VILLIANS IN FAIRYTALES.

Cold. So cold.

Lucinda tucked her little hand into her warm gloves, blowing on it for good measure as she navigated the hallways.

It was getting late. She had slipped out of the crowd of ever-growing guests.

Passing by a room, she paused as voices reached her ears. About to dismiss it, the sound of a voice too familiar—the one she had been searching for—stopped her.

She tucked her head into the room to inspect, then pushed in when she found no one.

Her polished new shoes glistened in the moonlight, the heart of winter making her draw her coat closer to her body. The room was unlit, and the fire in the fireplace cold at its heart.

Today was a very special day. Albert her new clothes. Special, as she called it. Very well designed by who little Lucinda believed was the best seamstress in the kingdom—dare she say, the whole continent. And if all went well tonight, their lives would change for the better. 

Papa would be proud. He would finally smile at her again. At Mama, too. The thought made her giddy with excitement.

Her hope was like a rekindled flame. She had to find her mama quickly. Their lives were about to change today. She could feel it in the air, along with the cluster of people all waiting to celebrate.

With a spring in her step, she walked further into the room, following the sound of voices to the veranda.

Her footsteps slowed at an abrupt loud voice. Gently, she parted the side of the curtain.

Hagar, her mother's long-time best friend, held her mother's arm. Her long blonde strands were like a golden halo in the sparse moonlight that dotted the white landscape. Her clothes, dashing and prior to her mother, had a similarity with her mother's. But instead of the calm, steady smile she always displayed on her beautiful features, her face was twisted in an ugly scowl, her eyes glinting with something—something Lucinda had seen in flashes over the years. Something she would come to know as jealousy.

In confusion, Lucinda turned to her mother only to see her usually unfazed mother riled up. She glared at her best friend. From little of what Lucinda could understand, her mother and Lady Hagar were having a dispute, with the way they had avoided each other recently. From what she could see, it looked like another one of their fights was about to break out. She stood there, rooted. What should she do?

In other times, her mother had told her to stay aside while she made quick work of Hagar, which she always had. But those times, Mama didn't have that much rage contorting her features.

She should get help.

About to turn on her stubby legs and look for the nearest adult, a sharp hiss wrenched through the air. She whipped her head back to see her mother wrenching her arm out of Hagar's grip, her fingernails scratching Hagar's skin and drawing blood.

"I'll say it one last time, Hagar. Leave my family alone!" Her mother's tone was fierce, looking down at the wincing woman with her gaze cast downward. Her mama's long, gracious hair fluttered in the cold wind, disheveled from the fight. The cold made her pale cheeks flush, and puffs of air escaped from her red-painted lips.

Her mama jerked her coat tighter to her body, covering the stunning display of work that was her most recent creation to be displayed at the ball. The dress was perfect, albeit her mama's rare words of pride, and it was her mama's proudest work. Lucinda, too, was excited for the grand reveal. With her head high and shoulders back, her mother sauntered away.

That was a mistake…

For the second she turned her back, guard lowered, Hagar—with an unhinged roar—lunged for her. Yanking her fur coat away with a feral grip.

Her mother's expression revealed shock for a moment, both at being left bare to the cold wind and at the audacity of the situation. But before she could turn around, Hagar gripped the back of her garment and yanked her backward. Her mother hit the railing with a force that stole her breath, tipping backward, her feet unable to find purchase. At that moment, her mama's gaze met little Lucinda's equally shocked ones, her hands reaching out for the little girl's—and then, she was falling.

Lucinda could describe it as both beautiful and painful. Her mother's widened eyes as she realized what was happening, her dark hair framing her sharp features in an artistic way, the marvelous creation of her dress catching the moonlight and the serene view of the falling snow.

THUD!

It happened too fast, yet too agonizingly slow. Too little time passed, as the sickening thud reached Lucinda's ears before she could finish screaming for her mama .

Hilda.

Her mama's name was Hilda, and that was all that was left of her after that fall—no, that incident. The one that still soiled the gravel grounds, as blood rapidly pooled on the thin layer of snow-covered ground. Her artwork of sleepless nights now displayed for all to see in her cold wake of death. There were no gasps of astonishment, no cheers of surprise, or shining admiration in the socialites' eyes—only horror and shrieks of fright as the nobility lingering below gathered around her body.

Even as the news spread fast and wide, the sudden death—suicide as they called it—the great Hilda's legacy was over before it even began.

And no one knew the truth. The truth with golden halo hair and the green eyes of jealousy. The same one that barreled down on her upon sighting the witness to the treacherous crime.

And instead of nursing her wounds that night, Lucinda was welcomed with the sight of her father—absent for months—kneeling at the foot of her parents' bedroom, a worried gaze filled with love and relief as he tended to Hagar's wounds. The golden halo of beauty sat there, comforted in the warmth of his presence, her injuries cared for while the truth of what happened lay buried under snow and blood.

Lucinda wished she could say that was what broke her that fateful day, but it wasn't. It was the disgusted look of contempt on her father's face as he shut the door on her bruised and tear-streaked face that told her everything she needed to know about their world. The cold reality set in. As suddenly as her hope had kindled, it died down for good.

And, suddenly, the villains in the fairytales didn't seem so evil anymore.

•••

Heavy puffs of air escaped from Lucinda's parted lips, her chest rising and falling.

This nightmare again. It must be drawing closer, Lucinda remarked as her frantic gaze darted around the room. The anniversary of her mother's death.

Lucinda's shaky hands reached for the soft curls of Theodore's hair, the only thing that ever calmed her—only to come up empty. Her gaze turned to the side, where Theodore usually lay beside her, only to find the spot cold. Theodore was gone.