It seems like a lot of trouble for a godmother to go through to get Cinderella ready for the ball and the marriage which must inevitably follow. But what if the fairy has her own agenda? [19 min]
So I light a cigar. I know they’re not good for you. But in the old country—under the sidhe, you know what I mean—even in my svelte Green Lady days I enjoyed a good smoke. Corn silk, maybe, or fine, dried peaseblossom. Sometimes stuff with a bit more zing in it. But now, with Cindy, I’ve got to be careful to have it finished before she comes upstairs.
Talk about priggish.
Like now, as I hear her dainty hand scratching against the rough wooden boards of the trapdoor. I douse the butt quickly and hide it between my—well never mind where. Where I’ll find it later. I pick up my needle and thread it with silver and get on with sewing. “Is that you, Cindy?” I whisper, demurely.
“Yes,” comes the answer. The trapdoor rises and golden hair shines through, brightening even the dingy attic I use as my workshop. She climbs through completely, her milk white skin glowing even beneath the dirt, ruby lips smiling, her lithe figure straightening when…a chittering…
A black straw beetle scuttles across the floor and Cindy’s lips twist, just for a moment, as her foot comes down, crushing the creature. I hear its shell crack, hear the ooze of its life fluid—just for a moment. Then daintily, scarcely missing a step, she flicks a handkerchief down to her shoe and, still gracefully, pirouettes to my side and sits down beside me.
“Cindy” was first published in the Spring 2001 issue of Fantastic.