"Killed who, Cill?" Essie asked. Concern did not color Essie's pitch.
"No! Don't say it," Cinderella hissed.
But Pricilla would not be reprieved. "Maman," she whispered.
"Of course, you didn't kill her." Essie patted her hand. "We just want to kill her." Essie dropped Cill's hand. "Come. We must finish dressing for this outrageous farce." A frown marred her brow, obviously remembering her current dilemma. She strode toward Manette, who held out an ivory cream silk, edged with the softest whispering of white velvet.
Cinderella did not move. She met Pricilla's eyes in the glass and knew Pricilla spoke the truth.
Cinderella drew herself up and proclaimed in a soft yet fierce determination, "She killed herself. Do you understand me? She. Killed. Herself," Cinderella did not know who she tried to convince, Pricilla or herself.
The grip she had on Pricilla was returned tenfold. A tense silence stretched between them.
"Oui. She killed herself," Pricilla whispered, nodding.
Cinderella watched her a moment longer willing her to remain calm. Pricilla's words pounded through her with glimmer of hope that would have her baking in the depths of Hades. Could Stepmama truly be gone? What a horrid, morbid thing to think? But the relief was staggering.
Convinced by Pricilla's slow calm intakes, Cinderella released her hand and moved off slowly toward Manette who now struggling to keep the wrinkles from a breathtaking emerald green silk. Cinderella glanced back over her shoulder to Pricilla. She still stood before the looking glass, her winsome spirit dampened. Guilt filled Cinderella. It should have been her coming to terms with such nefarious deeds. She owed Pricilla more than she could say.
Pricilla's distress only added to her beauty. Her translucent skin and shimmering light blond hair made her appear so fragile. Then she seemed to pull herself up in one fell swoop, fussed over her appearance in the reflection glass a moment or two longer, before turning a pragmatic direct gaze on Essie.
Cinderella let out a long held breath.
Pricilla was back, for the moment, leastways. Though her confrontational blaze did not bode well.
Stomach pinched in apprehension, Cinderella found herself trying to edge her way out of Pricilla's peripheral sight.
"Something is wrong," Pricilla said, staring at Essie. "The white makes you look…I don't know… Ess. Wan…pallid, colorless, sallow." Pricilla flung her hand out as more adjectives escaped her. "That dress is all wrong for you."
Cinderella flinched. "Um, Pricilla, I vow she gets your meaning." Cinderella resisted brushing damp palms over her lovely green silk skirts. Oh, this was not good at all. Almost all traces of Pricilla's apprehension had vanquished.