Twilight Elysium

Chapter 4: Cinderella who?

        

    After a light scolding from your mother, and a thumbs up from your father, you were sent to do your chores. Even though you were injured and in pain, you were still being put to work. Your fingers still stung and your grip was loose, but you still had to scrub the floors. You swing the bucket back and forth in one hand and the sponge in another.

    You climbed the spiraling staircase, looking out the windows to see the city streets. You always hated scrubbing the attic floors. It never got used and it smelled like mildew, yet you still had to clean it. Half of the time you fell asleep on the unused mattress. You unlatch the old wooden door.

    The smell of must hit you like a train. Gods, how long ago did you clean it? You drop the pail of water, causing it to slosh everywhere. Soapy bubbles covered your thin boots, a tiny bit of moisture seeping in and making you uncomfortable. You plop down beside the splotch of water, folding your legs to the side, and dip the sponge into the soapy puddle. You move the sponge back and forth, carefully working out into a bigger circle. You worked the little spot until your hands stung and got tired. You sat back on your feet and looked around you. It was going to be a long time. Welp, you thought, ain't no time like the present.

~

You had scrubbed at the floor until your fingers were bright red. Sadly, you were only halfway done with the room. A soft knock came from the wooden door. Your mother peeked in the doorway

    "(Y/N)? Dinner will be ready in about 10 minutes if your father will ever get up off of his lazy bum and stop carving," She said, coming into the room and shutting the door behind her. "Well, it looks like you've got a fair amount done, good job." She ruffles your hair gently and smiles at you.

    "Hey, ma? You know that old story book you said was in here and you would give it to me?" You ask her, giving her your best coy smile. Her grin drops and she shakes her head. She grumbles something about you being difficult and strides over to the abandoned bookcase. She pulls out a key from her front apron pocket and puts it into a hole on the side of it. Out popped a huge leather bound book.

    "Oh, tell me that's not all just words," You groaned.

    Your mother laughed, "No, there are some pictures, too."

    You put the sponge back in the bucket and plod over to your mother. She dusts off the book and unlatches the clasp that held the book together. She flipped to a random page in the book.

    "Oh, look, it's your favorite," she said, showing you the page. You barely got the chance to look at it before she shut it and handed it to you. "I'll go see if your father is finally ready to finish dinner." She took her leave, shutting the door with a light clink.

    You plop down on the floor again, flipping through your new book. Stories that you were very familiar with and others that you weren't were copied down in neat handwriting. Gorgeous illustrations were scattered throughout the book. You stopped at each page with a god depicted on it. Abayek and Nyatem were seen pulling and casting the moon and sun out, just like in the museum. You stopped on a page of Santana, the youngest god of them all.

    He was knelt in a field of green, small blades of grass sticking up around him. His hood and cloak were a rich blue color with glittering gold constellations embroidered on it. He had a belt of various pouches and sacks. They were probably filled with ingredients of some sort. His hood covered the top half of his face, and his vermilion bangs stuck out from under his hood. His nose and his lips were the only part of his facial features that were visible. A small smile played on his lips, like a child that knew he could get away with anything if he tried. He had a golden disk behind his head that was brighter than anything else on the page. It reminded you of those pictures of holy people from some obscure monotheistic religion.

    In the background on the left was Kars, pictured with his arms crossed and with a sour look on his face. His eyebrows were knitted together in scorn. His head was cloaked in a deep purple fabric that highlighted his sharp features. His left eye was closed, but his right eye was opened. His opened eye was gazing at Santana with affection.

    On the right side of the page was Adeila. She was dressed in her signature garbs. A silky, white veil covered her face, but you could make out a small smile under it. She was depicted with a loosely fitted, milk white dress that flowed out. Her hands were clasped in front of her chest. Her russet hair trickled down her back like a waterfall stained with red clay. You spent the next few minutes flipping through the book before remembering that you had to finish the floors.