Cameron Jace - Cinderella Dressed in Ashes

“What room?”

“Never mind, I really have to go,” Cerené’s lips twitched.

“No,” Shew said. “Stay, please. If you’re worried about the Queen or Tabula asking about you, I will tell them I needed you to help with something. Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

“Really?” Cerené held the broom and looked downward.

“Yes. It’s no secret that I have no friends,” Shew said. “Only private teachers visit me.”

“And you end up killing them, too,” Cerené giggled.

She seemed as if she was trying her best to escape the life that got her the scars on her neck and ashes on her face.

“Isn’t that fun, killing your annoying teacher and getting away with it?” Shew played along. “I’m not allowed to go to school or meet a lot of people.”

“Especially yummy boys,” Cerené giggled.

“Yes, that,” Snow White said. “I see you like yummy boys.”

Cerené held the rim of her dress with her hands, pretending she was rubbing something on the earth with her feet.

“You can tell me,” Snow White said. “We agreed you can speak your mind when you’re with me.”

“People don’t like it when I speak mind,” she said faintly. “They usually laugh at me.”

“I won’t laugh.”

“I really like the prince,” she raised her eyes, eager to see Snow White’s reaction. “I like how he is always smiling and neatly dressed. He is such a handsome boy. I also admire that everyone bows to him and wants to please him. That’s why you bit the prince, right? You like him, too.”

“You could say that,” Shew wasn’t sure what the prince meant to her. She remembered she’d fed on his blood many times after the birthday incident, but nothing more—and he hadn’t appeared in this dream so far. Shew wondered if staying trapped in the Schloss for a hundred years made her forget a big portion of her past.

“You want to know a secret?” Cerené leaned forward over Oddly Tune’s grave. “There is someone else other than the prince that I really like.”

“Oh,” Snow White’s eyes widened. She wasn’t faking it. “Is he also rich and famous?”

“Not really,” Cerené said. “But he is strong and everyone fears him.”

“Is that why you like him, because everyone fears him?”

“Yes,” Cerené nodded twice and bit her bottom lip. “But I don’t want to tell you who he is.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t. Do you like a boy?” Cerené asked.

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it,” Shew stuck out her tongue. “You know what I really wish? I wish you could be my friend,” although Shew knew this was a dream, she felt right about this moment. She felt these were the emotions she’d experience when she was a child toward Cerené—if she had really met her. She’d always thought she had never made friends in that period, but there was something so real about this dream.

“Friends?” Cerené shrieked, dropping the broom, her voice a little too loud. “Really? Me and you, my princess?”

When Cerené smiled serenely like that, the freckles in her face shone through the ashes, tiny happy oranges shining out through a dark garden of cinders.

“Yes, me and you,” Snow White smiled. Cerené’s happiness was contagious.

“But—” Cerené’s face changed, looking at her feet again. “But this can’t be. I never have friends. And when someone asks me to be friends with them I usually end up crying next to the fire in my room, with cinders all around me.”

“Cinders?” Snow White grimaced, taking a step forward. This was the second time she mentioned that room.

“I told you not to ask about what’s none of your concern,” she snapped again, her freckles buried beneath the ashes.

“Of course, I shouldn’t ask,” Shew said.

“I believe you,” Cerené calmed down. “But what will we do. I don’t think a princess has a lot in common with a Slave Maiden.”

Snow White gazed down at Oddly Tune’s grave and lifted and eyebrow, “I think we already have a lot in common.”

Cerené laughed, “You’re not planning on biting someone else are you? I’m not going to clean up after you all the time,” she winked.

“Let’s do something,” Shew suggested. “What do you do when you have had your bread, your work is finished, and you have a few hours for yourself?”

“I can’t tell you that.” Cerené said. This time, it wasn’t a change of mood. She actually wanted to tell Snow White about what she did when she was alone, but preferred not to for some reason.

“Why not?” Snow White said cheerfully. “We’re friends now.”

“Promise not to tell anyone?” Cerené brought her head closer, whispering.

“I promise,” Shew said.

“I make magic;” Cerené’s eyes darted to the left and to the right.

“Magic?”

“Shhh,” Cerené put her hand on Shew’s mouth. “You have to promise me that you will never tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Shew nodded. “What kind of magic is it?”

“I can show you,” Cerené said. “But only if you’re patient enough to prepare it with me.”

“Why prepare it? I thought magic was a gift,” Shew said.

“No. Magic is an Art. Many different kinds of arts,” Cerené explained. “I know a special kind of magic that people don’t want each other to know about. It’s a Forbidden Art.”

Snow White grimaced.

“See? That’s why you can’t tell anyone about it. My magic is taboo. It’s thought of as witchcraft created by the devil, but it really isn’t,” Cerené’s heart raced as she talked about it.

“That sounds fabulous. I’d love to see it,” Shew said. “What do I have to do to see you perform the Art?” she hoped this Art Cerené was talking about was what this dream was really about. She doubted Loki was coming to kill her at all.

“First, I have to warn you that every Art has its price. But don’t worry. I’m going to perform it. You could be my assistant if you like.”

“I am so curious,” Shew said. “Please tell me what I have to do.”

“We need to collect the elements needed to accomplish the Art,” Cerené answered.

“Alright. Where could we get those elements?”

“It’s going to be a long journey,” Cerené said. “But we’ll end up in a very special place that very few people have ever laid eyes on.”

“Does this place have a name?” Snow White asked.

“Ever heard about a place called Rainbow’s End?”

Shew followed Cerené into the Black Forest to collect the elements needed to create what she called the Forbidden Art.

Under normal circumstances, Shew would have opted out of entering the Black Forest, particularly in a dream like this where the imminent dangers were obviously lurking somewhere between the ears of the Dreamer—she couldn’t forget the fact that she was staked by the boy she loved in the Waking World. Cerené’s story was a great distraction.

Watching the ash-smeared girl, who reminded her of the young girl in Le Miserable’s, run away with that kind of happiness was irresistible.

Cerené climbed a small hill on all fours as if she were an ape. Shew followed the tiny blonde-haired girl with the fiery aura.

“Every magic in this world has rules,” Cerené explained, panting.

“Rules? I thought the whole point about magic was that it broke all the rules. It’s magic !” Shew said, trying to keep up with Cerené’s pace.

“They aren’t strict rules,” Cerené said. “They’re more like guidelines. Whoever has the gift can enhance or add their own flavor to the Art.”

“Why do you insist calling your magic the Art?”