Faeiria Glassboria's Arc

Chapter 3 of 11

Faeiria stepped out of the workshop and looked at the pumpkin patch. The work was done. Cinderella's hands were clean. But the girl still had nothing to wear, no way to reach the palace, and no proof she belonged anywhere but here among the rotting vines. She walked through the rows until she found what she needed. A pumpkin sat half-buried in weeds, its surface spotted with decay. Most of it had already collapsed inward, the flesh soft and brown. Faeiria knelt beside it and placed one hand on the sagging rind. She felt the resistance immediately. The magic wanted something beautiful to work with. Something whole. This pumpkin had been forgotten, left to die alone in the dirt. It was exactly right. Faeiria raised her wand and spoke a single word. Light poured from her palm into the rotting shell. The pumpkin shuddered and began to split apart. But instead of crumbling, it opened like a treasure box, revealing layer after layer of glowing platinum, diamonds sharp as stars, and sapphires that held the depth of midnight. The pieces lifted into the air and began to turn. Metal folded over gemstone. Wheels formed from spiraling vines that hardened into gold filigree. Windows appeared, their glass so clear it looked like captured moonlight. When the light faded, a carriage stood before her, blue and gold and impossible. It looked like something a queen would ride in. Not a girl locked out of her own home. Cinderella came to the workshop door and stopped. She stared at the carriage, her mouth open, one hand pressed to her chest. Faeiria watched her face and saw the exact moment the girl understood. This was real. This was hers. Cinderella took three steps forward, then ran the rest of the way. She touched the carriage door with trembling fingers, then turned back to Faeiria with tears streaming down her face. Not grief this time. Not fear. Something Faeiria had no name for, but recognized all the same. The kind of hope that hurt because it had been gone so long.