My mother was a master manipulator.  But in her current target, she met her match.

            “Enough games.  Which corridor?”  the Grand Duke ordered.  Crossbow strings stretched.  The royal crypt was a maze and finding the proper tomb, time consuming.

            “Mother…” my sister whispered.

            “Now, my dear Grand Duke, there is still—"

            His hand rose.  The crossbow bolts flew.  My only family shrieked and fell.  My heart and leg screamed, but I kept my head, slumping beside them.

            “Split up, search each corridor.”  I waited in agony for their footsteps to fade.  My thigh throbbed but I barely felt it, my heart breaking, feeling the grim stillness of the women beside me.  Finally alone, I crawled to my mother and sobbed.  Her final look of shock frozen on her face. Clutching her until my fingers hurt, my grief sparked and sharpened into a rage as dangerous as lightning.  My solitary thought: revenge.

***

            I hobbled down the correct corridor of black marble, the stone cold against my bare feet.  The fresh pain exacerbated a years-old wound that stole my big toe, forcing me to hug the polished wall to stay upright.

            Entering the queen's tomb, I dirtied the magnificent tilework with my trail of blood.  I attacked the golden lid, the effort taking most of my strength.

            A putrid smell wafted around me as I stepped up.  Queen Cinderella.  A radiant beauty, taken far too soon and reduced to this decaying corpse.  I nodded an apology even though I had hated my goody-goody stepsister in life.

            This would be the ultimate disrespect.

            From my bodice, I retrieved my only “weapon”: a common shoehorn.  The worn wood looked mundane and brandishing it felt ridiculous. Nonetheless I flung the hem of her velvet dress aside, revealing the Grand Duke’s aim: her shoe.

            Even in the dull lantern light, the glass slipper sparkled, alive with magic. It was striking and hypnotizing like an unfulfilled dream on the cusp of becoming reality.

            Shaking my head, I undertook my grim task.  Sliding the shoehorn along her swollen heel, I tipped it slightly, feeling the wood slide beneath her foot and lift the shoe an inch.  And another.  Impatient, I leaned against her icy leg.

            It pulled free, falling into my hands, my possession.  A bitter laugh.  Mine at last.

            “Hand it over, Priscilla,” the Grand Duke demanded.  We locked eyes and rage crackled and buzzed inside me.  I fought back the overwhelming desire to tear him limb from limb, rip the smug smile off his face.

            “I said, hand it over.”

            My heart raced.  Light danced off the slipper, creating little rainbows all over the room.  Magic thrummed beneath my fingers.

            Once, I would’ve killed for this.  I did maim myself for it.  My mother and sister’s faces flashed in my mind.

            I grinned madly.  His face dropped.

            “It’s past midnight.  Time to break this spell.”

            I lifted the treasure, shattering it against Ella’s tomb.  Broken glass flew everywhere and the enchantment returned from whence it came.