinning. At least it felt that way, punctuated by last night’s dream.

  That dream was different, though. Usually when I dreamt about that night, I imagined myself walking off the makeshift stage with my head held high, red dye be damned. A final fuck-you to the senior class for trying to humiliate me, yet again, for my differences.

  My uniqueness.

  Last night’s dream was, well, it was how it really happened. I’d lost all the bravado I’d ever had and cried on the floor of the stage like a baby. I’d reached the end of my rope. Who could blame me? That might also be the reason for the third version of that dream…the one where I went all Stephen King’s Carrie on them…fires and explosions everywhere.

  I knew it all had to do with the fact that after ten years away, I’d finally returned to the small town of Marchen. It was the last place I’d expected to take my library science degree, but when the librarian position at the elementary school had become available at the same time my mother got sick, I saw it as a sign.

  I sighed, getting up from my bed. Today was the first day of school and despite the dream, I was looking forward to it. I couldn’t wait to meet the kids. I’d always wanted to work in an
elementary school, and I spent the last four years biding my time as an assistant librarian in a collegiate library at a small Christian university. I’d miss a handful of my coworkers, but I was more than ready for the change.

  I zipped through my morning routine and dressed in the outfit I’d laid out for myself the night before: a black pencil skirt and a soft purple sweater vest over a white button down. I never wore a lot of makeup, choosing only to dust on a little blush, mascara, and a dark lip gloss. My wavy blonde hair was swept back into a loose, low bun.

  I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. If I hadn’t worn them for years, I’d never have known I’d once had scars marring the right side of my face, shoulder, and arm. The plastic surgeon had done wonders to erase the evidence of the accident from my skin.

  I blotted my lips and flipped off the light without another glance at the familiar stranger in the mirror.

  Maybe one day I’d get used to her.

  I reached for my favorite heels, then opted for the black patent leather flats instead, knowing I’d be on my feet most of the day as the kindergarten classes took turns coming to the library. My predecessor had told me that first through third grades were often self-sufficient, only requesting help finding items occasionally, but the kindergarteners were an entirely hands-on bunch. I was looking forward to it.