Emily
The morning begins with a miracle, or so I thought. I am in the kitchen, eating my usual breakfast of a single, slightly stale piece of bread, when Victoria sweeps in, a vision in emerald green silk. The air around her seems to pop with an unusual energy.
"Emily," she says, and her voice is so lacking its usual acid that I look up in shock, certain I have misheard. "Leave that. We are going to the market."
I stare at her, my bread halfway to my mouth. The market? I haven't been allowed to go to the market in years. It's a place of crowds and noise and life, everything my existence in this house is not.
"Why?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"To buy you a dress, of course," she says with a radiant smile. She gestures to my worn, patched brown dress. "We can't have you looking like a street urchin forever. It reflects poorly on the family. And also we need to get some groceries. We don't have much left in this house." She added.
My stepsisters, who have just entered the kitchen, look as stunned as I am. Flora opens her mouth to protest, but Victoria silences her with a single, sharp look. A dress. The words echo in my mind, a sweet, unbelievable melody. A new dress meant something more than just cloth and thread. It meant an acknowledgment, however small, that I was part of this family. It meant a crack in the wall of her cruelty. A careful, fragile hope begins to bloom in my chest, a feeling so strange I barely recognize it. Maybe, just maybe, things were changing.
The walk to the market is a strange, dreamlike experience. Victoria doesn't walk beside me; she walks a pace ahead, as if she is leading a treasured pony to a show. But her hand is on my arm, her grip surprisingly tight, almost painful. I tell myself it's to keep me from getting lost in the multitude of people, a protective gesture. The market is a riot of color, sound, and smell. Merchants shout their wares, the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat mingles with the earthy smell of vegetables and the sharp scents of spices. Children chase each other through the crowds, their laughter bright and carefree. It's overwhelming, a feast for senses that have been starved for so long. For a moment, I let the hope inside me swell. I look at the large rolls of colorful fabric, imagining myself in a dress of blue, or green, or even a sunny yellow.
But as we move deeper into the market, away from the main square and into the narrower, more crowded alleyways, my cautious hope begins to thicken into a familiar dread. Victoria's grip on my arm tightens, her nails digging into my flesh. Her pace quickens, and she pulls me along with a sense of urgent purpose. The bright, open market gives way to a network of shadowed alleys where the air is thick with the smell of stale beer and unwashed bodies. The cheerful sounds of the market are replaced by hushed whispers and sneaky glances. This is not where you go to buy fine dresses. This is where you go for things you don't want the world to see.
The fear in my stomach is a cold, hard knot. I try to pull back, my feet stumbling on the uneven cobblestones. "Where are we going?" I ask, my voice trembling. "The dressmakers are back on the main square."
Victoria doesn't answer. She just drags my arm harder, pulling me into a particularly dark and dirty alley. It's a dead end, surrounded by the towering, windowless backs of buildings. The alley is empty, save for one person. A man leans against the wet brick wall, his arms crossed over his massive chest. He is a large, dirty looking man, with a tangled beard and a network of scars that cross his face, one particularly nasty one pulling his lip up into a permanent smirk. He looks less like a man and more like a mountain that has been roughly carved into a human shape. As we approach, he straightens up, his small, piggy eyes fixing on me with a disturbing intensity.
The mask of sweetness dissolves from Victoria's face, melting away to reveal the cold, hard cruelty beneath. Her smile is gone, replaced by a triumphant smirk. She pushes me forward, so hard that I stumble and fall to my knees on the filthy cobblestones.
"She's yours now," Victoria hisses, her voice dripping with venom. She turns to the scarred man, and I see him press a heavy, clinking purse of coins into her hand. The sound of the coins is like the tolling of a funeral bell.
My whole life feels suddenly turned upside down. The hope that had bloomed so brightly just an hour ago shatters into a million tiny, sharp pieces. This was the plan all along. This was the meaning of her appraising looks. The new dress, the trip to the market, it was all a lie, a carefully constructed trap.
A scream rips from my throat, a raw, desperate sound of pure terror and betrayal. "No! Please!"
Victoria doesn't even look at me. She turns, her green silk dress swishing as she walks away, vanishing back into the crowded chaos of the market without a backward glance. She has sold me. Like a piece of livestock. Like an unwanted piece of furniture.
Before I can even process the totality of her betrayal, the large man is on me. A hand that feels like it's made of stone and covered in dirt gripping tightly over my mouth, stifling my screams. His other arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off the ground as easily as if I were a doll. I kick and struggle, my fists beating uselessly against his unyielding back, but it's like hitting a brick wall. The world is a blur of dirty brick and shadowed corners. The last thing I see before my world plunges into darkness is the scarred man's mocking face, his eyes gleaming with a greedy light. The light of a man who has just acquired a new, and very unique, possession.