Sindell: A Cinderella Story

Dungeons

Sindell knelt in the sunlight that came through the small window of the cell, shoulders shaking in fear and tears, her infant son in a basket near the doorway. "I don't understand what I've done to deserve this, sir."

Davorin held a cloth to his nose, the stench of death and decay, and other bodily fluids creeping through. He wondered how Sindell could stand the smell, just as he remembered she had been staying there for days already. "I have no more to say in the matter, except I hope they make you as comfortable as possible."

The amount of anger and disregard Sindell had allowed into her voice resounded throughout the level. "Comfort in a dungeon?" She spat as she turned and stood. As she crossed to the wall the doorway was on, where the basket her child, their child, was lying in, she moved to pick up the child. The tear stains and...dirt smudges over her face were enough to make Davorin recoil. "I would rather seek comfort here in the dungeon than ask restitution from a beguiled fallen prince!" She spat at him.

Thankful for the covering on his face, Davorin stepped with haste over the threshold of the cell in an effort to slap the mother of his child. "I would not say such things!" He shouted, then remembered he had no wish to be closer to anything that smelled so vile. Sindell hadn't been locked away long enough yet, but the smells wafting through the corridors of the dungeon were full of stench. And she was holding an infant.

"What things?" Sindell shouted through her tears. "That the woman you pushed me aside for is a wicked forest-dwelling trollop of a witch?" She backed herself into the corner of the cell with no regard for propriety. Propriety be damned, she decided. "You lost your privilege to say such things to me when that trollop forced herself to take my place by your side." She cried out again. "You have a son. We have a son, Davorin!" She held the emaciated infant up to the light for him to see.

Her words seemed to have softened his demeanor just a little. "Sindell, I will ask they treat you with dignity and respect."

"Do not address me by that name. You have no right to it." She sobbed, holding her infant closer to her and . "And this is a dungeon. There is no respect here. Only fear and stench and death." Sindell whispered as she turned to the corner with her child.

Prince Davorin sighed "I am sorry." He said, stepping back through the doorway.

On his way out, Sindell heard him declare, "only one meal per day and no visitors."

Only when she heard the crashing of the iron bars closing the dungeon doors behind her prince did she allow herself to fall to the ground with her child close to her chest and cry out loud.

*****

Back in the throne room, Elaia held her position on the throne all too carefully. Davorin noticed she had not moved in the time he had been away.

"I trust you have...given proper instructions, my prince?" She said.

He hadn't quite believed himself as he approached her. His father, had he died in sound mind, would have been ashamed. His mother also. "I gave your instructions, my lady," he raised his eyebrow at the beautiful creature in front of him. "I just don't understand why you hadn't banished her instead---"

"She would have come back and tried to claim what is rightfully mine," Elaia said with a slight lilt, examining her fingers. "Don't you understand? If I hadn't come along when I did, you'd be locked into such an unhappy, selfish relationship where you'd be a puppet to your--w--ife." She winched.

Davorin knelt at her feet. "I do see, now, my lady." he whispered and took her hand in his as she raised her eyebrow at him and leaned forward for what she felt was a long, overdue kiss for the morning.

*****

Sindell rocked the child to quiet him down, all the while coughing. He was tired and hungry and had a soiled diaper. It seemed like only yesterday she was dancing the evening into early morning with the handsome prince and making plans to escape her stepmothers' manipulative grasp. "Shhh, Babe. Shhh." She repeated over and over as the newborn cried.

The dungeons were not known for keeping children or infants. This was a first as far as Sindell could recall. No doubt, it was the doing of that woman. It was no secret people from the land of Corentin were bewitched. Lady Elaia was no different. Perhaps the worst of them all. But Sindell knew very few Corentinians. Living in the house of her stepmother was very restricting and marrying Prince Davorin was a god-send. For a while.

"Shhh" She repeated to the babe. "I don't have any food for you. I hope they can bring you some, but time will tell if anyone takes pity on a small child." She continued to hush and rock her child, and eventually the babe fell asleep due to exhaustion. She put him back into his basket close to the door, it was less smelly there, and went to lie down in the sunny spot from the window until her cup of water and crust of bread showed up.

It didn't take long for the meager meal of a piece of bread and a bowl of porridge to show up. The guards were given strict instructions to not talk to the prisoner. There was no doubt in Sindell's mind that Elaia wished her to perish in the dungeon. No matter. When her infant son would die, so too would the queen. Her heart was with the child. She lived for him, since her husband had lost his mind to a witch.

When Sindell picked herself up off the floor to retrieve the tray of food, once she laid her eyes on it, she thought there must be some sort of mistake. This was far too much food for a prisoner. And there was also a skin of goat's milk for her baby. She looked again, at it, after sizing up the guard who brought it. With puzzlement etched on her face, all she could see was a slight nod in her direction.

She slid the tray to the middle of the room with her toe, into the last sliver of light from the day's sun while she ate. The porridge, she ate at once. The two slices of bread she placed in the pocket of the apron she wore. The milk skin was a different story. She knew it was for the babe. Her suspicions were confirmed when the guard slightly nodded to the basket at the door. He was beginning to fuss again, and there was a napkin. She wouldn't return the napkin. Instead, she'd use it for her son's bottom. There was no question that the man on the other side of the bars knew her plight and wished to lighten the load.

She put the dishes back next to the space under the bars, coughed some more, and curled up with her baby on the cold, hard floor for some much needed, restless sleep.

*****

"If she dies, you must fix things, Bemeselle." The king of fairies declared. "This was not supposed to happen, but when Lady Elaia's magic is set in motion, the only thing that can correct is death to one of those who is acted upon. In this case, because of the depth of the power of the witch involved, the victim, Queen Sindell."

Bemeselle gulped. Never before had she been asked to fix things quite like this before. Things that needed fixing were fare less complicated, and only required the change of color, or perhaps someone's embarrassment for a time. But death! She was not prepared for this today, nor did she think she'd be prepared for this tomorrow, or in any of the days to come. She had never had to plan for a death, so she went into the depths of the forest archives to learn if anything like this has happened within her lifetime of a thousand years. If it had, she could ask questions, instead of just read.