Seven Witches

three

For dinner, Cythera joined Hera in the dinning room. Her sister was still dressed in her apron when she sat beside her, fingers wrinkled from washing dishes. She was smiling at something Paul had said, a few traces of flour still in her hair. Paul was a kitchen boy just like her, a scrawny man with stubble on his chin and a pink scar across his nose bridge.

Unlike her sister, Cythera was elegant even when they didn't have enough money to afford elegance. Hera did not bother with her appearance, she was spontaneous and joyful if not a bit naïve. Upon spotting her sister, a grin spread across her cheeky face. "Thera! Come, come you must hear what happened today!"

She was glad to see that there was no sign of illness on her sister's face, even as she said, "I told you not to call me Thera." She sat beside her, making sure she eyed Paul. "You have flour in your hair."

Hera began patting her head randomly until she had dusted the flour from her short golden brown hair. She dove into a story about having a bird steal one of the Princess's scarves and her having to follow it and throw a stone at it to drop the scarf.

They all ate as she told the story, Paul more interested in her story than the hot food on his plate. Cythera poked at her steak, avoiding the stares the rest of Tetka Helen's girls were giving her. She never understood why they loathed her, didn't want to believe they were jealous. Who would ever wish to be leered at, even if they fed on attention, that sort was plain toxic.

She caught the stare of one particular blond across the dining room and held it. The girl looked her up and down then looked away. Cythera schooled her face into cold indifference and she was still glaring at the blond girl when she looked back up and found the burning in her eyes. The girl flinched. "What do you think?"

Having not heard the question her sister had asked, so requested she repeat it. "I was wondering if we can sneak into the ball next week. I heard they have pastries that will make you tear up." There was so much hope and excitement in her sister's voice, so much innocence that Cythera had to protect with all her might.

"We don't have the money for a dress, nor an invitation."

Hera pressed her lips into a thin line, facing falling as she watched her plate. The three ate in silence for a while and Cythera wondered if she had been too harsh. Paul and her sister were eating slowly and she knew why, they wanted her to finish so that they could have a moment for themselves. She did not know if Hera was in love with him, she hoped not.

Cythera gobbled down her bland meal before leaving the dining room, her pale yellow gown rustling with her hurried steps. Once she was in the hallway, she leaned against one of the lilac walls, head tipped back as she watched the several chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

The palace was a work of art, floors of shining marble tiles the colour of sweetened milk. A dozen of black twirls were drawn on the edges of the walls where it connected with the floor, several curtains placed to hide the enormous windows.

She pulled one velvet white curtain and watched the outside garden. A ball gown would cost a week's worth of hard work, how will she get two gowns? There was no way she could get enough money by next week.

An invitation would be no problem, she could glamour a piece of cardboard just long enough for them to get in and disappear from sight. But, she cannot glamour a dress. The horror her sister would feel if Cythera lost her concentration and revealed the plain gown underneath.

She shook the idea from her head and focused her attention on the cropped trees, on the girls chasing one another down there. How envious she was of them, of their joy and freedom.

"Miss?"

Cythera was startled by the sudden voice. She whirled, finding Paul with his hand hovering above her shoulder, wondering if he should touch her or not. "What is it?" she asked.