Glass Slippers [1st Draft]

23. Rescue

Chapter Twenty-Three:

Rescue

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The night of the fourth and last ball, Clara did not go. She did not dress up into her mother's gold gown as she had planned, and she didn't have to wear the glass slippers, that though bemoaning them constantly in her head, she secretly missed.

Instead, Clara had spent her entire evening gazing steadily out the window. She had heard her stepfamily leave for the ball, and she knew her siblings were downstairs in the kitchen, Harriet probably scheming to get her out, but yet she couldn't bring herself to go over to the door when Harriet knocked. Eventually, her sister gave up, probably assuming she was asleep, but Clara was anything but.

For hours she stared off into the distance towards the royal palace, the royal palace that currently seemed to be the symbol for her failure in every sense of the word. Her traitorous mind imagined how the whole evening would go.

Maybe Frederick would look for her at first, but then he would finally take notice of his betrothed's pretty smile and he would stop. He wouldn't remember the glass slipper, assuming he still had it. He would give his betrothed the chance that he hadn't before, and by the end of the night, he would forget all about the poor girl whose brother was dying. Maybe he would use the glass slipper as a paperweight, or perhaps smash it the next free moment he got.

Clara knew she was being bitter, but what else was she to do? She was left only with her thoughts and her worries, and as the night wore on they consumed her. She barely registered the sounds of her stepfamily coming home for the night hours earlier than normal, and when the sun was beginning to rise she still had not moved.

It was like she was frozen where she sat, her back stiff, her eyes clouded. She just wanted to watch the lights from the palace forever, because as long as it was still dark enough for the lights to glow so noticeably, she could convince herself that maybe she hadn't failed.

However, like it always did, the sun rose, and all the night accomplished for Clara was to give her red-rimmed eyes from the silent tears she hadn't noticed were falling, and a strange empty feeling where she could've sworn once beat her heart.

She was being melodramatic, and she knew it too, but that didn't stop her. Not even when Linette came in and placed a tray of food at the foot of the attic stairs did she move from her perch by the window. She didn't budge when Linette spoke to her.

"I was unable to find a willing patron," Linette said, her voice ringing around the room like the sound of a bell, despite the fact it was a good deal wearier sounding than it normally was. "I-" Linette paused. "I am sorry. I'll let you out once I return from the parade so you can say your goodbyes."

Clara heard the door shut quietly behind her stepmother, the key turning in the lock, and finally, she let herself slouch, if only slightly. That was it. That was the confirmation. Everyone who had tried to help James, even Linette, had failed. She brought her hand up to her cheek expecting to have it come back wet with tears, but there was nothing. She felt numb, but in the way one feels numb after being cold for too long. She was simply feeling too much to really pick out just one emotion to focus on.

She watched from the window later that morning as her stepfamily left to go to the parade, her head feeling stuffy and strange, but she couldn't have missed the flash of red that streaked down the road after them. Suddenly her head cleared, and her eyes snapped to attention. Standing up abruptly, she let her chair fall to the ground while she leaned halfway out the window to see who had left.