The clock's final chime echoed like a death knell, and for a split second, everything in the ballroom froze. The music stopped, the laughter died, and the guests—the noblemen, the courtiers, the ones who had all been part of this charade—paused in place. The world felt suspended in time, and I could almost feel the air growing heavier, thick with impending doom.
Cinderella was still by the back door, her gaze fixed ahead, her body rigid, as though she had turned to stone. I moved toward her, the crowd parting like water around me. I couldn't hear their whispers, but I could feel their eyes—curious, calculating, expectant.
I reached Cinderella just as the last of the clock's echoes faded. The moment I touched her arm, her body shuddered, and she blinked, as though waking from a deep sleep. She turned to face me, but the light in her eyes was dimmer than before. There was a heaviness to her expression, a shadow that hadn't been there before.
"Red..." she whispered, her voice distant, like she wasn't fully here. "It's happening."
I grabbed her shoulders, trying to steady her. "What's happening, Cinderella? What do you mean?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, her eyes darted around the room, as though searching for something, or someone. Then her gaze landed on me, and for the first time that night, I saw fear in her eyes. It was raw, unfiltered. "I don't know," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I feel like something's slipping away from me. Like... like I'm not in control anymore."
Before I could respond, a voice rang out from across the room. A familiar voice, smooth and mocking, the kind that could twist any word into a weapon.
"Well, well," the prince said, stepping into view, his silhouette framed by the grand archway. "It seems the game has finally reached its climax."
He was dressed in his finest, his mask still in place, but there was something different about him now—something darker. The ease, the charm, it was all gone, replaced by a coldness that sent a shiver down my spine. His eyes were locked on Cinderella, but there was no tenderness in them. Only calculation.
"Prince," I said, my voice steady but laced with anger. "What have you done to her?"
Cinderella's breath caught in her throat, and she stepped back from me, her body trembling. She looked at the prince as though seeing him for the first time, and I could see the realization dawn on her face—the horror, the betrayal.
The prince chuckled softly, as though my question was some kind of joke. "Done to her? Oh, Red, you have no idea what she's truly capable of. Or who she really is."
Cinderella staggered, her hand pressing to her chest. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What do you mean, who I am?"
The prince's smile widened, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "You don't remember, do you?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "How could you? You've been in the dark for so long."
I stepped forward, my fists clenched at my sides. "Stop playing games, Prince. Tell her what's going on. Tell her the truth."
The prince's gaze shifted to me, his expression turning cold. "The truth? Oh, I have no intention of telling anyone the truth, Red. Not yet. But I think Cinderella deserves to know."
He turned his attention back to her, his eyes gleaming with a twisted sort of satisfaction. "You're not just some helpless girl, Cinderella. You were never meant to be. You were always... more."
Cinderella looked from the prince to me, confusion and fear twisting her features. "More?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"More," he repeated, stepping closer to her. "You were born for something greater. Your father was no ordinary man, and neither are you. You're a weapon, Cinderella. A key to everything I've been building."
My breath caught in my throat as the pieces began to fall into place. The prince, the shoemaker, the insignia—it was all part of a plan. But what was this about Cinderella being a weapon? And what did her father have to do with it?
"You're lying," I said, my voice trembling with rage. "This is madness."
The prince's eyes darkened. "You think I lie? Let her see for herself."
With that, he snapped his fingers, and the room seemed to shift. The walls seemed to close in around us, the air thickening, suffocating. A shadow stretched over Cinderella's face, and for a moment, I thought I saw her eyes flash with a strange, unsettling light.
"What's happening?" I asked, my voice rising. "What are you doing to her?"
Cinderella gasped, her hand flying to her forehead as though something was trying to force its way out of her. "No... no, this can't be..." she whispered, her words broken, like she was struggling against something unseen.
I reached for her, but before I could touch her, the prince raised a hand, stopping me in my tracks. "Don't interfere," he said, his voice low and commanding. "She's awakening."
I watched in stunned silence as Cinderella's body jerked, like something was pulling her from the inside out. Her breathing quickened, her eyes widening with panic. And then, with a violent jolt, her back arched, and her mouth opened in a silent scream.
And then—then—it happened.
The light in her eyes flared, brighter than anything I'd ever seen before, and her body seemed to lift off the ground, as though the air itself was holding her up. The room spun around me, and the prince stepped back, a look of awe and triumph spreading across his face.
"She was always meant for this," he said softly, almost reverently. "She's the catalyst. The spark."
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the light flickered and faded. Cinderella collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, her body trembling violently.
I rushed to her side, my heart pounding in my chest. "Cinderella!" I shouted, cradling her in my arms. She looked at me, her eyes wide and filled with terror.
"What... what did he do to me?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken.
I didn't know how to answer. All I knew was that whatever the prince had done, it had unlocked something within her—something powerful and dangerous.
And the worst part was, I had a sinking feeling that we hadn't seen the last of it.