her lips part at the arduous notions of
stepmother bound to her trail of agony, shallowed dress keeping pace
with its tendrils attached to tressels of white lipped fingernails
stricking against the rippled soundwaves of laughter emitting from
the ballgown, towering above her thin stature.
she lifts a single hand, delicately, dedicatedly, definantly so, poised
showering upon disbelief or destain, cinderella could not place,
her complacent mask finding itself upon the dusted shelves of rebellion
the hand came toppling down, upon the face of her stepmother, risen so
risen towards anger.
the pale finger gashed the steady composure, a fragment of her self stepping
from the meticulous mercenary she sought to be
and a flower of agony billowed itself through her chest cavity,
as she wilted