Blaire had a great many things to say.

To a great many people in fact.

But for this moment in time- he would settle for the Lady of Cinderella's household.

The face of the villainess- a constant opposite or mirror off his own "Heroine"- whom he always dreaded seeing.

Mr. Blond Hollow.

And yes the venom toward his hair color and all it entailed to his breadth for worthwhile conversation was well deserved.

Mr. Hollow played the pernicious and obnoxious stepmother to a T, to flicking his wrist so he could snap his fingers as a prelude to orders. And so often ripping him away from the actual housekeeping for a craving of sweets or for a tense shoulder or neck.

As he dawdled away the day on his phone about stupid boy bands or second-hand books.

Blaire rolled his eyes the first time he had seen the checkout page. Having been so stupid as to give Blaire a clue on what he could and could not afford.

And that made the oh-so clever Hollow send him off to starch the stepdaughters' dresses and britches. All. Of. Them.

But even so, his socioeconomic status or clear social media addiction was only so much information to go off of.

And once his hard work and "tears" earned him the fated dress and delicate glass slippers- Blaire plastered a fake, placid smile on his face as he let the Prince talk on and on about his privilege and the "great burden" it could be.

Though from where Blaire was standing he had done nothing of any kind to beat back that burden or the expectations of everyone else.

Then again, he really could hardly care about whether this prince did or didn't. Blaire only needed of the Prince to "save" him.

It wasn't about the guy's personality.

He just hoped Cinderella was not so passive if this marriage turned sour after Happily Ever After.

From what he had once read about European nobility it'd almost be inevitable it did. For an abused girl to again be sequestered away and isolated, only meant to look pretty and do as she was told by advisors, councilmen, and her husband of higher rank equating to higher value in the relationship. On top of being a man in a marriage.

Blaire ran from the opulent palace, down the topiary corridors of a maze and out into the plaza where the carriages had been squared away.

Almost screaming as he found just the pumpkin and rats.

They could find their own way home! For one he was not risking even fairytale rabies. Blaire already had a lot more running ahead of him so the story stayed true to form.

Cinderella must make it just in time from the Ball, slip under her stepmother's gaze for the night, the announcement for the lost slipper to be made in the morning.

He swears if the Prince truly was so stupid as to utterly miss his facial features or his gestures than the brat would be slapped and required to at least bridal carry him off the dirt road and into their new royal carriage.

Hollow had been aware of his going out that Boucher.

He spent a moment to prod at his disheveled, truly ragged appearance. Of course he fit his role better now.

He caught him off guard when he was dragged by his collar back inside the house.

Mr. Blonde Himbo Hollow pushing some robe he'd put on to pass as some rich, opulent coat that night over Blaire's head.

"Okay you rat get out of my sight and, don't bother returning that thing," Hollow dismissed in a haughty laugh, "I do not want even fairytale rabies."

Blaire sat by the lit fireplace in the empty kitchen. However his skinny jeans would not touch a bed of straw probably infested with bugs and cockroaches. Who knows his sisters or the true stepmother may have even dared put glass shards in his mattress.

He sat by the stones, comfortably toasted by the flames whiling away the hours until morning with a pilfered art book found within the stepmother's nightstand.

At least 3/4 of the pieces listed he was fairly sure did not exist in the real world.

Eventually he must have nodded off.

Mr. Hollow, with a foot to Blaire's shoulder, pushed him to the floor. Where he had an up close and personal view of the embers and black ashes in the hearth.

"Oh, did you want a blanket that bad?" he asked in a condescending facsimile of concern. Blaire didn't reply, just picked himself up from his now prone position on the floor where his uncovered arms had been stained black, and glared. Mr. Hollow clicked his tongue, "look I frankly did you a favor there," looking at his nails he absently declared, "I think story rules would have required me to give you a hemp sack as a blanket. And only if you'd been good- which honestly you really haven't."

Blaire was on his feet properly now, dusting himself off for however futile that was, ignoring Mr. Hollow even if he was finally content to be quiet.

"Well then I do apologize for that," he snarked.

"No offense, I get no one wants to do chores," Mr. Hollow said, dragging out his syllables now as if harmonizing, "I definitely don't."

"Right the pampered little brat does chores," he bit out. All Blaire was saying is the guy spent at least an hour on just his skin, who knows how much to get his hair so unnaturally light and soft looking, and he definitely got his nails done.

"Rude," Hollow chided, "my point is you just really bring the mood down. Can you not scowl like you're thinking of what poison to slip in my dinner? Seriously for just one second."

Hollow had come closer, until he was practically nose to nose with Blaire, arms crossed and his eyes half lidded as he regarded him with his own crooked little smile.

Still it was the biggest thing about family-sized tomato can Blond Himbo.

"Alright so, you got that little Cindy?" he chirped, hands clasped and at his head in a truly repulsive gesture of a fifties house wife.

Blaire snapped himself out of whatever moved him to just stare with tense shoulders and an arm half raised as if to shield his own face or to-

To shove Hollow off his space and off his high horse! Definitely.

A whole Stepford-Smiler going on in there, he assumed.

But he'd been in enough stories to know Hollow just got actually angry if Blaire in any way tried to muscle or corner him.

So Blaire huffed and cut across him, "I'll keep that in mind," he said, "now if that was all shouldn't you have a tantrum to throw? I'm assuming there's been an announcement by now."

And Blaire let himself give Mr. Hollow a smile in kind. A look that was sharp and vicious. "I didn't see you or your girls dancing with the Prince last night."

"Oh hoho, how funny Mall Goth," he replied, voice like syrup, "in fact I did want to talk to you about that too! It's your big moment today."

Ending the happy announcement with a scoff.

"What?"

And he had a right to wonder, the Ball had been just last night and in the book's text he had been sure it had read-

And for once, Hollow looked to see where Blaire's own train of thought was going.

"Frankly I find it better not to think about the timey-wimey junk that books have but they do all have those types of moments," he said, sounding- a bit exasperated and showed it too! Hands now at his hips he continued, "It's day three. Princey dude is gonna be riding up in about the afternoon. Fair warning you aren't getting a choice about whether you go in that basement so just don't and please, do not bite me again."

"Don't go kidnapping stalker on me again and we have a deal Elle Woods," he said.

He saw Hollow's sharp edges smoothing out just a bit. "That one wasn't-"

"Spin-off," he completed.

Blaire got locked up in the basement earlier than expected and sulked accordingly

"I'm gonna suffocate in here!" he complained, to get a rise out of him now that a door was between them and prevented his hair from being pulled.

"No you won't I left the window open," Hollow responded, "and before you even think about it, no you cannot scale it I stripped the room of fabrics and I think it would have torn anyway. Story violence can't hurt you but you can hurt you."

"Fine then when I starve you get to deal with my hangry drunk ass."

"I left snacks and juice boxes in there for you!"

With that Blaire could hear footsteps down the old wood floors, creaking and groaning until Hollow shut the door leading into the tower's corridor with a snap.

Blaire looked to his left and then to his right- and found a plate of scones, two apples, and an assortment of other decadent cakes and cookies.

And oddly enough, a kiddie brand eight pack of juice boxes.

He had thought the way Hollow had incessantly maneuvered him for the bay window once he'd had his hair was odd.

Hollow hadn't wanted the food to go to waste.

For a moment he simply scowled, there's no way he should eat that.

Hollow couldn't have- this was much too kind of him to do stepmother or no.

After all, he was only in here at just noon rather than close to dinner time because he had picked at another nerve that made Hollow "actually angry."

If he had left food here then it had been in preparation for at best an hour of "captivity."

Blaire let out an exasperated groan. Placing his hand to his forehead as if any way that could steady him to think straight again.

He shouldn't even be considering this!

Hollow was self-absorbed, loud, insensitive, and idiotic. He cared about the most superficial and aggrandizing things!

And more so he took his own inane ramblings as gospel!

Ugh, at least his mother and older brother's circle kept a facade of decorum and spoke with their degrees.

It was trite and dry and completely pretend but it was predictable. Dare he say it was the kind of din of dull static that soothed his urges to shove a camera up a man's ugly pores see how he liked being the close-up scoop, the next scandal on Times and People.

And more so, they wouldn't dream of giving him food either when there'd be a situation that locking him up was necessary or the easier, beneficiary option.

After all, Blaire wasn't the one people wanted to see. No matter what Alex said otherwise. He was one voice deaf to the thousands of other voices and their narrowed eyes.

If Hollow were giving him food- then what quid pro quo was there?

What did he gain?

He supposed catching Blaire wrong-footed. Make him stumble, catch him- just so he'd be prone to make a mistake. Open his mouth and say too much.

He never did like ending the stories in a neat bow.

Blaire certainly wasn't one for passivity and silence.

Of course, he understood these girls were products of their time. They're products of their situation.

The bitter truth is that when it came to Queens who loathed you for existing, for stepmothers who made their late husband's daughter sleep beside a black lung machine, who locked that daughter in the basement so as to not take any chances-

Silence was better to keep oneself safe.

But since Blaire wasn't abused, wasn't really hurt or in any way under Hollow's thumb Blaire pushed. He pushed and he pushed.

Which always seemed to light a star in Hollow's eyes. So that Hollow pushed back harder.

They pushed and screamed and schemed and plotted, sabotaged each other and tripped each other, always laughing at the other's misfortune, always alert so that they never found a boot in their back when they fell.

And Hollow on those occasions, looked to take immense pleasure as the neat little endings burned hot and violently around them.

Somehow always intimately centered back upon them. Where they felt each and every upset to the story and were surrounded by the crumbled pieces.

Then for all he knew, Hollow was doing double diligence so Cinderella couldn't try on the slipper.

Poisoning the food or at least lacing it with whatever passed for melatonin, so Cinderella wouldn't even have the consciousness to escape and fly into her Prince's arms.

Would a bad ending really be- so bad?

And he was hungry.

Blaire took a morsel of a sweet loaf that dripped succulent blackberry jelly.

He ate a second, a third, sampled much too dry scones with a pinch too much of salt.

He watched the day wane by.

He noticed by his reflection on the window that he had crumbs all across his mouth.

Blaire furiously wiped at it until his face was clear.

Just in time to see the Prince's caravan pull into the cottage and the Prince tread up that dirt road.

His paces heavier than he remembered of the prancing gait he carried at the Ball.

So Hollow hadn't pulled a Maleficent or an Evil Queen.

Hollow had been well mannered today. Was he finally getting used to Blaire's presence?

Hollow hadn't poisoned him. Blaire had kept the mannequin in the room in mind.

The idea formed and it made him laugh.

Downstairs he put the scowl away as the full Prince strode into his fake house and into his fake dining room demanding the girls of the household.

Yeah thanks for calling your Mother-in-law old.

"Yes of course your highness," he said hands wringing together, "we— my daughters and I, have eagerly awaited your arrival. It is such an honor!"

A real winner.

Bleh.

He glanced to the ceiling, having distinctly heard a clatter. Hmm, that wannabe edgelord might want an asylum ending this time around.

Well the story marches on.

A stepmother with a few more brain cells or a true love of seeing pretentious jerk-offs squirm may have thought of something to stop the noise.

But he did the deed.

Calling the sisters out to try on the shoe.

Who knows if the little sadist penned in the attic had chosen one of the older versions. He hadn't checked and really he didn't care to.

He was not going to be cutting some girls' feet who already probably had a horrific time with this banshee he was playing.

What he did to the not-Heroine, practically a love tap. He'd seen the first passage of the book— sit on that Mr. I-read-since-I-have-no-friends!— what the stepmother did to the real Cinderella.

Cinderella was abused.

Like just went and said it. No preamble no nothing. Just up and called it all what it was.

"It is too small my lady," said the footman, kneeled to the ground looking up at him.

"Umm okay," he replied. "Then do the other one or whatever."

The banging upstairs steadily getting louder.

Waving his hand so that hopefully one of these got the message already. Did they always really need him in the scene.

"No that— that can't be! Try it again!" the girl— with red curls— wailed. "Mother please say something! Mother?"

He looked up from his phone now. Hand to his temple where pain grew because in all that is Pop and Alistair was that loud!

"Ughhh, well you. Servant guy or Prince, I don't care just take that one," and he was unsure whether he actually pointed to one of the girls or the chair. Hell maybe Count Hot Topic had made a normal entrance for once.

"Alright young lady, up you get," the Prince said, so chivalrous oh providing her a hand. To which the girl beamed and curtsied to him before taking.

"Oh why of course," she breathed, "oh to feel your touch again my true love."

He was going to barf.

He would barf and finally break the stupid Storyboard Vision emersion that made the story folks put up with his absolute honking nonsense.

The Prince deigned to give his aged servant a break, putting a slipper on it himself.

He watched with crossed arms, already scowling waiting to hear the words.

The slipper…

CRASH

BANG

OBLIGATORY BROKEN PIANO NOISES DOWN TREACHEROUS STAIRS.

There was a very simple reason he had leapt for the table. And he would tell Teen Girl Vampire once this bonkers tale was over and done with.

Very simply, he wanted to live.

Somehow Cinderella could hear the goings on of the house from even up in the attic.

Even if you assumed that the noise fed into the fireplace upwards it didn't make sense.

Blaire's way was almost more anxiety-inducing if anyone ever read this.

Ramming a wood mannequin to an equally wooden door made too much racket to hear anything for a foot behind the door much less down four floors.

He may have been red in the face, caked in dust, and probably his lungs stained in asbestos— probably worse— but Blaire's ran out battering ram in hand for when he would need a weapon.

Now he wouldn't actually hit Hollow with it to get him out of the way.

However throwing it at his feet was certainly fair game.

Speaking of fair game, he turned the corner and careened into the kitchen only just able to balance himself so he didn't end up flying into another wall.

Upright he nearly speared the Prince by his perfect perky nose.

"You! I swear to God if you don't remember my face even a little bit we'll have some problems!" Blaire cried out, getting up in the Prince's own sun-kissed face.

"I could never forget such a dynamic woman," he crooned. "So let us just put that down..."

The Prince held his hands up as a gesture of surrender, Blaire scoffed seeing Hollow gracefully get down off the table.

"Very good," the Prince said, sighing in relief. Tension and more than a bit of terror obvious on his face.

"Yeah, sure Your Grace," Blaire shrugged. Considering what he would do with the mannequin- he turned to Hollow who had just gotten his bearings-

And tossed the mannequin- as promised- at his feet. "Take care of that will you."

Hollow fumed but nevertheless, kept to his role watching the loathed stepdaughter be freed of her and take everything she as the horrid, greedy stepmother desired.

And sure enough, Blaire contentedly got his black converse back.

The Prince swept him up in a hug, celebrating to have found his lost "love" at last.

"Yeah who coulda guessed," he replied, patting his arm. "So can we just get in the carriage now?"

Blaire made sure to really hammer in that part.

To Hollow who glowered passionately at the ceiling's corner.

"Not even a goodbye Lady Hollow," he teased.

"Just GO already!" he snapped. Ha! And his cheeks went completely red.

The Prince supposed he was being classy and gallant, not letting Blaire's feet touch the dirt road.

But really, this was the one part of the whole Prince deal that made it tolerable. Why not let some attractive guys with grater abs pamper you and go weak at the knees for your "beauty?"

Then again, Blaire would have had the beauty to enchant a Prince all on his own. Though storybook vision helped since it would have been a nightmare to put himself back together when he broke out of places.

Ugh, Hollow setting the forest in Snow White on fire- that was just the pint-size being a sore loser.

Looking out the window of the carriage setting eyes on the oversized cottage one last time, Blaire gave Hollow a gesture- that while his mother would have slapped God out of him- was well deserved.

Besides, Hollow never could not give as good as he got.

Blaire got one of his own bugs dropped down his shirt during the wedding scene. He assumed the stepmother even being allowed on the premises was supposed to be some Aesop about forgiveness or kindness.

He'd- never thought on it before but, taken the wrong way that was actually pretty messed up.

A flash of an epiphany he was all the more certain about as he saw Hollow with the most unbearably smug look on his face, arms crossed before he took out his own violet Key- practically showing it off- and vanished with a succinct "Queen" wave.

Tired, fuming, and frankly no longer in the mood to be touched Blaire took that as his own cue to take Silver in his hand and bark out, "home! Please and thank you!"

So that in a flash, Blaire too landed on his floor, ousted from the Cinderella book and onto his magenta shag rug in his palatial room- no it was not bragging!

Yes, Blaire was of wealthy ilk.

He got up, a bit disoriented and checked himself over- knowing but double-checking- for any leftover hints of his storybook adventure for the last...?

Taking the book he also took the digital clock at the foot of his bed. He took any excuse to snooze and not have the awful noise at his ear, sue him.

Three hours.

Blaire did remember to remove the key from the book, placing it on the bed, and gave it two tentative taps which ting-ed as if she were a silver bell rather than a key.

But she stayed inert. As did the narratonin he had collected. A much lower vial than usual.

The story was a three hour foray. Then again, he and Hollow had spent an inordinate amount of time bickering when they could.

Blaire had insulted his facial- that only just hid his truly hideous face- Hollow had called him Slenderman or stork legs and wondered which adult in his life gave him long-lasting issues with food to fit in size S skinny jeans.

Which was hardly any of his business. Nor was the way Hollow eyed his butt!

So what if he'd eyed his upper body out of his rainbow puke jacket? He- he needed all the information he could get!

He sighed, turning to his six level bookshelf so he could put the book within his growing category of fables, tales, and myths. Relatively speedy stories- some with subtextual complexities and some that were- Grimmer- than the rest, but all within the "fairytale" category as he had read when finding the Heroine Key.

The Heroine Key choosing to stretch her legs, turning into a young girl with flowing hair and a court worthy gown with skirts that ruffled to form a rose.

Blaire smiled warmly at her, "good to see you Silver. And- sorry. For the end there. I shouldn't let a nitwit like Hollow get me steamed but- no, I won't make excuses."

As usual she took his complete and nonsensical rambling and his generally grim and dour demeanor with grace and a winning smile.

"Don't worry, I- don't hear nor do I exactly know or think much while I am in key form," she assured with a giggle, "I believe your "science fiction" calls it stasis?"

Blaire paid attention to how she tasted that word, "science."

And then blinked. Which made Silver's smile grow having said he looked splendidly cat-like.

First, rude. Second, Blaire still was not sure how he felt about that.

"Hang on were you the one who moved my Neon Re: revolution book under the bed?"

"Yes," Silver said, and her entire vivacious enthusiasm and soft, chiming voice went brittle and collapsed into a dull hollow. "I am so sorry did I do wrong?"

"I'm honestly more impressed than anything Silv," Blaire said hand out in the air, punctuating his point, "and concerned. Did that- hurt you? That isn't a short book."

She dared to look at him again, her smile coming back and her eyes- while jeweled and in a dazzling array of refracting inner light- shined even brighter.

"Oh no, we Keys do possess a surprising amount of strength, strength I must admit is growing if little by little with all the stuff you possess Blaire!" she said in an earnest voice.

"Well okay, but y'know whenever I am here, you can just ask for anything you want," he said. Then he did remember, that book did have some colored pictures. "But you didn't cut pages out of that one to decorate your walls did you?"

"Goodness no," Silver replied, "I am more than happy with the disposed magazines your mother graciously provides."

He sighed in relief, then again Blaire knew well by now that Silver more than respected whatever he claimed as his and what was especially precious that he preferred no one touch.

"That's good. Still though my Mom doesn't know what I actually do with those magazines. Just remember no matter what when someone opens my door," Blaire said finger close to her nose...

"Yes the "Toy Story" routine."

"Exactly," Blaire said, and then stood from his bed. He put a hand down to the mattress where Silver stood, and placed his other hand behind his back in a facsimile of a footman. "Now does my lady require anything this afternoon? Some dessert, a fan, or a nap by that spot in the sun?"

Rose was nearly beside herself as she hiked up her skirts to step into his palm, "hmm, hmm, I think a walk down the downstairs hall would be just lovely. I so do adore your house."

"Whatever the lady asks, just remember, hold on tight and only an eye-level peek."

Blaire surreptitiously placed Silver in the breast pocket of his black and white striped sleeved sweater.

Opening his door, flinching at how the old hinges creaked, he made a quick check that no one was about. Not his mother nor Alex nor the cleaning that came three days a week.

And if he wasn't mistaken this was one of their days to handle the house.

"Okay," he whispered to her, "let's go."

Their downstairs hall was like much of the other halls. Painted a bright yellow, show lights for a neat row of compact sized art pieces and in this one, a rosewood display case of grandma's trinkets that she'd handed down to her daughter- his and Alex's Mom.

He took his steps in a jaunting tune, exactly the kind her previous heroines may have whistled while walking forest paths, on their way to a fairy's cottage or to the gardens of the houses they were enslaved.

He also took a moment to face the paintings so Silver could herself appreciate each one.

Sometimes, he liked to nod pompously, hand to his chin in thought.

And- only since anyone could walk by and see him just staring at the wall for no reason otherwise!

Not to mention, Silver adored the book filled with art of 16th century frieze and frescos Alex gave him last month.

Their last stop was the entryway for one of the sitting rooms where they did often overhear his Mom talking business with Alex's team or to Career Counselors and advisors for Blaire to speak with.

Silver understood he didn't like to stick around too long for those conversations.

But never had he heard her scream into the receiver.

Not in that room, not ever. His Mom- even before fame- had been poised. She'd exuded cunning and charisma.

She exuded exactly the type of model he hoped he emulated with the insufferable Lady Hollow.

"Ask me if I give a RATS-"

Blaire felt Silver begin to thrash a bit as he had pressed his hand over the pocket to block out- all of that.

His mother finally found words again.

"My SON IS AT HIS LIMIT!" she screamed, "he DOES NOT AND WILL NOT SIMPLY ACCEPT IT AS THE WAY OF THE BUSINESS. THAT IS NOT BUSINESS THAT IS CHILD ENDANGERMENT AND I BEG YOU TO ASK ME IF YOUR ALISTAIR ISN'T STILL MY CHILD FIRST!"

Blaire dared to draw the sitting room door open a little more.

And there he was. Alex sitting on the couch, shoulders hunched, completely curled into himself and withered. His skin a sickly greyish shade, hair a mess, and his clothes being some of his oldest, most faded "at home" clothes not even Blaire knew he still owned.

What- what had those people done now?

"I WANT- no I DEMAND THAT MY CHILD, that he be protected," Mother continued, voice spitting vitriol, "oh really, and I suppose Blaire is as expendable too? He isn't in the public eye yet there were as many pictures of the boys together. What will it do to your reputation, your company policy if for all intents and purposes an uncontracted employee, a family member of one of your biggest stars ended up harmed?"

Blaire backed away in horror.

Hand out, frankly at a loss on whether he should go in or what even that would help if he did.

Silver completely ignored "eye-level" peeking her whole head out to look up at him but he didn't care.

Blaire just stepped back. One step and two and three. And then pivoted for the stairs.

He closed the door to his room in a daze, using the momentum from his hand on the door to take him to his rug where he sank to the ground.

Blaire held the spot where Silver would be inert while in a story.

While Silver right now was in his pocket, had a face, had eyes, and had a voice.

"Blaire?" she asked.

Blaire stared up at his ceiling.

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath before replying to her. "this wasn't anything we didn't already know."

"I know but Blaire..." she continued but no less apprehensive to be insisting. No matter how softly.

"Everything will be fine," he said, "when we make the wish then- then we can rewrite the world. The good will be safe and whoever isn't good- they get what they deserve."

"I still believe that is a Wish too dangerous to make," Silver said.

Blaire put out his hand so she could climb out.

And she tapped him where she wanted to be set down, this time on his leg.

"Probably, but what's happening it's a sickness. Even if I stop one, even if I erase a hundred from ever being born, there'll be another stalker and then another and another, and for all I know each worse than the last," he said. "Still we can cross the bridge of specifics when we get to it."

He put his arm out, as his eyes had begun squinting from the light, "I can only focus my mind on one thing at a time. And right now-"

"Violet's user," Silver guessed her voice all too knowing.

"Yes that jerk. I pray for your sister, I genuinely pray."

"Well at least he is humorous on occasion," Silver chided with a laugh in her tinkling bells voice, "but... he did not grab you too hard today did he?"

"I just wish the guy didn't always go for the hair," Blaire grouched.

"True," Silver nodded, "but that can be brushed and styled again."

"Still though," Blaire whined.

"Blaire, if it is alright, there is something else I would like."

"Name it," he said head still up at the ceiling as he mentally filed away this day and all the ways that Lady Hollow had confused him, infuriated him, or somehow, impossibly did both.

Equally impeccably as just one.

"Well..." Silver hummed.

Blaire had set his phone on the timer feature to capture just the perfect moment.

Of his face done up in a sloppy peach and pink palette, Silver working the brush and Blaire simply all too done with life.

He promised they would print it out on Sunday.

In the morning.

When no one was looking.

If it was still safe to chance going out of the house.