Glass Slippers

Chapter 6

 Sangs POV:

I wake up freezing cold. The chill seeps through the thin walls, and I shiver beneath my threadbare blanket. Wrapping it tightly around myself, I step onto the cold floor, my feet tingling with the sudden contact. Did my heater stop working? I shuffle over to it on stiff legs, only to find it running smoothly, emitting a low humming sound as warm air fills the room. I hold my numb hands out in front of the jet of warmth, sighing in relief as sensation gradually returns. Puzzled, I glance outside my window, and a flash of white catches my eye. Squinting against the bright light, I realise that a blanket of snow covers the ground.

As the realisation sinks into my still-sleepy brain, a smile tugs at my lips. Within seconds, it transforms into a full-fledged grin, and I can't contain my excitement any longer. I dash downstairs and out the back door, laughing as the crisp air kisses my cheeks. The snow scrunches under my boots, and I spin around like a little girl, feeling the exhilaration and happiness welling up inside me. Tilting my head back, I gaze at the cloud-covered sky, where the sun peeks through as a muted circle behind a massive white cloud.

Eventually, the cold starts to seep into my skin, and my blanket becomes damp from the snow. Realising I need warmer clothes, I decide to retrieve them before returning outside. I walk back inside, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. In my room, I hang my blanket on two chairs in front of the heater, making sure it's far enough away to prevent any accidents. Then, I crawl into the attic space and rummage through my mother's chest of clothes, finding a worn snow jacket and warm pants.

With the clothes set aside in the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror, deciding to brush my hair and teeth. I don't want to terrify anyone with my wild bed hair during my walk. Although I doubt many people will be out and about at this hour. People were advised to wait until after eleven am to venture outside after a snowfall, giving the palace guards time to clear the roads and ensure public safety. But that wouldn't stop the stray adventurer from heading out anyway. It's human nature to explore, a nature even I can't resist.

Dressed and ready, I step outside. The sun has climbed higher in the sky, intensifying the glare from the snow. Soft flurries begin to fall again, and I revel in the gentle, fluttering sound as the snowflakes touch the ground. I make my way towards the forest, each step accompanied by the satisfying crunch of snow under my boots. The branches of the towering trees in front of me sag under the weight of the snow, creating a picturesque scene.

As I reach the edge of the forest, I pick up my pace, hoping to ward off the persistent chill. Soon, I come across a barely visible path that I've seen people use for their morning runs. The thick trees on either side of the path entice me, and I can't resist the temptation to climb and jump from one to another.

Deeper into the forest, I encounter a fallen pine tree blocking the path. Its trunk sits just below my head, and its long branches reach skyward like a formidable wall. I search for a way around it, but the trunk prevents me from passing without risking getting stuck in a snowdrift. I consider turning back, but the thought of a nearby lake urges me onward. Determined, I start climbing up the fallen tree trunk.

The branches provide sturdy footholds, and I ascend quickly. Just as I'm about to stand upright, the sound of two sets of heavy footsteps reaches my ears, accompanied by a distinctly male voice. "Why the fuck are we even doing this? We've been at it for three hours, and the most damage we've seen is a fallen leaf."

If I weren't so overwhelmed by fear, I might have found his comment amusing. But all I can think about is my stepmother's stories of men isolating and harming unsuspecting victims. As my mind races, the two men must have noticed the fallen tree I'm currently perched on. They approach cautiously, getting closer and closer. In my panic, I stumble backward, slipping on the icy trunk. I slide forward, branches scratching at my face, and let out a yelp. Desperate to regain my footing, I try to push myself up, only to realise I'm now completely and utterly stuck.

"Hey, who's there?" one of the men yells, his voice echoing through the forest.

Hoping they mistake my commotion for that of a squirrel, I stay quiet. But their persistence gives them away. "We know you're in there. There's no point hiding," the man who spoke earlier insists.

I started to realise they had figured out I was a very big squirrel. Probably to big to be a squirrel.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," one of the men taunts.

"Shut up, B. You sound like the murderer in a horror film. You've probably scared them off," the other man retorts.

I watch as a man with brownish-red hair passes directly under me. I hold my breath, praying he won't see me. Focusing on the leaves in front of me, I suddenly notice a thick, hairy leg emerging from the foliage, followed by seven more. My eyes widen as I stare at the spider in front of me, willing myself not to scream. But my vocal cords betray me, and a holler escapes my lips. I tumble out of the tree, landing directly on top of the man below.

As my senses return, I find myself lying flat on my stomach, with what feels like a baby elephant on my back. My arms remain pinned behind my head, twisted at an agonising angle. The man on top of me speaks, his voice filled with amusement, "Looks like I found our hide-and-seek partner, B."

If I could turn my head, I would look at this mysterious B person, but my arms are held too tightly. "Ha, a girl. By the state of her appearance, I'd say she's a beggar," the man on top of me observes.

"Probably. Their population always seems to double in size during the winter," the other man chimes in.

As the shock wears off, I realise how cold I am, lying in the muddy snow. Deciding that it won't get any more comfortable and the elephant on my back won't be moving anytime soon, I turn my head to the side. After spitting out a mouthful of muddy slush, I gather my courage and speak, "If you wouldn't mind, I would greatly appreciate finishing this conversation without me being pinned to the ground."

Although I can't see them, I imagine their expressions as pure astonishment and befuddlement—surprised that a) I can speak, and b) they were foolish enough to forget a person was trapped beneath them. Wincing as I'm roughly pulled up by my shoulders, my hands remain firmly pinned behind my back. At least I'm standing now.

"Are you going to let me go?" I ask the man standing in front of me.

"I'm afraid we aren't permitted to do that, miss. You've broken Rule 37 of the ethical code and must face either royal dismissal or assigned punishment for your actions," he states, a serious expression etched on his face.

I can't help but think it's an overreaction to need royal dismissal for venturing outside in bad weather—people probably do it all the time. The thought of facing punishment fills me with dread, especially if they inform my stepmother. If she discovers I've broken the ethical code, she'll make me pay. Panic tightens my chest, and my throat constricts as vivid scenarios of my stepmother's wrath flood my mind. I don't want to die; I still have so much to accomplish. I can't let her find out. I can't let her find out...