Glass Slippers

Chapter 11

Sang's POV

As we exit the courtroom, Mr. Toma hands me a bag containing the clothes I wore when I was arrested. I quickly change back into them in s mall bathroom, eager to shed the courtroom atmosphere that clings to me. As I step out of the bathroom I am escorted by Mr. Toma into a carriage that lays at the base of the palaces grand front steps. The steps seem to stretch on for ages and I question my fitness as the decent leaves me slightly short of breath. As a coachman assists me into the carriage after Mr. Toma it is clear that the plain exterior belies the air of wealth that permeates its interior. Soft leather seats and dark wood finishes surround me, making me feel out of place yet strangely comfortable. Mr. Toma sits across from me, his expression impassive as he gazes out the window. I'm relieved that the brutish guards have been dismissed, allowing me to sit freely without their oppressive presence.

Peering through the window, I watch as we approach the town. The castle lies on the other side, separated by the same forest that surrounds my home. Walking from the palace to my house would have been quicker, but security demanded an escort into town. I'm grateful to leave the confines of the castle behind. With each passing mile, I feel a sense of relief washing over me, gradually erasing the lingering memories of the foreboding entity and the hidden door. Or at least, that's what I try to convince myself. Despite my efforts, questions continue to swirl in my mind, and a knot of fear remains nestled in my stomach. I push it all aside, determined to move on and never look back.

As we traverse the outskirts of town, I gaze out at the snow-covered roofs of the surrounding houses. I am surprised when the carriage comes to a halt in front of a random building. "This is as far as we will be escorting you, Miss Sorenson," Mr. Toma declares, his face a mask of calculated composure. I nod, rising from my seat and preparing to step out of the carriage. The doorman opens the door, and Mr. Toma bids his farewell as I embark on the cold street.

I shiver as a chill runs down my spine, grateful for having changed into my own warmer clothes. I trudge in the direction of the lane leading to my house, the frigid air biting at my exposed skin. Although the journey home doesn't take long, my nose turns pink, and my fingers grow numb from the cold. Upon arriving, I'm surprised to find not a single carriage belonging to my family members. Maybe my family really did get snowed in during their travels. Feeling their absence to good to be true I instinctively enter through the back door, which leads directly to the kitchen. As I open it, I strain my ears for any sounds within the house. Apart from the occasional creaking of the roof, silence envelops the deserted rooms. The house feels dim and still, as if devoid of human presence for some time.

A breath I didn't realize I had been holding escapes me, and I venture further into the vacant house. It seems my stepmother and siblings must have been trapped somewhere due to the snow, unable to make it back home. I'm grateful for this stroke of luck, well aware of the consequences I would face if my stepmother discovered my absence. Despite feeling tempted to indulge in some personal time, maybe even read a book, I know it's best to prepare for their return. After all, it's only a matter of time before my stepmother's looming presence fills the house again.

I busy myself with lighting the house, tidying up, and cleaning the wooden floors—an arduous task that my stepmother insists be done regularly to maintain her standards of cleanliness. By the time I finish, the sun has set, and there is still no sign of my family. Although I doubt they will return tonight, I prepare a simple dinner for their arrival, just in case I'm mistaken. Anything uneaten can be saved for another night.

Chopping a variety of vegetables and browning some minced meat, I add them to a large pot on our aging combustion stove. Having already lit the fire earlier, the stove is ready for cooking, and soon the aroma of taco stew fills the air. With little left to do, I set the table and can't help but wish my stepmother would stay away indefinitely. The house feels peaceful without her oppressive presence, and for the first time in a long while, I find myself able to relax within these walls.