Long Live the Queen

Six: The Stepmother, The Cinder, No Glass Slipper

INGRID

Next course: dessert.

I prod some leftover steak with my fork, absentmindedly tracing patterns in the gravy with its prongs. When I'm certain I've scraped the meat clean of the dark brown substance, I move on to the plate, dragging the metal across its porcelain surface.

"Ingrid," says Dana, using that saccharine sweet, yet sassy, voice of hers. "Please. Stop with the noises. They're burning my ears."

I shrug in a theatrical manner, making sure to raise my eyebrows innocently as I look her in the eye. After ungracefully licking the fork clean, I drop it onto my platter with a smirk and relish in the joy of hearing it clatter.

"Where's dessert, Dana? I'm sure we're all dying to taste your chocolate pudding. After all dear Ingrid here helped you make just about most of it," I say, resting my chin on the back of my palm as I lean forward. I blink a couple of times, watching gleefully as she glares and her cool slips from within her grasp for a few long moments. Dad clears his throat, an attempt to gain some attention that clearly fails.

"Oh, Ingrid dear. You aren't expecting me to bring it out for you, are you? I'm not a dog, I don't wait on people." She glances down at her nails and examines them under the light, the shimmering sparkles glaring my eyes. I continue to stare her down as she eyes her claws with irises clad in flowery contacts, almost as if she's trying to show off the set from her latest collection.

Dad shuffles in his seat, setting his fork down on the table. "Dana," he coughs, "I'll just go get the pudding from the fridge. You two sit here and wait."

"Let Ingrid do it, dear," coos my prospective stepmother. "You should sit down and rest. After all, it's been a long day at work, unlike for this monkey here who's been staring at her phone since she got home."

I see Dad's muscles stiffen and he glances at me through the corner of his eye. Sensing the change in mood, Dana's face darkens the slightest bit and she lets go of his arm. "Go get it from the fridge, Ingrid," he says.

"There is no way I am-"

"I said go." A stern look tinged with apology is all it takes to get me on my feet and on the way to the kitchen. I can see it in his eyes most of the time, that he isn't happy about how Dana treats me but can't do much about it. He's just too much of a chicken around her and he's got to see that she's just a woman who can't bite.

I pick at my nails, all bitten raw, and try to ignore the burning sensation that tickles the spot where Dana shoots lasers at me with her pretty floral eyes. I return with the pudding and cutlery in my hands, setting the bowl down in the middle of the table.

"Self service," I say with a gesture to the bowls and spoons. Dana frowns, somewhat elegantly, but obliges and serves herself.

Of course I should've know that she was just doing that to get back in Dad's good books because she promptly spoons him some as well. I duck my head and stare into my bowl as Dana feeds it to him like a clingy brat. When she first got here, Dana did that a lot - buttering up to Dad in an attempt to pacify him. Now that she knows that Dad is a wimp she's more of a pain in the arse. Sure, she doesn't bootlick as much but at least the old her didn't repeatedly cross the line.

It is only when she's finally done with her torture that she tastes some herself. A frown lines her features again, and she wrinkles her nose.

"Ingrid!"

"Yes, Dana?" I ask, turning on my genuinely false smile.

"I thought you'd do better than your sister!"

I freeze, stiffly placing my spoon down on the table. I stare. "My sister?" A glance at Dad's expression tells me that he's aware that Dana's treading into treacherous waters. One wrong word and she'll be gone by my wrath.

"Yes," she says, using an incredulous tone. "Your sister. The one who's basically a three-tiered wedding cake of ninety percent sugar and ten percent brains."

My eyes, from their previous cold glare, slowly narrow down into slits. "What did you say?"

She sighs, almost as if she's too sick of dealing with idiots like me. "I thought you'd do better than her since she's such a sugar cookie. I remember getting her to prepare the pudding mix once when I was busy with my manicure and she made it so sweet I was sick to my stomach after eating it. I thought that making you do the chores for me would neutralise the taste a little, since a sharper tongue's got to go with a sharper taste."

My eyes remain fixed on her head as she goes back to her food. "Shut up, Dana."

She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "I'm only speaking the truth, Ingrid, I-"

"That's your personal opinion."

"-I'm sure there are many who agree with me-"

"Dana, Lindsey was my daughter," says Dad with a soft voice. "Now that she's dead, all I can ask of you is to leave her in peace."

"I'm not too affected, I must say. She's always been-"

"Enough is enough," demands Dad.

"There are many things I can tolerate from you, Ms. Delaney, but your lack of respect for my own flesh and blood and your shameless slander isn't something I'm going to turn a blind eye to." It's only when I've knocked over a cup of water that I realise that I'm on my feet, glowering daggers at my stepmother.

"If you dare," I hiss, "say one more word about my sister, I will make sure that I slit your throat and hurl you into a trashcan." I glare and watch as her eyes flicker with fear before turning and storming for the door, grabbing my jacket in the process.

"I'm sick of this." Ripping the door from its frame, I swing myself out and slam it shut behind me. The ground shakes.

Shrugging the sweater on, I lift the hood over my head and feel about in my pockets. Chalk in the right, keys in the left. I shove a hand into each and set off for the streets.