Faeiria Glassboria's Arc

Chapter 2 of 11

Cinderella's hand shook as she pulled a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket. The wax seal had already been broken. She held it out to Faeiria without meeting her eyes. "I can't go," she said. "Not like this." Faeiria took the invitation and read the script at the bottom. The words were clear: All guests must arrive with the day's work complete and hands unstained by labor. Faeiria looked at Cinderella's fingers, raw and red from scrubbing. Behind her, piled against the cottage wall, sat a mountain of laundry, dirty dishes, and cleaning tools that hadn't been there this morning. Her stepmother had sent them. Faeiria felt the weight of it before Cinderella spoke. "She gave me until midnight," the girl whispered. "I'll never finish." Faeiria closed her eyes and felt for the instructions she'd been given. They materialized in her palm as a glass pumpkin that played a soft, sad melody when she turned it over. Inside, written in light, were the rules: She could grant the ball. She could grant the dress and the carriage. But she could not erase the price Cinderella's stepmother had set. The work had to be done, or the invitation would burn to ash when the clock struck twelve. Faeiria set the glass pumpkin down and looked at Cinderella. "Then we do the work," she said. She raised her wand and the air around them split open. A building rose from the pumpkin patch, its blue towers glowing with fae light. Inside, the workshop hummed with motion. Brooms swept on their own. Water heated itself in silver basins. Faeiria guided Cinderella through the door and handed her the first clean cloth. "I can't make her love you," Faeiria said quietly. "But I can make sure you're not alone." They worked side by side, angel and girl, and by the time the last dish gleamed, Cinderella was crying. Not from grief this time. From something else.