“Let me ask you this, Alice,” Shew said. “If Cerené’s story is so complicated, are the stories of the other Lost Seven also complicated?”
“It’s not like the Queen’s quest is to find each one of them and rip out the piece of your heart from their chests,” Alice said. “Each one of the Lost Seven has a unique story, one that usually ties them to real historical events where they will have their own archenemy. They are real people like you. They lived for a long time, and some of them are even known historical people,” Alice explained. “In order for Carmilla to obtain the pieces of your heart, she’ll have to delve deeper into each one’s story. In Cerené’s case—and by that I mean Cinderella—she will have to rid her of the clue she holds inside.”
“Poor Cerené,” Shew said.
“It’s her fate. We all have to face our fate someday, and only you can save her,” Alice said.
“I’d do anything for her,” Shew said. “Tell me how.”
“The Queen will look for Cerené in the Waking World to get the clue to the mirror out of her,” Alice said. “Who knows what the Queen would do to her? Cerené’s only hope is you, Shew. You have a choice to make.”
“I have to wake up by killing Loki.” She said what Alice already knew.
“It’s the only way, Shew. It’s also part of proving you’re the Chosen One, to sacrifice everything that means something to you and save the world, even if it’s the one you love.”
“Can’t you see I don’t want to be the Chosen One, Alice,” Shew said. “I want to enjoy my life as a teenager like Cerené does. I learned so much about life, spending time with her. I want to ‘follow my bliss’ like Charmwill used to tell Loki. I want to find my Chanta. I want to free myself from foretold prophecies, and I want to find my own Art.”
“But you are the Chosen One, Shew,” Alice said. “Even if you forget it, your enemies won’t. They will come after you and kill you. Now, we’re seriously wasting time.”
The bathhouse’s door sprang open suddenly. Shew found herself standing in front of Cerené, who was peeking her head in from behind the door.
Shew and Alice watched her partially hide behind the door with her blowpipe ready to attack. Her eyes darted sideways before she asked, “Are you alright, Joy?”
“I am, Cerené,” Shew smiled, sniffing her tears away. “You could come in, you know.”
“A lot of blood had been shed in this room,” Cerené said. “I hate it. I should clean it.”
“But you’ll be safe with me,” Shew said with open arms.
“You mean you’ll be safe with me,” she said closing the door behind her. She had another long case with her. It looked like it had a long musical instrument in it along with a small bag. It looked too heavy for her.
“Let me help you,” Alice said.
“No, not you,” Cerené’s face knotted then turned to Shew, “are you alright? Did this girl hurt you?”
“Not at all,” Shew laughed, glad her best friend sensed her uneasiness with Alice.
“How so?” Cerené eyed Alice from top to bottom. “She is one of Loki’s huntsmen.”
“She isn’t, trust me,” Shew said. “So were you looking for me or did you just think you’d eavesdrop on what was going on in the bathhouse?”
“Of course, I was looking for you,” Cerené said. “I just finished cleaning and thought you must be hungry so I stole you food from the Royal Kitchen,” she giggled at the accomplishment, and handed her the bag. “Here, you look pale. You need to eat.”
Alice and Shew exchanged looks, trying not to smile.
“I’m the princess, Cerené, remember?” Shew said. “I don’t need to steal food from my own kitchen.”
“Oh,” Cerené said. “I forgot. Honestly, I didn’t steal it. A boy in a green hat helped me.”
“A boy in a green hat?” Shew squinted. “Are you referring to the thief who steals from the castle and gives to the poor? The Queen surely would want to catch this one.”
“His name is Jack Madly, but don’t tell anyone,” Cerené whispered. “I met him in the fireplace,” Cerené winked and bit on her lip.
“A match made in the fireplace—I mean Heaven,” Shew said. She remembered Jack, not that she’d known him well. He was the notorious sixteen-year-old thief who stole from the Schloss, only because he loved to make the Queen mad. Some knew him from Jack and the Beanstalk, a famous story about pissing off a giant and stealing his gold.
“You think he likes me?” Cerené wondered. “But nah. Not my type. I like the prince, or maybe—” she was going to say Loki but stopped, remembering what he’d done in Furry Tell. “Jack stole the food, but I stole this,” Cerené pulled out a box of liver, property of the Queen of Sorrow. “Don’t be embarrassed. I will look away while you indulge in your monstrous cravings. It’s like going to the bathroom; you don’t want to see anyone see you poop.”