"A bedtime story?"
Ewen chuckled, "Maybe we'll sleep and never wake up."
Taking a deep breath, Ewen felt dizzy, possibly from the aftermath of the impact, or perhaps from blood loss, he felt drunk, and in such a state, the story he told carried a layer of elusive color.
"I've never met my father."
Ewen spoke, "People say he was an interesting poet, who came from afar."
"My mother was a beauty, every man liked her and wanted her. She enjoyed the praise and desirous gazes of others, meeting different men every day, reveling in the vanity they brought.
She was always high above, feeling she could control everyone."
Cinderella listened quietly, this was different from the version of the story Ewen initially told her, but this time both were quite patient.
