She had been perfect.
Eyes like moonlight. Skin like porcelain.
And then the bell chimed.
“No, not yet!”
The prince grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t go.”
She panicked. “Let me—”
Each step rattled something loose. Skin flapped like wet parchment. An eye slipped down her cheek. Teeth skittered across the floor. On the steps, her ankle snapped. The foot stayed in the slipper.
She limped on one leg to where her coffin waited. The horses were maggots again. She crawled in, a pile of meat and lace. Time to go back to the dirt.
The prince, horrified, still held Cinderella’s hand.
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