They are two beautiful women, now that the Witch has gotten rid of her curse, and Cinderella her cinders (and her crown, too--she is far prettier without it sitting heavy on her brow). Not that it matters here in the dark; their lips meet, illuminated only by the Flame of the Fireplace, flickering and casting shadows upon the wall of the cottage, but somehow the lips know how to find each other without the need for sight, like a Dog finding his way back to his master. The Witch presses Cinderella against the wall of the cottage, her mouth closing on top of Cinderella's, her tongue forcing its way into Cinderella, her teeth sliding against Cinderella's ruby-red lips.
This is their life now, in a cottage deep in the Woods where even the Sun cannot penetrate, safe from Princes and Stepsisters and Bakers and Giants and Narrators and people of all kinds. There are still Wolves this deep in the forest, true, but Cinderella and the Witch have no fear of Wolves.
"Oh, dear, you've rumpled my dress," Cinderella says with a frown. It was such a beautiful dress, not that anyone would be able to tell in the dark, of course.
"Throw it in the Fire," the Witch suggests. "You shan't be needing it."
Cinderella throws the dress on the Fire, and as the Flame eats through it and lights up the cottage for one brief moment, the light falls on the naked bodies of Cinderella and the Witch, and yes, they are beautiful, and then the moment is gone and the cottage is once again plunged into darkness.