I wrote this AGES ago. When a friend read it, he called it a fuck fest and enjoyed it. I’ll only post a bit more than the first page here (the clean part). It is my version of a Cinderella story. February is at an end. A month to celebrate love. A love of books, words, seasons, friends, people, and anything else you can imagine! This Monday was reputed to be Tell a Fairy Tale Day. It is now Wednesday, I’ll share a smidge of one anyway! Because I love words and stories and fairy tales. I don’t believe in the magical tales, but I love them just the same. (ending song from Youtube)
All Hallows Eve– Kris, (Northen Amethyst)
Cynarilla twirled giddily in the tiny room off the kitchen where she slept.
“Godfather, this is the most beautiful costume in the world!”
Her Godfather smiled lasciviously. The frosty white spider web lace over abbreviated lavender with onyx and amethyst accents down to the black crystal shoes was rather delicious paired with the mask in the darker hues. The silver tiara atop her golden tresses was really the crowning touch. Making the whole ensemble memorable, magical, and seductive. A large ghost pumpkin in the yard was transformed with a couple of pill bugs, a cricket, and a sleepy snake into a proper retinue for a princess heading to a ball. Cynarilla was loaded into the coach with admonitions echoing in her ears.
“You must remember to be home by midnight. Not fair, I know, but it is all the magic I can spare on All Hollow’s Eve. And a bit of a hint, the prince, isn’t exactly charming. He has a taste for….” His voice trailed off as he looked at his young creation.
“Will he eat me, Godfather?”
The darkly handsome Godfather looked at the full moon and the feminine confection perched in the carriage and nodded a definite yes.
“He just might, Cynarilla, he just might. Nor would I blame him if he did.”
He reached up and kissed the young woman on her neck, leaving a glowing beauty mark on her heart vein.
The magical spark that ran through the girl with the kiss started the coach and they were off! As the coach flew over the frosty ground, Cynarilla thought about her Godfather’s words. Being forced to live as a lower maid subjected her to many experiences beyond those of the pampered daughter she had been. After her parents died and her aunt and cousins had moved in, she was moved to the scullery. There were only a couple of servants left from before and they had almost forgotten who she had been. If her Fairy Godfather hadn’t showed up one tearful teenage birthday eve, Cynarilla would have thought her future as anything but a servant was for naught. She decided she wouldn’t talk while she was at the ball. It might prove difficult, but she didn’t want her evening hampered by consequences. Or at least, not too many. She thought about the prince and hoped for a magical dream come true.
She arrived late, hidden from the announcing footmen in a mist which vanished as her crystal shoe touched the dance floor. The shimmering vision of the froth of lace and flesh piqued the interest of the jaded prince and the two waltzed off into the night.
As they danced, he whispered juicy tidbits about the notables in the ballroom. She giggled at his stories, quickly realizing the handsome prince and his two equally handsome friends were as heady a brew as the punch being served in delicate glass. She didn’t care. She was having the time of her life and she loved being taken care of by the three most adorable men in the kingdom as they tag teamed her for every dance and refreshment. When Cynarilla noticed the music fading and discovered she was in a private nook off the ballroom, she felt her heart flutter in anticipation. The prince took her hand and led her out into the night while his friends stood close by.
Gently, he cupped her masked face in his hands and touched her lips with his. It was if all the power of every one of her impotent daydreams poured into their kiss. She felt thunder in her veins and lightening sparked on her skin. Their bodies pressed against each other in hunger, their mouths opened, and their tongues darted between sharp teeth. Under the passion, Cynarilla heard bells, relentless and measured.
She wrenched herself away from the stunned prince and ran past his visibly startled friends to the outer stairwell. She raced to the driveway and her waiting coach, tumbling in and losing one of her beautiful shoes. The pill bug team left the castle in a haze of descending fog. The bells finished tolling and Cynarilla was left in a disheveled heap on the icy road in thrice mended rags halfway to her home. The critters scurried and slithered away at the sound of hoof beats. Scared into new terror, she scampered into the bushes as three horses galloped past the lone pumpkin on the frosty verge. A mute reminder of those consequences.
Cynarilla hugged her arms around herself and shivered. Stepping across the road she noticed a black crystal shoe and smiled. She quickly picked it up, thankful it hadn’t been broken in the melee, and tucked it into her apron pocket as a memory of the Prince’s All Hallows Eve Ball.