A Slip of Fate: Adult Retelling of Cinderella (Twisted Fairy Tale) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  A Slip of Fate

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 1

  The lights of the party stretched over the acres of land that had belonged to Finnleigh’s family for centuries. The events [L1]of the past five decades had not been enough to remove the power and privilege of the Fosters. Then again, compared to the other surviving cities, this was the richest and the most powerful. Here, the men in charge were not ignorant. They knew the truth of what happened when the sun went down. They knew what the new reality was and instead of resisting it, they welcomed it with open arms. After all, these new players in the game were like them: old money.

  This party was a celebration for them, as part of their business arrangement. They could keep their lands and power, they could retain their air of control so long as these weekly parties were arranged and the previously arranged transactions occurred at them. Without fail, for the last fifty years, they had. And everything was fine.

  Shakes were exchanged in hands, fake smiles pressed to features as nods of accord stroked egos. Each[L2] one puffed the chest of Finn's[L3] stepfather further, acknowledging his acquiesce in the tradition. Eyes skated over her, taking in the hideously tight and revealing dress her stepmother had insisted upon before jumping to her two stepsisters[L4].

  Finn was not often invited to these events. She usually had a hard time keeping her mouth shut. More often than not sarcasm escaped, which brought horror to her stepmother’s features and she was grounded for a week – or more. They all decided, and Finn happily agreed with them, she was not needed at these parties. Tonight, though, her presence had been insisted on[L5].

  Swallowing hard, she steeled her jaw and consequently the smile on her face. By the time all of this was over her face would be hurting from faking pleasantries, but this was how they liked it. Play along, be a doll, be silent, be perfect. God forbid she have an opinion on these archaic proceedings. If she did, no one cared. Only her cat; maybe.

  As guests walked in, they walked right past her like her smile[L6] was a fixture on the wall. But Finnleigh was used to it. If someone noticed her after smearing their false niceties toward her stepparents for the sake of toasty warm platitude, she might die of shock. She was not a person; she was a thing. And it had been the same for as long as she could remember.

  Her position in this family was contingent on the fact she was a blood Foster and with that came this manor, the titles, and the social status. Of course, no one else knew this. As far as anyone with any power was aware they were all Fosters. Her[L7] stepparents were her real parents and the strange thing of all: people who had been coming here for as long as Finn had been alive, seemed to forget about her real parents as if they too believed the lies her stepparents were so careful to cultivate.

  They forgot before Ariadne was Leigh, Finn's mother. And before Julian was Finn, her father. It was almost as if their memories had been completely erased from the minds of the city's patrons. Or perhaps this was all a part of their false sincerities and acts; they went along with the new power and forgot about the old. Besides, what would dwelling on people who were dead do? [L8]Instead of acknowledging the truth, Finn[L9] was forced to stand there and pretend like the rest of them. Just an object, just another thing to add to her stepparents’ collection.

  Tonight she represented beauty. That was her stepmother’s intention when she shimmied her into a dress that felt four sizes too small and clung to curves she wished she had in clothes that actually fit[L10]. Outside of this dress she had ‘curves' but they were fat as Ariadne and her daughters were quick to point out. She lacked the thinness of her stepmother and stepsisters, another thing separating her from them. But for tonight, with the help of many things that pinched and sucked, Finn possessed a larger version of the ideal body shape. She towered over the three petite women, and felt a thousand sizes bigger. She had no doubt everyone else noticed too. Maybe they were taking bets on when the seams would snap, and she would explode from them, lava made of skin and baby fat. This had to all be a sick joke. It seemed the only reasonable explanation for why her stepmother had insisted on this ridiculous charade.

  “Julian, excellent party. Thank you."

  More hands were exchanged, and it took every effort on Finn's part not to roll her eyes. Being caught would only land her in her attic bedroom for God knows how long. But Mr. Davenport had not been there for more than thirty seconds, what did he know of the party? Maybe it was the foresight that this party, like all parties hosted by her stepfather, was the exact same: bland, obnoxious, pretentious and important. The last point being the key.

  “It is of the utmost importance Finnleigh," always said in the same hushed voice as though the walls had ears. Generally, she was of the understanding things 'of utmost importance' required three things from her: silence, smiles, and sincere insincerity. Almost a trifecta[L11]. Then again, things could be dreadfully unimportant, and her stepparents would still expect silence from her, a smile to show how perfect everything was when it most certainly was not and insincerity… well, in a world were false niceties were the only nicety there was, how sincere could you be?

  “Ariadne, you look divine.” You[L12] look like a cow; she eyed the hag. Ari-ah’d-knee; always accentuated as such. As pretentious as possible. Exactly like the gaudy dress she wore.

  "Hand[L13] spun silk with gold threading. As if crafted by angels." On cue, she began telling her story. Rubbing it in. I seduced a Senator. I might as well be First Lady. As if such things existed anymore. She read about them in books. Democracy seemed like an excellent idea. People having a say instead of being told what to say. Finn wondered what that would be like.

  “Divine.” Mrs. Davenport repeated, accentuating the first syllable with a hard a[L14]. Pretentious. She swept into the ballroom; yes: they had a ballroom, and disappeared amongst the other guests. Her[L15] eyes drifted to the grandfather clock, searching for the time. Five minutes to midnight.

  The atmosphere was about to change.

  As if on cue the first of the strange guests appeared. This was the part she still did not understand. With her stepparents, appearance was everything. It was of the utmost[L16] importance after all, and yet the strange guests who came every Saturday night at midnight were not the right kind. They kept to themselves, circled the other guests like predators on the hunt. They dressed like they'd salvaged their clothes from a costume store. They might come from old money because Julian insisted upon it[L17], but they acted like animals.

  They filled the ballroom, keeping to themselves as predicted. They did not dance, they did not drink or eat. They stood there, inspecting with unblinking eyes. If not for the occasional movement Finn would’ve sworn they were statues. They would stay for an hour or two, and then they would disappear into the parlor room. At that point her stepfather would go around and tap people on the shoulder, guiding them into the parlor room as well with the strange guests. It was never the same people who he invited in with them, and he always seemed
to know exactly who to invite as if going by a list. All at once he went from party host to personal servant.

  But her dead mother's last husband [L18]welcomed them and did their bidding all too happily like he was nothing more than a butler.

  Julian shook hands with the next guest, pressing on those casual and fake smiles to his face as he welcomed him with the best from his arsenal of sincere insincerity. Ariadne stepped forward, curtsying like this was the king himself before giggling breathlessly. It took every effort on Finn’s part not to audibly sigh or roll her eyes. When he returned his attention to her, however, it felt as though her blood ran cold and something inside of her made her want to freeze. But there was another part of her, buried deeper than her flight or fight instinct that told her to not fall into his trap. What trap? He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

  "Miss Foster," he smiled charmingly at her. If not for her strange reaction [L19]to his demeanor maybe he might’ve been like all the other guests. Except he noticed[L20] her. Weird.

  She could not remember the last time someone had noticed her. Or the last time someone had noticed[L21] her and her stepparents had not immediately drawn the attention away from her. But he stood there inspecting her so curiously like he was cataloging every flaw and finish of her. She felt uneasy under the scrutiny, shifting her feet uncomfortably. It did not help. Time seemed to have stopped as he stood there, still smiling like he knew her secret. He did not touch her, having released her hand already, which was weird. There was nothing left tethering him to her. He did not have to stand there. How long was he going to stand there?

  Then it was over, and he had moved to her stepsisters, addressing them both before sweeping away and into the room. He was gone, but the unease settled deep in her belly was still there.. She could not shake the strange conflicting emotions he had invited. On the one hand, he was gorgeous, almost a perfect male specimen and he'd noticed her. The girl inside of her, the one who longed for attention and had never been kissed, was giddy at the prospect someone attractive could look at her so attentively. But the other side of her, the one whose fight or flight instinct had kicked in, was telling her there was something infinitely dangerous about him, and she should stay as far away from him as she could. She half expected to be chastised for her bad manners, but no one said anything. They prepared themselves for the next guest

  She could stay as far away from him as she wanted, that did not mean he was going to stay away from her.

  The conflicting emotions inside of her subsided, and she relaxed again. As each guest following the strange man appeared, the oddness he had provoked in her never returned. Frankly, in all the parties that had been hosted and all the times she had been allowed to them, she never had something like that happen to her before. It had been so quick she felt like she was insane for thinking it had happened. The entire moment felt like it had been five minutes – not long in the grand scheme but long enough it had such an effect on her. And yet, it must've only been seconds. Time stilled only in her head and not in reality. How strange.

  She could not help but continue to obsess over it. Asking her stepsisters was out of the question, they would only laugh at her. They did not get along, and it was a waste of energy to pretend like they were anything resembling normal siblings. They would tell Julian and Ariadne about it, and they would take it as if she planned on stalking him, and the whole affair would be blown out of proportion.

  Once all the guests had arrived the family moved into the ballroom. Finn stayed where she had been planted for the last three hours, staring out across the plains of their land wondering what it would be like to leave. It would not be hard she told herself. One foot in front of the other, down the steps, across the grass. Do not stop, do not look back. Without realizing what she was doing she floated to the edge of the steps, one foot hanging in midair waiting for the command for freedom. But she knew better.

  Without her, her step-father had no claim to the Foster throne. He’d come after her. Besides, was it that terrible here? Sure, she hated her stepparents, but what teenager did not like their parents? Maybe it was a phase. She could remember a time when Julian was kind, and she loved him. But it was also back when her mother had been alive[L22]. Since then she did not remember when she liked him. He'd become cold and calculating. He only ever focused on power and what she might offer him as a Foster daughter. Long gone was the man who would read her stories before bed, tuck her in and kiss her forehead.

  Finn could not pinpoint the exact moment when he had changed, but it had happened, and she was left with a shell of the man her mother had married. She resented becoming a person who had hate in their heart, this was not the kind of person her parents had raised her to be, but the last few years without love or kindness had hardened her.

  Despite all this, she was comfortable in the house she lived in. Sure, compassion and love may be lacking, but she did not want for anything[L23]. Occasionally she was treated like a servant and not another member of the family, but she had everything she could ask for[L24]. And being that she was the Foster who provided the power her stepparents needed for their grandeur, she also got everything she asked for… mostly.

  Setting her foot down, Finn gave up her hope of running away when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A last-minute guest? But it was gone. The trees waved in the distance, dancing to the sway of the wind but there was no one there. A trick of the light. Finn turned and headed back into the house, returning to the party where her absence was never noted.

  People were dancing, but their motions were tense. More sincere insincerity, a show for no one but themselves. Everyone was on edge with the strange guests hovering nearby, but they were trying to act normal. Normal was not something that could be used to describe this whole façade though. Finn stood against the wall, watching everyone whirl and wind around the room. This was the only part she could stand the most, no one noticed her, but as long as she was present, she could not get in trouble with her stepparents. Before long the selected guests would disappear into the parlor and an hour after that, she could go to bed and prepare for next week's parade.

  The ballroom was a living portrait of all those old paintings her father had once collected, they had lined the walls of this house but now sat buried under years of dust in the basement. [L25]Despite the dust, mice and couple of bats she went down there and admired the portraits, wondering what the world might've been like when they were first painted. She found herself nostalgic for the world she had never known as if a deep seeded part of her remembered it, but she knew was not possible. She was only nineteen[L26]. Still, she longed for the easiness in the paintings where people could dance and it brought joy. When parties were held for celebration and not ceremony and guests were friends and family, not a part of a show for power[L27].

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed and the bodies of the strange guests made their way toward the parlor. Her body tensed instinctively as she watched her stepfather circle the room, tapping the shoulders of the chosen few. She wondered what happened behind those closed doors, but for the first time in a long time, she was glad she was not one of those being locked in with that strange man. What she could imagine happening behind those doors tonight were nefarious things ending only in unpleasantness.

  But the stranger did not move, in fact, as the dull thud of the door closing echoed through the silent room, she noticed he was standing across from her staring with dark and curious eyes. She frowned to herself, shifting her gaze to the people who had not been chosen make their way to the door and leave for the night. Those who had come with someone in the other room remained while the servants moved through the room handing out nightcaps and aperitifs[L28].

  The party died immensely [L29]as people walked by like ghosts, the energy sucked out of them altogether. Still, the stranger stood there scrutinizing her. This time it was not his eyes that caught her attention. Another man stood across the room, this one she did not recall gr
eeting at the door. He was tall and altogether handsome, and there was a huskiness to his features setting him apart from the usual smooth and refined men that came to her door. There was something about him that begged for an answer to questions she did not know. He was not supposed to be there, that much she realized. But still, Finn found herself making her way across the room. She’d barely taken two steps toward him when the stranger stepped in her way.

  He held out his hand bowing courteously, "may I have this dance?" Her eyes flicked to the wall again, but the man was gone, and she was left with the cold stranger.

  "There is no music," Finn remarked, glancing around nervously to note no one else was dancing.

  "We'll make our own."

  He did not wait for her to take his extended gesture, wrapping her in his arms and beginning to swing her around the room in a sweeping waltz. Her legs were trapped by the tight dress she was wearing, but it did not matter much, he practically lifted her off her feet and carried her around the room. People stopped to watch them now, their eyes glued to the beautiful dance. Whispers became the tempo they danced to and all the while Finn could feel a nervous bundle in the pit of her stomach growing.

  One hand freed itself from hers as he cupped her chin, tilting her head back to look at him. His eyes were a strange icy blue, glinting with a hint of danger.

  "You are remarkable Finnleigh," he smiled just enough, the gesture unnerved her.

  There was something wrong with it, although she could not place what. The haze in her brain rolled in like morning fog over a lake. Try as she might to think through it, she felt she was caught in quicksand. Instead, she seemed to fall deeper into his eyes. He thought she was remarkable, a sad and hopeful voice whispered at the back of her mind. Empty compliments should not have any effect on her, and yet she blushed. Why? She found herself asking but the question was more of a whisper as her heart sped faster.