Her bed smells like sweat and sex and things that are just wrong.
It clings to the sheets, and I swear to the good god above that nothing will ever get the scent of my sins out.
The taste of her lips are intoxicating enough; good god, stepmother, kiss me again, I'm yours…
I sit and watch the music lesson, admiring the way her fingers grace the ivories, and I remember the way they felt when they were pressing against forbidden places…
I watch and I want and I need and I hate and-
"Cinderella, please, stop staring, it's terribly rude."
I'm their servant, but I'm her slave.
Stepmother! please, touch me there again; it feels so good…
Anastasia and Drizella laugh when she scolds me, but she laughs at them when she kisses me…
They're not as pretty as you, Cinderella…
I don't want to admit that it's true. Mother said to be humble.
But she makes me a naughty, haughty girl.
I have to sit down on her bare bed, clutching the sheets in my hands and pressing a fistful of fabric against the most sacred-yet desecrated-part of my body…just to feel it all again…
I really do love washing her sheets.