The days that followed were filled with silence, a heavy, unsettling kind of quiet that seemed to settle over the castle like a thick fog. The prince had retreated, but we all knew it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Cinderella's body had stopped trembling, though she was far from being at peace. Every moment, I could feel the tension simmering beneath her skin, the barely contained storm that could erupt at any moment. But now, there was something else there—something that hadn't been there before. A spark of hope. A flicker of control.
She was still herself. She wasn't the weapon the prince wanted her to be.
We spent our days in the castle's library, combing through old tomes, searching for anything that might give us a clue about the power inside Cinderella and how to stop it from taking over. I was determined to find something—anything—that could give us an edge, something the prince had overlooked.
But every answer we found led to more questions. The magic that had been seeded inside Cinderella was ancient, older than the prince's dark schemes, and far more complex than I had ever imagined. It wasn't just the bloodline that connected her to her father—it was something deeper, something tied to the very fabric of this land. This power wasn't meant to be controlled; it was meant to be unleashed.
And if the prince had his way, it would be unleashed on the world.
I found Cinderella sitting in front of a massive stone fireplace one evening, staring into the flames. Her hands were curled into fists, her knuckles white, and her face was a mask of concentration. She wasn't speaking, wasn't moving, but I could feel the storm inside her building, like the rumble of thunder before a lightning strike.
I stepped softly toward her, not wanting to disturb her too much. "You okay?" I asked, my voice low, though I already knew the answer.
Her eyes flickered toward me, but she didn't speak. I sat down beside her, the warmth of the fire offering a strange kind of comfort. "I've been thinking," she said after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper.
"About what?"
She hesitated, staring back into the flames. "About the prince. About the power. And what it means for me."
I turned to face her fully, my gaze focused on the subtle trembling in her shoulders. "What do you mean?"
"I know what he's trying to do," she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. "He's not just using me. He's... he's trying to turn me into something. Something I don't want to be. Something I can't control."
Her words hit me harder than I expected. She wasn't just afraid of the prince; she was afraid of herself. Afraid of the power that was growing inside her, threatening to break free at any moment.
"You don't have to let him do that," I said, my voice firm. "You're not like him, Cinderella. You never were."
She closed her eyes, but I could see the tears gathering at the corners of her lashes. "What if I can't control it? What if it takes me over like it did my father? What if I end up doing the same things he did? Becoming just like him?"
I reached out, gently touching her arm. "You're not your father," I said, my voice filled with conviction. "And you won't become him. You have a choice. You've always had a choice."
She turned her head to look at me, her eyes filled with pain and uncertainty. "But what if the choice is taken from me? What if there's no way to fight it?"
I wanted to say something that would make her believe again, something that would erase the doubt in her eyes. But all I could do was hold her gaze and try to show her, with every fiber of my being, that there was still hope.
"You can fight it," I said, my words as much a promise to myself as to her. "You just have to believe that you can."
We sat there in silence for a while, the fire crackling softly in front of us. But I couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment, the weight of everything that was coming. The prince wasn't going to stop until he had what he wanted—until he had Cinderella under his control, fully and completely.
And the longer we waited, the more dangerous it became.
As the days passed, I began to notice subtle changes in Cinderella. She wasn't trembling as much, and the light in her eyes seemed to flicker with more confidence. But I also saw the exhaustion creeping in, the toll that this internal battle was taking on her.
I could see it in her movements—every step was slow, deliberate, like she was trying to keep herself from falling apart. Every word she spoke was measured, as though she was afraid that if she said too much, the storm inside her would break free.
One evening, as we sat at a table covered with books and maps, she looked at me, her expression more serious than I had ever seen it. "I think I've found something," she said quietly, her fingers tracing a line in the ancient text before her. "It's a ritual. A way to sever the connection between the power and me."
I leaned in, my heart skipping a beat. "What kind of ritual?"
"It's old," she said, her voice trembling as she read the words. "But it might be our only chance. It's designed to... to cut the bond that ties me to the source of the power. But it's dangerous, Red. It could destroy me just as easily as it could free me."
I swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on my chest. I could feel my pulse quicken at the thought of losing her, but I knew this was our only shot. The prince wouldn't stop until he had complete control over her, and we didn't have the luxury of time.
"If there's a chance, we have to take it," I said, my voice filled with determination.
She met my gaze, her eyes fierce now. "Then we'll do it together."
I nodded, a sense of resolve settling over me. We couldn't wait any longer. The storm was already on the horizon, and the prince would be back soon. We had to act before it was too late.