Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 44645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
I almost move to help him, until I smell the strong stench of alcohol pervading his skin.
Laughing, he struggles to gain balance. “The dwarves discovered a new diamond mine since we last came here, and they promised to let me keep whatever I find. Want to see?”
“No.”
“Of course, you do.” He pulls two glimmering stones from his pocket, holding them out for me. “Even if we have to return to the village without success, I’ll be rich.”
“Good to see that your priorities are in order,” I say. “You’re supposed to make sure I have the right news about the moon.”
“I already found that, Your Ungrateful Grace.” He scoffs, putting away his riches. “The next full moon is in four nights. At the rate we’re going, we should make it to the iron castle in plenty of time.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re not welcome.” He points to my mirror and steps backward. “I’ll let you return to being a masochist. Tell that old bitch I said, ‘Thank you’ for ruining my life.”
“You’re more than welcome, Lafayette!” she responds, and he throws up his middle finger before walking away.
“Show me the girl.” I stare into the glass once he’s disappeared.
“Which girl?” The hag’s lips curve into a smirk.
“You know who the fuck I’m talking about…”
“The girl you kissed over and over when you thought no one was watching?” She tilts her head to the side. “That girl?”
“The girl. The prettiest one in all the kingdoms.” I await her instant compliance, but she gives me nothing.
“Show me Isabelle Arwyn.” I grip the handle as tightly as I’d like to squeeze her throat. “Now.”
The surface of the glass shifts to pitch black, and then a crouching Isabelle gradually comes into view.
Tears are falling down her face, and her hand is sliding through a place I can’t quite see.
The glass brightens by the second, and the scene shifts back, giving me a complete view.
Isabelle is holding her father’s hand through a dungeon’s iron bars, and I’ve seen that room enough to know exactly where they are.
So, they made it deep into the Eighth Kingdom…
“I think we might’ve made a mistake, Izzie.” Her father coughs. “G’aston wouldn’t have been so bad as your suitor for a little while.”
“He’s not a prince, Daddy.” She shakes her head. “That’s the only way we can possibly guarantee our futures. His regular, basic wealth would never be enough, and he only wanted me for my looks. You said so yourself.”
“I think he admired your smarts as well,” he says. “But I meant that we should’ve asked him for more money to borrow. Or hell, given up Belle as part of the deal.”
“Do you think she’s doing alright?”
“I hope she isn’t.” He coughs again. “I told an old friend that he could stop by and have whatever was in our house, Belle included, if I didn’t return in a week. Whatever he’s doing with her is no longer my concern, but I’m sure it’s Hell on earth. He’s beaten both of his former wives half to death.”
“What?” Izzie’s face pales, and I want to believe I misheard what he’s said about Belle.
“She’s ruined our lives one too many times, Izzie,” her father says. “Her selfishness has done nothing but cause me pain, and your mother only coddled her with that ‘Be your own person’ bullshit before she died. She deserves everything she’s about to get, and I hope she’s miserable for the rest of her undeserved life.”
“You don’t mean that, Father…”
“I do.” His voice is cold. “We’d been living in the guest quarters of a palace if it weren’t for her. “
Izzie is silent for several moments, but she keeps her hand locked in his. “I agree, Father. If only she’d learned to keep her mouth shut, we’d both be living much better lives.”
Okay, enough of this shit.
“Show me the roses.” I command the mirror, and Izzie and her father dissolve into the glass, trading places with a dimly lit room.
“No, no,” I say. “The roses in my basement. Not this.”
The scene doesn’t change, though. Instead, the mirror takes me deeper into the room, revealing the destruction I’ve avoided for decades.
Broken frames cling to the walls, their images tattered from someone clawing at them over the years. “Someone” who is just as pained and tormented as me.
In the far corner, next to the balcony’s entrance, a black and red rose sits trapped under a frozen glass jar. Its intertwining petals glow faintly in the darkness, and as much as I want to look away, I can’t help to count the ones that remain.
Whereas my roses grow with time, the one in this room approaches its death with each passing day. It’s also far more accurate and painful to accept.
One, two…Seven…Twelve…Thirteen.
Despair settles in my chest.
Over fifty others have fallen since I last checked years ago, and there’s no rhyme or reason at the rate they fall.