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 

poison 

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