Page 10 of Cursed By Gold

At the mention of the king, anxiety coils in my gut. I recall his piercing eyes when I stumbled into him at court after the failed jewel heist. My pulse quickens, imagining his reaction if I'm recognized at the ball, even masked.

The hours drag on as I mute my protests and watch bounties of silk unfurled and critiqued. Stepmother finds fault with each gown in turn - too bright, too formal, too revealing, too matronly. The grating discontent in her voice frays my nerves while Petunia and Starla become increasingly desperate to please.

"Oh please mother, I must have this one!" Petunia grasps the fuschia gown to her chest defiantly despite Stepmother's lukewarm reaction. "I'll be the belle of the ball!"

Starla scoffs delicately. "Don't be gauche, sister. Simplicity and taste are what His Majesty will want in a bride." She dons a sleek black gown and gazes at her reflection approvingly.

As they argue over styles and fabrics, my thoughts drift to the imposing king who almost ensnared me. I picture Petunia dripping in gems, hardly able to move under their weight. The king would be dazzled initially, but unlikely to endure her preening.

Starla glides by in a slinky dark gown with a plunging neckline. Much too provocative, I think. The king struck me as rather conservative. Well besides his obsession with gold. The man's entire room was gold, but that was it. No frills, no jewels…just gold.

The afternoon wears on as dress after dress is modeled and critiqued. My hands ache from clutching jewel after jewel. Just one would keep the manor solvent for months... No, stop. Stay focused.

Petunia sweeps by in a massive ballgown, grinning excitedly. "This is the one! I'll be the belle of the ball!" The king would find it overwhelming, I suspect.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they have both decided on their dresses — though I am sure that neither of them is truly happy with their choice. I walk out of the room, my heart heavy with sadness for the wasted money, but hoping that at least one of them will feel some sense of joy and satisfaction as they glide in their chosen gowns through the masquerade.

***

I stand in the darkness, watching the carriage slowly pull away from the estate. The white horses glow in the moonlight, their manes and tails flowing behind them like a gentle river. In the carriage, my stepmother and stepsisters are leaving for themasquerade, and I will soon be following them. Not that they know it.

The thoughts of the upcoming night fill me with nerves. I am excited to go to the masquerade, to dress up and become someone else for a night, to escape from the restrictions of my family. But at the same time, I am afraid of what will happen if I am discovered. I know the consequences of such an action would be dire. I'm not just going to dance the night away. I have a job to complete.

My gaze follows the carriage until it is nothing more than a tiny dot in the darkness. I sigh and turn away from my home and set off in the opposite direction, towards the home of Fairy Godmother. I wrap my cloak tighter, hands buried in its folds against the chill. My breath mists before me as I hurry along the deserted road.

Arriving at the unassuming home, I rap sharply on the weathered door, shifting from foot to foot. Mercifully, the door swings open, spilling warm golden light over me.

Fairy Godmother welcomes me inside with a warm smile, shutting out the chill night air. "Come in, come in! We've got work to do."

I eagerly step over the threshold and breathe a sigh of relief to be out of the cold darkness. Her cozy cottage envelops me in warmth - a crackling fire, the rich aroma of beef stew bubbling. It already feels more like home than the drafty manor I left behind.

Fairy Godmother puts a kettle on to boil. "Let's get you warmed up with some tea while we prepare."

I extend my numb fingers toward the fire. "Bless you, it's miserable out there tonight."

She pats my shoulder affectionately as she passes, kettle whistling. Soon I'm cradling a steaming mug, breathing in the floral scented steam.

"Drink up! Can't have you catching a chill before the ball." Fairy Godmother winks, sipping her own tea.

I laugh softly. "No indeed. Thank you for everything, truly. You've always taken such good care of me."

Her eyes crinkle with a smile both maternal and wistful. "Of course, dear one. Anything for James' little girl."

At the mention of my father's name, a lump forms in my throat. Fairy Godmother had been one of his dearest friends since their youth, closer than kin. She was the one who took me in when I was left bereft and alone after he passed.

Her wrinkled hand reaches out to pat my own where it rests on the worn tabletop. "You have his spirit, you know. That stubborn spark that pushed him to achieve the impossible, no matter the odds."

I glance down, touched and sad all at once. It's been years since his booming laugh echoed through our home, yet the grief still ambushes me at odd moments.

"He would be so proud of the resourceful young woman you've become," she continues gently. "Proud, and utterly unsurprised at your boldness!"

A watery chuckle escapes me at that. She isn't wrong - Father always encouraged my adventurous streak, much to my ladylike governess' chagrin. The memory kindles a faint, bittersweet warmth in my chest.

Fairy Godmother squeezes my hand, her eyes faraway for a moment. "He did everything for you, Scarlet. Just as I will. Whatever it takes."

I clasp her hand tightly in return, vision blurring with grateful tears. With her guidance, I will find a way back to the home and life that was stolen from me.

She smiles, a glint of familiar stubbornness in her gaze. "Now then! We have a ball to prepare for. Try it on," she says as she hands me a delicate mask.

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