Snow's Lament (Fairytale League Book 2)

By: S.E. Babin


To the man who makes me laugh and still makes me sigh. I love your freaking face, babe.


Chapter 1

Cinderella’s wrath settled around our house like a plague of locusts during Biblical times, smothering and angry. Belle and I would never admit how scary it was, but we also wouldn’t admit we found it secretly hysterical. We rarely saw the pissed off side of the beautiful, displaced princess, but I had a secret talent: I could piss off a saint within five minutes of meeting them.

Cinderella had years to get used to me. She was one of my best friends and able to tolerate me more than the average person. But, this time, I’d deliberately tried to get her goad up, and boy, did I succeed. I owed her for the suitcase stunt she pulled on me a few months ago.

I’d taken great pains to carefully pack for our conference a few months ago, black skinny jeans, boots, dark shirts—all the things I could get blood on and no one would notice. When I got to the conference and had to dress for dinner, everything was mysteriously gone—replaced with frilly pink, pastel blouses and high-waisted trousers. My boots were replaced with dainty flats—you get the idea. If anyone else had done it, I would have reveled in their slow, painful death. Alas, since it was Cyndi, I had to settle for a less deadly form of payback. After all, I would probably miss her if I doled out a more permanent form.

Belle and I sat at the bar in our cozy kitchen, sipping coffee and grinning like loons as we listened to the feminine shrieks coming from the back of the house.

“She’s really pissed,” whispered Belle.

“Isn’t it great?” I whispered back.

One thing most people knew about Cyndi was her undying devotion to all things cosmetic. Entering her bathroom was like entering a war zone. One wrong move and you could knock over the holy grail of moisturizer, earning yourself a vicious ass-chewing from the princess herself. She viewed her porcelain skin and makeup sense as one of her greatest strengths, but today, it was serving as one of her biggest weaknesses.

When we returned home from the Enchanted Forest a few months ago, I found a vial tucked into my shirt pocket. A cryptic note from Maleficent was included that read: a couple drops in Cyndi’s Sephora will make her think twice about playing with things not her own. Maleficent could be super scary when she put her mind to it, or, really, when she was just breathing, but I didn’t think she’d actively try to kill any of us. Still, I waited quite awhile before I used it, until I finally thought, what the heck? How bad could it be?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized Maleficent was a lot of things, but she didn’t have it out for us. So, one night, when Cyndi was outside having a glass of wine with Robin, Belle and I snuck into her bathroom and put a drop in every single one of her cosmetic and bath products. Then, considering we didn’t have a clue what would happen, we sat back and waited.

This morning, the fruits of our labor were revealed.

At first, we didn’t think anything happened. Cyndi came out with her makeup on, looking as immaculate as she normally did. After an hour or so, and during our breakfast, her pristine hair started kinking up, eventually turning into a nightmare the size of Little Orphan Annie’s. Belle and I stared at each other, not saying anything, but blinking in shock. Then, we both bit our lips and watched the shit hit the fan.

A few moments later, her normal makeup began to turn shock-worthy carnival-esque. By then, neither of us could stop our snorts. Cyndi, sensing something was up, lifted one hand to touch her hair and her face went ashen. She shoved her chair back and ran into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, after coming out once to rip us a new asshole, she was still shrieking and trying in vain to scrub the makeup off her face. Unfortunately for her, with every wipe of the cotton ball, the makeup brightened and morphed, as if there were hundreds of layers underneath the first one.

It was a fitting punishment, but I was beginning to feel sorry for her. Surely Maleficent wouldn’t make this permanent.

I bit my lip.

Would she?

My gaze flew to Belle’s, who appeared to have reached the same conclusion I had. “She wouldn’t. Would she?”

I shrugged. “No idea.”

We both went back to drinking our coffee, but every time Cinderella dropped another “f” bomb, both of us snorted with laughter.

Another ten minutes passed and Cyndi walked back into the kitchen, her face red from scrubbing with no progress made.

“How long does this last?” she asked in a sullen tone.

I didn’t want to tell her I had no idea. She was already pissed at me. “Soon,” I said vaguely and smiled sweetly at her.

Cyndi glared at both of us, only turning away to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“Careful with your lipstick,” I said. “You don’t want to smear it.”

Belle choked on her coffee and dissolved into giggles.

It took forty-eight hours for the Makeup Caper of the century to fade. We noticed it beginning to wear off the next morning. Cinderella was still furious at us over breakfast, but, when pressed by an overly cheery Robin, grudgingly admitted she might have deserved it.

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