A Rose Thorne From The Bloom – Chapter Six

Locking her door behind her, Cinder briefly paused. She really hadn’t wanted that talk with Selene to go that way. But there was nothing to be done about it now. Neither of them were going to back down from their positions. Talking to Selene more would just make things worse.

So after that fleeting moment of remorse, Cinder grinned, gliding across her room with a skip in her step. She wasn’t usually one to dance, but this was a special occasion. A celebration. So she spun and pivoted, opening up her windows with a flourish before collapsing right into her bed, hands folded behind her head. Cinder closed her eyes and just lay there, taking in the peace and the quiet, the whisper of the cool wind, the freedom that now was hers.

Several minutes later, her tranquility was disturbed by a thunderous knocking at her door — her mother, rehashing her earlier argument, yelling about how Cinder was disgracing her and that she should be ashamed of herself and that she had better open the door or else she was going to break it down and whatever other nonsense she was fouling the air with. Cinder, knowing full well her mother loved the vanity of her home more than the lost cause of her eldest daughter, tuned it all out, settled back, and smiled that much wider.

By the time Chrysanthe got tired and finally left, the moon had fully risen in the night sky and Cinder began her final preparations. She was going to have to rest after a long, taxing day, of course, but she wanted to be ready to go first thing in the morning.

Rolling beneath her bed, Cinder pulled out a leather backpack she’d hidden underneath. After briefly checking that all the supplies she’d gathered over the last few weeks were safe and secure inside, she placed the sack by the foot of the large dresser across her room.

Throwing open the dresser’s mahogany doors, Cinder couldn’t help but chuckle a little, looking at all the supposedly proper clothes sitting there, in their compressed mess of reds and whites and greens. Most of them had sat untouched ever since Chrysanthe had forced her to take them, declaring confidently that one day Cinder would need each and every one of those dozens of outfits, and one day she’d be thanking her that she had them in the first place.

I really never did get around to wearing any of those, Mother, Cinder thought with a grin, shaking her head. I’ve half a mind to just light them up right now… but it’s not worth the effort. And anyways, Heather and Selene both liked a couple of these, for whatever reason. Mother will probably try and get them to take all of these, though. They won’t be happy about that, but hey, I had to let these clutter my space for years. Their turn now.

She shifted her attention past this cluster, over a small gap in the rack, to the small row of dark jackets and cargo pants that she actually used. Throwing her favored black bomber jacket, a plain grey shirt, a pair of baggy, dark jeans, and two beaten combat boots to the side for the next day, Cinder carefully scrutinized what little remained of the clothes she actually wore on anything approaching a regular basis.

She couldn’t take it all, though that didn’t matter too much — they were all functional attire that was low-key and would blend easily into a crowd. One wouldn’t exactly do any better or worse than another. In the end, Cinder picked the ones that bore the most scuffs or cuts, figuring some might mistake the damage she’d earned in training for the scars of actual fights, and folded them up tightly before stuffing them into her bag.

Then, Cinder turned back to her dresser and took another long look at it. Now that it was devoid of any of her clothes, or at least the important ones, all it held was a reflection of the person her mother wanted her to be, the person she might never have been but certainly no longer was. Garments for a ghost and nothing more.

In a sudden impulse, Cinder tore at the clothes with a yell, flinging them across the rack and knocking many to the floor. The colorful fabrics and elegant gowns that had sat so neatly on their side of the dresser were now strewn about, painting that corner of Cinder’s soon-to-be-former room in a tapestry of chaos. Appraising the fallout of her spontaneous act, Cinder took a moment to breathe, not knowing precisely why she had done that, but only that it had felt good.

And that’s enough. From now until the day I die, she resolved, pacing across the room. While mentally checking one last time that she had everything she needed, Cinder stepped into her bathroom for her nightly stare-down with her reflection. She looked herself right in the eye, brushing vigorously back and forth, and that time she really almost made it all the way.

But as Cinder looked in the mirror, something began nagging at her. Something was slightly off, like she knew she was being stalked but her stranger was too distant to be spotted. That distraction caused her to flinch, and she spat out her toothpaste angrily, before reassessing herself in the glass. Her grin morphed into a frown, as she tried to put her finger on it. What was it? What was wrong this time?

Tilting her head to the side, Cinder was struck with a frightening thought. At that angle, she almost looked like her mother. Or Selene. Or Heather. Or all three at once. She unconsciously clenched a fist, trying to figure out why on earth that was the case. They’ve told me my skin’s a little paler than theirs, or that my jaw’s too sharp, or that my eyes are unreasonably grey. All that meaningless s*** that is… still true, I guess. But I knew that. So then, what the f***-

There it was.

Oh. Oh, she realized, gripping her Rosethorne ponytail with her free hand. Cinder was raven-haired and had her hair braided off to the side like the rest of her family, which was really starting to get on her nerves the more she thought about it. F*** it, then. It’s got to go.

Washing out her mouth quickly, Cinder threw open the cabinet beside her sink, digging around and trying to find a pair of scissors or a blade. Then, after a couple seconds, she stopped, threw back her head, and laughed. Stupid me. What the hell else have I been practicing all these weeks?

Throwing out her hand and tapping into the storm of power within her, Cinder summoned a glowing, white-gold bowie knife. Then, without another glance at her reflection, she slashed off her ponytail, paused for half a second, and then began to chop away at the rest. She didn’t care where the scraps of hair fell, only careful to keep from wounding herself, and had no plan for what the hell she was doing, only moving by instinct and feel.

Halfway through, Cinder chanced a look at the mess of hair that now littered her bathroom floor, noticed there was quite a lot of it, then swept some of the hair to the untarnished spots of the room with her foot. She spread it into the rug by the door, all across the sink and counter, even chucked a few clumps into the sconces above the mirror for the hell of it.

Oh, this is going to be a pain for Mother to clean up. Wish I could see her face when that happens, Cinder chuckled, finishing up her impromptu haircut and letting her knife vanish in a twinkle of light. She shook out a few loose hairs, watching them drift gently to the ground, then inspected herself. Cinder now had chin-length tresses of hair shielding the left side of her face, while the right side was trimmed extremely short. It was choppy and lopsided — and nothing at all like a Rosethorne’s.

That was exactly what she wanted. Satisfied, Cinder took one last look at her mess of a bathroom, not bothering to rearrange an inch of it before proceeding straight to bed. She settled into her soft bed for the last time, allowing herself to dream of all the bold ventures and daring risks she’d make, far greater than anything she’d been able to do before. She’d master the art of stealth, sneak in and out of Thyrian strongholds like a ghost, perfect her brawling skills and magical connections, gather power and strength to shape a little of the world in her own way…

And she gave not another thought to the other people in the house.

With her name and her parents no longer a thorn in her side, Cinder drifted peacefully off to sleep that night, then woke just as peacefully early the next morning. The sky was still dark outside when she stirred from her rest, though some deep blues were beginning to creep their way upwards as the slightest touch of yellow sunlight touched the horizon.

At once, Cinder leapt out of bed and immediately got down on the ground, starting a set of fifty push-ups. That was just how Cinder Rosethorne started her day. Even on this day, of all days. She thought to herself as she did, checking off her list of supplies one last time, reviewing her plans for the next couple of weeks, making sure she knew where she could go and who she was going to start dealing with. All thought out a thousand times before, of course, but once more surely couldn’t hurt.

It’s going to be a little weird, seeing what I’ve dreamed of finally become reality, Cinder supposed, not breaking a sweat as she finished up her first set and decided to go for another, adrenaline and energy already spoking. And s***’s probably going to go wrong. I know it will. But what happens out there, happens. Better to die free than live caged.

She finished up her warm up, exhaling with exertion once, before leaping to her feet. Cinder stepped over the mess of clothes she’d left on the ground and into the sullied bathroom, chortling to herself at the carnage.

Ha. This is probably the last time I have to do any of this s*** in this place, Cinder remarked, going through her morning routine and picking up her toothbrush. She looked up at her reflection, facing off against herself one last time. Trying to stay focused as she brushed, waiting for the inevitable blink to come.

But it never did.

Cinder got through all thirty-four of her teeth without breaking her gaze or focus, then lowered her brush with mild surprise. Spitting out her toothpaste as if with a vengeance, Cinder looked at her reflection again, flashing a sharp-toothed grin. Ha. Finally beat you. Finally. So long then, reflection-me. See you around.

She closed the bathroom door, then got dressed, before finally retrieving her backpack and checking the contents once more.