Glass: A why choose Cinderella retelling (Forbidden Fairytales)

“Anastasia?”

I jerk my head up, Silas twisting next to me as we both crane our heads to look down the hall. William pauses, his head moving between us as he emerges from the bedroom he shares with my mother. “Well. This looks… cosy.”

“Dad.” Silas sounds exasperated, and Williams laughs. He’s always laughing, even though he looks more tired than usual, with dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says unabashedly. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. But your mother is looking for you, Stasi.”

I scramble up, dread already filling me at the thought of seeing her. “Did she say why?”

William shakes his head, and I notice the smart suit he’s wearing. “She’s not well, so she’s staying behind this evening while I attend the gala. Perhaps she’s missing you. It might be nice, to spend some time together.”

There’s an edge of something in his voice, even as he smiles at me easily enough. I don’t think it’s aimed at me.

I’ve heard the hissed arguments at night. We all have.

Every single one sends me into a panic. Silas doesn’t understand. Rafe and Kit don’t get it either, and I can’t explain. Not without telling them everything.

They don’t know how she works.

But I do. And I can see the signs a mile away.

The waning interest. The feigned excitement, even as her eyes grow dull and bored.

My mother is getting ready to move on.

And as I shuffle towards her bedroom, I pray that I’m wrong.

“Mother?” I call out as I push the door open. It’s dark inside, and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The daylight is still fading into evening, but all the curtains are pulled tightly closed, blocking out any light from getting through.

“Anastasia? Close the door.” My mother sounds groggy, and all I feel is relief. Maybe she’s really sick, and not about to demolish the only good thing I’ve ever had.

But my relief is short-lived.

As soon as the click of the door sounds, the lamp next to her bed is switched on, and she sits up. Her hands beckon me. “Come here. Closer.”

A lump appears in my throat as I gingerly pad over to the bed. “What’s the matter?”

“Anastasia.” She pats the bed. “Sit down.”

Crossing my arms, I stay where I am. “Don’t.”

She doesn’t try to lie to me. Instead, she sighs. “It’s time, sweetheart. This is… not the life I expected.”

My throat begins to prickle, the back of my eyes growing hot. “It’s never what you expect. I’m tired of moving around. I like it here.”

More than like it. This feels like home. Home, with Silas, with Kit, with Rafe.

My mother gives me a pitying look. “Oh, sweetheart. Those boys don’t care about you. They’re only humoring you. Why would they?”

She scans me with disinterest, missing the stab inflicted with her barb as I suck in a breath. “That’s not true. And even if it was… I don’t want to leave, mother. I want to stay here.”

She waves her hand. “Don’t be stupid. I can hardly leave you behind, Anastasia. Why on earth would they want to keep you without me being here?”

She laughs, a sharp, disbelieving bark, and for a moment, I hate her.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Please, mother. William is a nice man.”

She sniffs. “Perhaps to you. He barely even looks at me, anymore. I feel quite unwanted.”

I glance towards the expensive jewelry on her dressing table. There’s so much that there’s little space for anything else. “He’s not a stupid man. Maybe he’s worked out what type of person you are.”

“And what type is that?” my mother asks softly. Too softly.

I swallow down the fear.

I have to fight. For them. So I can stay.

“You’re a user,” I snap the words at her, and she blinks. “William has given you so much, and it’s still not enough. It will never be enough for you. You won’t find anyone better. Just… be happy with what you have. Please.”

I wait for the barb to hit. Praying it gets through. We can’t keep doing this. It feels like I start a new life every six months. A new life. A new name.

We’ve been here for a whole year. I thought… I thought this was it.

But any hope I have is snuffed out when my mother pushes back her hair with a haughty look. “There’s someone in the city, as it happens. Martin. He’s waiting for me.”

My blood goes cold. I stare at her with growing disbelief. “Martin.”

My voice sounds flat, my ears ringing as she grows animated again. chatting about this Martin and his wealth.

Just like that, William is forgotten,

Swept aside, just like Edward was. Like Jonathan before him. Like Niall, before that.

Just another stop on the road after all.

I feel sick.

“And,” my mother says brightly, “he has a daughter! Just your age, too, and she sounds like a sweetheart. So you’ll soon forget about those horrible, nasty boys.”

As if they’re replaceable.

No.

No.

I shake my head, and the smile disappears from her face. “Anastasia.”

“I’m not going.” My voice is firm. “You can’t force me, mother. If you want to leave, then leave.”

She throws back the bedcovers then, rising up to face me. It’s then that I notice that her red hair is perfectly curled. Her make-up done to perfection.

“Tonight?” I choke out. “You’re going tonight?”

She surveys me. “We are going tonight. No time like the present, and Martin is expecting me.”

She’s so cold. I feel as though ice is leaching from her and into me, soaking into me, turning me numb. “Like I said. You can leave. But I’m not going.”

My mother sighs. And when she speaks, her voice is soft. But her words are razor sharp, sharp enough to hurt.

“And you’ll… what? Stay here, with four older men?” She laughs. “What do you think people will say when they realize, Anastasia? They’ll start to talk. You’re only fifteen—,”

“I’m sixteen,” I snap. “My birthday was last week.”

My mother has the grace to look mildly embarrassed. “Oh. You didn’t say.”

I didn’t tell anyone. It passed without a word. The boys wouldn’t have known, but you would think my mother might remember the day she gave birth to me. By the time I realized she’d forgotten, I was too embarrassed to say anything at all.

She shakes it off as I stare at her in disbelief. “Regardless. A young girl staying with four older men? Those boys are of legal age, and you are not. People will start to talk.”

“They’ve never touched me,” I say heatedly. Truth.

“Well, I’m not surprised,” my mother says dismissively. “Look at you. But the perception is all that matters. And the age of consent in Sorelle is eighteen. So if you want them to be arrested for statutory rape, by all means, stay behind. God knows it would make my life easier.”

I can’t speak. I just open and close my mouth. Wondering how the hell I ended up with this person for a mother. “That is such a load of fucking bullshit—,”

My head snaps to the side, and I stumble. The left side of my face burns.

“Don’t curse at me,” she hisses. “After all that I have given you, you ungrateful little bitch. You will get in the car when it arrives, and you will do exactly what I tell you to do. Or I will make sure those boys that you care about so much go to prison. For a very long time.”

The fear floods my stomach, rising up my throat. Threatening to choke me.

“You don’t have that sort of power,” I rasp. My face stings, my skin hot and tight where her hand connected with it. William has money. He’d be able to fight any allegations easily.

But would he want to?

The small, vicious voice whispers in my ear.

Why would he fight for you?

Angelica draws herself up. “Martin is a judge. A powerful one. He has friends in high places. Do you want to test me and find out?”

I search desperately for something. Anything that I can use, anything that I can say that will let her allow me to stay here. But she watches me, cold and unyielding.

She’s not going to change her mind. She never does.

But it never really mattered before.

“Please,” I whisper. The first tear trickles out, and then another. “I’m begging you, mother. Don’t do this.”

Don’t make me leave them.

“Oh, Anastasia,” she says quietly. I flinch when she reaches out to pat my shoulder. “I know it feels as if they’re everything to you right now. But when it comes down to it, they would never fight this hard for you. You’ll feel better once we’re away from here.”

And then she moves on. Just like that. Slipping into her plans, the way she always does. I close my eyes, only half-listening to her hissed instructions.

“Take it all,” she instructs me. “They won’t miss it. Not for a while, anyway. We’ll be well away by then.”

“I know how this works.” My voice is dull. “It’s not like it’s the first time.”

“Fine.” My mother dismisses me. “Remember. Not a word, or they’re the ones that will pay for it.”

I’m not looking where I’m going as I stumble out of the room, and I bump straight into someone. Rafe steadies me, his eyes lowering to my face.

“Hey.” His hand nudges up my chin, but I duck away. “I was looking for you. What is it? Stasi?”

I can’t do this.

Not when he’s looking at me like that.

“I – I’m not feeling well,” I choke out. “I think it’s the same thing my mother has. I’m going to bed.”

He tries to feel my forehead, but I back away. “I’ll bring you some dinner.”

Nausea twists my stomach, adding credence to my words when I press my hand against my mouth, genuinely concerned that I might throw up. “No, thank you. I’ll – I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Rafe nods, but he doesn’t look convinced as he watches me. His eyes dip from mine, moving to the door I’ve just left. “Is Angelica alright?”

Does he sound suspicious?

Panic smothers me, making my voice jump in irritation. “She’s fine.”

He blinks at my snappy tone. “Okay. Just checking. I guess… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I barely manage to nod, and he turns away from me, glancing back over his shoulder before he heads down the hall. It feels as though my chest is caving in as I watch him walk away, my snapped words the last thing between us. I nearly call out, nearly call him back.

I catch the words on my tongue. If I do that, then I might break down. And he would fight. He’d get Silas, and Kit, and they would speak to their father, and my mother might follow through on her threat.

I don’t want anything to happen to them because of me.

I swallow, biting back the agony as I head to my room. Silas and Kit both knock on my door in the hours that follow, but I sit silently, my back against the door and my cheeks damp as they call my name in soft, worried voices.

But they leave. And eventually, the house grows quiet.

Slowly, I get dressed, slipping on the green checked dress I wore on my first day here and sliding my feet into black shoes.

When I open the wardrobe, I grab the small holdall I came with.

I don’t have much that I want to take with me. Most of what I had was paid for by William, and it doesn’t feel right. But there’s a few things that I can’t leave behind.

Branches from the orchard, whittled by Rafe into little makeshift animals that look nothing like what they’re supposed to be. Stones from the stream that Kit and I found one day while paddling. And letters, from Silas. Letters that he slips under my door, on the days when we don’t get to talk in the hall.

I grab a few more basics before I creep out, my throat tight as I move down the hall.

Past their bedrooms. Past my mother’s room. I can hear footsteps inside, and I speed up, slipping into the last room at the very end and glancing around as I flick the light on.

I’m not supposed to be in here. It feels wrong, but my mother was very clear.

I glance at the photographs tucked into the mirror on the dressing table. At the smiling, dark-haired woman, soft and pretty and beaming, tucked beneath a grinning William. Two babies are cradled carefully in her arms, William holding a small boy with blue eyes. He’s staring down at his little brothers, his eyes wide.

The image swims, and I look away.

I’m doing it for them, I tell her silently. I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

It’s the only thing that could possibly drive me to pull open the delicate drawers of the dressing table. Rows and rows of jewelry greet me, just as my mother said. Slowly, I reach in, grabbing a set of glistening bracelets and dropping them into my bag.

Then the necklaces. The rings.

With each clink, the guilt consumes me, piece by piece. My hands shake violently, and it spreads across my body until I have to sit or I’m going to fall.

I try to breathe, curled over on the carpeted floor of their mother’s dressing room. A sacred space, one that none of them will enter. Only William, sometimes, when he thinks nobody is watching.

And I’m here. Desecrating it.

I blink back tears. Tears of rage, of frustration.

I can’t do this.

I tip out the contents of my bag in a rush, opening the drawers as I try to remember what goes where. I glance up, to the woman in the photo.

She’s not having it, I promise her silently. I won’t let her have a single thing. I’ll find a way.

My mother has more than enough, without this.

I’ll put it all back. And then I’m going straight to Silas. He can help, he’s older, he’ll speak to William—

“Anastasia?”

For a moment, I think I’m imagining it. Then my whole body turns cold.

Slowly, I twist my head towards the doorway.

“Silas.”

My voice is a whisper as his eyes sweep over me. As he sees the contents of my bag, scattered all over the floor.

“I was – I was coming to find you.” My voice falters as he steps inside, his movements slow as he walks up to where I’m kneeling. “My mother, Silas, she wants to leave. She wants me to go, and she’s threatening to say things – about your father, you, the twins. Please—,”

Silas turns, and I fall silent at the look on his face.

The dawning realization. The hurt. And then the fury.

“This is my mother’s jewelry.” His voice is low, pained, as he picks up an emerald bracelet, rubbing his fingers across the stones, and it stabs me all the harder. “What are you doing with it, Anastasia?”

My sob breaks free. “I wasn’t going to – I was putting it back, Silas. I swear to you – please. You have to speak to your father—,”

“Why?” His voice is a whip, rising in the small space. I shrink back as the anger pours from his mouth in savage words. “Because you’re a thieving little whore?”

“What? No.” I shake my head, frantic. “No, I swear. Silas, please listen to me—,”

But he’s not listening. I cry out as he grips my arm, hard, lifting me from the floor.

“Shut up,” he hisses. His face looks pale. “I don’t want Rafe and Kit to hear. You understand?”

Biting my tongue hard, I nod quickly. He pulls me from the room, and I crane my head to the things scattered across the floor. “My things—,”

“Leave them,” he mutters. “You won’t need them.”

My heart jumps as he almost pushes me down the stairs, still holding me tightly. “You’ll help me? I’m so sorry – she told me she was going to come after you—,”

But he cuts off my words as we reach the main doors. A hand slaps over my mouth, and I inhale sharply against his skin.

“I trusted you,” he says quietly. “I trusted you with my family. I told you not to hurt them, Anastasia. You promised me.”

His voice hardens, and I shake my head beneath his grip.

“You’re leaving now,” he whispers. “And I never want to see your lying, thieving face again. You are as ugly on the inside as you are on the out, and I despise you. People like you deserve everything bad to happen to them.”

He rips his hand away, and points. I stare blindly, reeling from his words. “Go. Now. Before I call the police.”

“I don’t want to go.” My voice is a whimper as I reach for him, but he pushes me back. “Please, Silas. Please. Don’t make me go with her. I don’t want to leave you.”

“Liar!”

It’s a roar, and I flinch away from his anger. He follows me, grabbing my arm again and yanking me out of the doors, towards the cab where my mother waits with a bored expression.

“Take her,” he spits out, pushing me towards her. “Our lives will be far, far better without your poison in it. Both of you.”

My mother yawns, before she opens the door and slides inside. “So dramatic.”

I stare at Silas. He doesn’t meet my eye, but he crosses his arms. He’s not going to let me back inside. “My things—,”

“You brought nothing with you,” he says coldly. “And you’ll leave with nothing.”

No. This is all wrong.

“Not those things,” I sob. “Silas—.”

“Get in the car,” he says quietly, “Or I will make you.”

A hand grips my wrist. “Stop making a show of yourself,” my mother hisses. Her nails dig into my skin, and I make a pained sound.

Silas’s eyes dip down. Just for a moment, I see him waver. But then his face hardens again.

“Goodbye, Anastasia,” he says coldly. “You were entertaining enough, I suppose. A little dull, truth be told. It won’t be long before we forget that you ever existed. Perhaps you’ll have more luck with your next target.”

“You don’t mean that,” I say hoarsely, staring at him.

But he doesn’t respond.

He turns his back, and then my mother is dragging me into the car, telling the agog driver to pull off as I sob, wrapping my arms around myself.

As the car pulls away, taking me far away from Oakbourne Manor.

And far away from them.