Gwyneth props her hands on her hips and scowls at the mice. They disappear under my blankets, no doubt leaving me poop presents for later. “If you encourage those mice, they aren’t ever going to leave.”
“How am I encouraging them?” I am encouraging them. I don’t want them to leave. They don’t judge my chaos.
She thrusts the dress at me. “You gave them your sleep dress.”
I whip the potato sacks off and grab the dress, sliding it over my head with a grimace. It’s tight and itchy. My boobs are pushed up to my chin, creating a plate for stray crumbs come meal time. I guess that’s a blessing. She pushes me in front of the mirror, snatches a wooden comb from the table, and begins dragging it through my stubborn dark curls.
The mirror man eyeballs my appearance. “Don’t say it,” I warn.
He holds his hands up. “Fair Delia,” he starts.
I roll my eyes and wave at him. “Daphne. Make yourself useful and move. I need to see how I look.”
“You are the fairest in all of Far, Far Away and the most delightful creature to grace this most joyous annus.”
That isn’t much of an achievement. Far, Far Away is a small step away from the wasteland of So Far Away where the scariest of monsters spend their miserable lives waiting for the annus that will end their existence. Then what? We aren’t part of the glorious Hallowed, so our next life doesn’t entail the possibility of resurrection in Idylican, where the precious few ascend, or even an eternal life in Blazes, where the Hallowed are punished for their misdeeds. The most Burghers, like me, can hope for is to spend this life in servitude to the Hallowed. Broken and malfunctioning fairy tale creatures named The Burghers litter the land of Far, Far Away, while our perfect counterparts, The Hallowed, spend their blissful diurnals in their various castles and rich lands.
“I can’t believe we traded Betsy for this thing,” I mumble with a wince as Gwyneth tugs through a stubborn tangled curl. The man in the mirror moves, revealing my dirty face. My big blue eyes are as clear as the cloudless sky stretching over the land.
“Betsy was a liability.”
“She was a great goat.”
“She bleated throughout the diurnal and sundown. She also kicked anyone who tried to get near her.”
Gwyneth tames my hair into two long braids, tightening the skin on my face and making my scalp ache.
“How long until Charming is here?” I ask, already wanting to swap my dress for pants and a shirt.
“Ten tempos.”
The kettle whistles as she ties a blue ribbon into the bottom of the braids. Gwyneth spins around and pours the heated water into a bowl. She dips a worn but clean rag into it, spins me to face her, and wipes the smudges of dirt from my face. Only the best for the blessed Hallowed.
She nods once at my appearance with a sigh and pinches my cheeks.
“Ow.”
“You are too pale.”
“I have no interest in making an impression, so keep your attraction techniques to yourself,” I grumble as I pour the remaining water from the bowl into a chipped gray cup and dunk a crude nasty-smelling tea bag in it. Rothel the witch promised it would help my clumsiness, but then again, she was a rejected witch for a reason. Hopefully, I wouldn’t sprout facial hair, which takes more than a few diurnals to wear off.
“You can’t drink that. I just washed your face in it.”
“And I’m going to drink it with my face,” I point out. “So, what’s the problem? It’s not like I washed my floof in there. Now that, I wouldn’t drink.”
She wrinkles her delicate nose at me. “Don’t call it that.”
I take a sip of the tea and stick my tongue out. “What would you have me call it?” I wonder.
“Vagina,” she snaps. “If you are old enough to use it, you are old enough to say it.” She grasps the cup and plucks it from my hands. I let it go, because damn, my face tastes disgusting. Plus, she has an unnatural strength for a person of short stature.
“Five tempos,” she mutters, maneuvering me toward the entrance. I grab the handle and pull open the creaky wooden oval door. A gust of warm air rushes in to greet me, encouraging me to step out into the bright sunshine.
“Ribbit,” something croaks. I glance down, finding a line of six large, slimy, green frogs.
“I told you kissing that frog at the waterhole would have consequences,” Gwyneth says.
I shrug. “It was dare or defy, and I wasn’t telling Jack and Jill where my stash of gold is.”
