Faeiria Glassboria's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

Faeiria turned from the carriage and looked at the girl standing before it. Cinderella wore a plain work dress, stained at the hem and frayed at the sleeves. Her hair was still tangled from the hours spent in the workshop. The carriage was magnificent. The girl was not ready. Faeiria reached into the air and pulled. The space between her fingers shimmered and tore, revealing something beyond the world itself. Light poured through the opening, soft and terrible, the kind of radiance that existed before stars were named. She drew out a length of silk that moved like water and breath combined, woven from colors that had no earthly equivalent. The fabric rippled with patterns that shifted as she held it—wings folding into dawn, dawn melting into song. This was celestial cloth, the same material that clothed beings who stood before thrones of fire. She laid it across her palms and spoke three words in a language Cinderella could not hear. The silk began to rise. The fabric wrapped itself around Cinderella without touching her skin. It moved with intention, layering blue over gold over silver, each fold appearing exactly where it needed to be. The bodice formed first, fitted perfectly to the girl's frame, then the sleeves emerged like captured light. The skirt bloomed outward in waves of color—sapphire depths giving way to seafoam, seafoam brightening into honey and cream. Gold embroidery appeared along the hem, not stitched but grown, as if the dress itself was a living thing deciding what it wanted to become. But halfway through, the magic faltered. The skirt hung incomplete on one side, the bodice still translucent where it should have been solid. Faeiria frowned and pushed harder, pouring more power into the weaving. The dress resisted. It wanted something she had not yet given it. Faeiria stopped and understood. The dress needed to be seen to be finished. She raised her wand and struck the ground once. A mirror rose from the earth, its frame carved from pumpkin vines that twisted and bloomed with tiny golden flowers. The glass surface was flawless, reflecting the cottage and the patch and the girl standing half-transformed between them. Cinderella turned toward it and gasped. The moment her eyes met her own reflection, the dress completed itself. The translucent sections solidified. The unfinished side cascaded into full skirts that pooled at her feet like water made of starlight. She looked like someone who belonged in a palace. Someone who deserved to be seen. Faeiria lowered her wand and felt the weight of what she had just done. The girl had a carriage. She had a gown. She had everything she needed for tonight. And when midnight came, Faeiria would have to watch it all disappear.