“Now, we do not speak directly TO the princesses and we musn’t be caught speaking OF the princesses … well, not all of them,” the Head Chambermaid told the girl. “There are bad eggs in every basket, Celia,” she continued, addressing her charge’s confusion. “Cinderella, as it turns out, was not named for her hearth keeping, but her penchant for arson; Aurora peddled stuff out of her tower room that would make you see lights; Snow White … “ “Bag of powder?” Celia interjected. A solemn nod was her reply.
Deadly, the eighth dwarf, watched the young woman inside – dancing and singing with the other seven against the glow of the hearth. She was lovely and they were jovial; he did not begrudge them their high spirits. His dark hooded cloak kept him warm against the rain and the scythe he held before him cleared his way into the deep forest where he lived. Deadly made his way silently home; he was content he’d see them all again in due time.