37
Elle
Saturday, The Morning of the Glass Slipper Ball
I open my eyes a crack. Even that movement hurts. It’s as if the insides of my eyelids were covered in sandpaper or something. New beams of light shine out from under the basement door. I’ve been tracking the days. It’s Saturday morning.
Tonight, there’s the Glass Slipper Ball.
Squinting, I try to focus on Grunt. The room warps around the troll. Colors merge and slide. Some part of me knows that I’m turning delirious. Marchesa gave me just enough water to last through the Glass Slipper Ball.
That’s almost here.
Through the haze in my head, I notice that Grunt’s eyes are shut. Is he sleeping at last? I open my mouth, ready to call for him. My throat is too dry.
No sound comes.
My mattress undulates beneath me, like it’s made o
