Around the back of the house, beside the stables and a short way out of the wind, sat a pretty little walled garden. Cinderella's Mother had cared for it, back before Buttons' employment by the Baron. But it had long since fallen into disrepair. Wild roses entwined around the rusting gateposts, greenfly had eaten most of the daffodils, and the pathways were choked with weeds. The Baroness, they said, didn't care for anything beautiful.
Buttons edged his way carefully past the thorned creepers, down the path, and say himself on a little stone bench near the middle of the garden. He needed, he thought, someplace quiet to think. And thinking had never really been one of Buttons' finer skills. The incident in the kitchen had startled him.
Over the past few weeks, Buttons had begun to feel…something he had never felt before. The world, his home felt…different. Buttons wasn't used to things being different. He liked his routine; everyone liked their routine. These were not things one willingly broke. But everything seemed too bright, too happy. It was like sitting inside a child's painting. And to his growing alarm, Buttons was beginning to realise that he…didn't actually like it. Presented with this concept a few weeks ago, Buttons would have nodded cheerfully and said that of course the world was like that! Of course it was! How else could it be?
But now? Now he simply couldn't.
It made him uncomfortable. And that in itself made him even more uncomfortable. Buttons, as far as he was aware, had never not liked something a single day in his life. He was a man of simplistic emotions, and simplistic desires.
He lived to be cheerful. He had always felt, in some small way, that it was his job to be cheerful. So...why was he suddenly not?
And his dreams.
His dreams were…green.
Buttons remembered the green. And he remembered flashes of…had it been writing? The sound of fluttering wings. Or had it been pages? He cupped his head in his hands. It had all felt so clear this morning. But remembering the dream was like struggling to hold grain in his fingers. It ran away from him before he could focus.
And…and Cinderella had been there, Buttons was quite sure of it. But these had been nothing like the dreams he usually had of her. All his life, ever since they were children, Buttons had harboured the quietest of crushes on Cinderella. One day, he just knew, he would tell her. As they grew older it had only grown stronger. And now…
Well…it was strange. But suddenly Buttons felt as if the only real thing in his life was Cinderella. Button's world had always revolved around her. But now even more so. Maybe he was coming down with a fever? And so close to the ball. He was sure it didn't-
A movement at one of the windows caught Buttons' attention. One of the great velvet curtains on the upper floor had twitched. Buttons could see nothing but the brief flutter of long gloved fingers, but even so he shivered. Cinderella's Stepmother—Baroness Hardup- was technically his Mistress, but she scared him. She was a frightful old hag, he had always thought. Especially compared to the wonderful Cinders.
Buttons glanced away quickly, trying to look as if he hadn't noticed. Maybe she would go away if he hadn't noticed.
The rose bushes rustled in the breeze. One of the iron gates squeaked. And suddenly, silently, Buttons realised he wasn't alone in the garden after all. He was being watched. Two women stood, one by the wall, and the other from the shadows of the gate. They didn't move. They didn't blink. They stared at him. Buttons sat up straighter.
If the Baroness was terrifying, then her two daughters were downright creepy. They were twins, identical. Buttons had never been able to tell one apart from the other. But then, he had never really been close enough to try. They were strange, oddly proportioned creatures. Although their faces were delicate and extravagantly made up, their hair piled atop their heads like silken beehives, they stood at perhaps twice the height of Buttons. Their shoulders were broad and mannish, their girth and wrists thick and muscular under dainty silk sleeves. Their legs were lean and fit, made more for running and (Buttons thought) kicking than the usual pursuits of high class womanhood. Their expressions were blank and cold and calculating.
They looked as if they could quite easily rip him in half.
Buttons shivered. He didn't think he had ever seen them in the walled garden before. Usually they watched over Cinderella. In fact, he didn't think he'd found himself this close to them at all. Suddenly Buttons decided that perhaps this was not a problem he should concern himself with. At least, not in the garden. And not now.
He stood, adjusted his hat, straightened his uniform, gave the sisters a friendly little nod, and then hurried away down the path as fast as he could.
In the distance, he was sure he could hear the faint, far off sounds of laughter.