BTS ONE SHOTS

CINDERELLA | K.TH

"Ever heard of Princess Charming?"

Cinderella twist-off, switch roles

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V

This again.

It's always the same.

"I thought I told you not a single speck of dust."

My knuckles stretch taut as she hurls the metal bucket in my direction. It hurts where it hits my arm and crashes to the floor, with a piercing, metallic sound.

She screams.

"Do you not realize what you've done, you bastard?"

My teeth grind against each other as I hang my head forward. Then I deafen her insults to my mother, who had died birthing me.

I want to tear her mouth off her face, but doing that to my stepmother would get me nowhere.

"Relax, mother." A cold, smug voice echoes from the side. And I glance upwards as Avan walks in, dressed in a full suit and tie.

He smiles in my direction.

"I'll be sure to discipline V. Make sure he never does this again."

"You better. Make that bastard see exactly where his place is."

He continues smiling as she leaves, her face red and flushed. As soon as the door slams shut behind her, he unravels his tie and pulls up his sleeves.

I don't even make a noise when he slaps me right across the face.

"You never learn, do you?"

I stay silent.

Another blow. I lose my balance, crashing to the floor. This time, a suppressed cough jerks out of my throat.

He grips a handful of my hair. Then he forces my head upwards, bending down and tilting his face to the side. A slight wince twists my lips.

"Answer me, V."

He slaps me again.

"Answer. Can't you talk?"

"Or did your mother birth you mute?"

He lets me go all of sudden. And I crumple to the dirty, wooden floor, tasting blood on my tongue. I'd probably bitten it, when he'd hit me.

Avan curses colorfully as he dusts off the sleeve of his white dress shirt.

"Dammit. You got blood on my clothes."

"Listen now." He says, lowering himself down to my eye level. "Clean the entire house top to bottom. And when I return from the Gala, I expect a piping hot dinner for both my mother and I."

He shoves me away, with a smirk.

"Or it won't just be a bruise on your pretty face."

"Wish me luck tonight, with the Princess."

Then he leaves. And I'm left lying on the floor of the attic, the side of my cheek red and tender. I don't want to move— just want to die, in this position.

I close my eyes.

I want to fall asleep.

My rough fingertips brush against the rusted locket hanging from my neck. It's the only reminder I have of my late mother.