Chapter 1
Sweat beaded on my forehead, my lower back aching and already drenched from the heat of the large metal tub before me. Cloth churned as I shoved them down with my wooden paddle, the harsh scent of the deep golden dye burning my nose and making my eyes water.
“Mara!” a small, panicked voice called out, followed by a hurried tapping of tiny shoes on the concrete floor.
I shoved my light brown hair out of my face with the back of my gloved hand and blew out a breath. “Joe. What is it?”
I peered down at the teary-eyed boy who should have been taller than me already. He was barely five feet tall, but malnutrition had stunted his growth, making the gangly thirteen-year-old reach just below my nose. He wrung a rag between his bony fingers, his eyes dunking down to the ground.
“Mara, I don’t know what to do. Rumple is going to kill me. He’ll throw me in the bin for sure and then the rats will eat my toes and... and...” He started huffing in and out, tears cutting a trail down his dirty face.
My eyes darted around the warehouse, making sure the others were well into their work and not paying us any attention. The coast clear, I sat my paddle aside, swiped my hand down my once white, now more grey dress, and clasped his face in my hands.
“Calm down, Joe. Take slow, deep breaths. No one is going to the bin. Just tell me what happened.”
It took several minutes for Joe to finally become calm enough to get the words out. “I... forgot a package for this morning’s orders, and Patrick already left.” He sniffed and swiped his nose with his sleeve.
“Okay, alright. That’s not so bad.” I patted his shoulder and glanced around. “We can get someone to cover your station and then you can go—”
“But I can’t!” Joe cried. “I’m on house arrest. Rumple won’t let me leave for another week after I spent too long at that new candy store.” He dissolved into another fit of tears, pulling the attention of several others near us.
I shushed him quietly and rubbed his back. “Joe, it’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”
There were too many people paying attention to us. Many wouldn’t say anything to Rumple and would keep this to themselves. Others would do about anything to get brownie points with our lord and master, Rumpelstiltskin, even rat out a kid.
I sucked in a deep breath.
Taking the time to help Joe was going to put me behind on my own work, and our master would likely punish me for it. From dawn to dusk, we worked in his clothing factory, weaving, dyeing, and sewing clothes until our backs burned and our fingers ached.
We couldn’t complain or quit. Our contracts magically bound us to the trickster, and anyone who dared tried to get out of their contract suffered the consequences. The punishment rangedfrom being grounded to solitary confinement in the bin, which was a tiny metal box meant for the coal to heat the furnace.
I’d spent a lot of time in there when I first arrived, unable to hold my tongue whenever Rumple punished one of us for something unfair or ridiculous. The very thought of being shoved back into that box sent a chill down my spine.
Shooting a glance at my batch of clothing, I calculated the amount of time it would take me to meet up with Patrick and get back here. If I was lucky, I would only lose an hour. If unlucky, I could be here working through the night.
“Okay, you got back to your station, Joe, and let me take care of it.” I gestured to another woman nearby who was walking the aisles. “Mila, can you watch my station for me? I have to run an errand.”
Mila, a woman in her late thirties, glanced over at Joe and then at me, pity crinkling her forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
With that taken care of, I quickly washed my hands and grabbed my cloak from my tiny room off to the side of the factory floor. Most of us lived right up against where we worked so we could always be available whenever there was a last-minute order or a mistake to be fixed. It also meant we never truly got away from the reminder that our lives were not our own.
I gathered the missing order and hustled out the door.
Stepping out of the large, heavy metal doors of the workshop, I could almost pretend like I was just another citizen of Candiopolis. The cool breeze of early winter soothed my too-warm skin. The chattering of the townspeople filled my ears, so different from the tense silence that spanned the workshop.Children ran about without fear of being punished for making noise. Adults shopped or gossiped as they walked along the cobblestone streets.
It was as if the dreary nightmare of our lives didn’t exist outside these doors.
Not having the time to linger, I started through the crowds of people. A few conversations here and there filtered into my ears.
“Did you see the witch’s dress?”
“I can’t believe the prince marriedher.”
“Right? He could have anyone, and he chose that witch.”
It was well known that the prince hadn’t chosen any of the noble ladies that were dying to be the next queen and instead had chosen a commoner, a witch at that. To make matters worse, her shop was well known for its phallic-shaped candies. Which I didn’t hear them complaining about that when they were able to suck down on the prince’s very own schlong in a candy coating. Though the other women at the workshop joked that they were using it for more than just eating.
I rolled my eyes at the comments and kept moving. I didn’t have time to waste listening to idle gossip that didn’t have anything to do with me. I’d never fall in love. I’d never marry. Or have children. Not unless Rumple changed his rules about no males over sixteen in his workshop.
