Notes:
I made some canonical revisions to the staffing at the Glass Unicorn, added some personality to the Madame and her daughters, and a brief backstory for Rhodes. I also altered what happened during Cinder's time in Atlas (but most broad story beats largely remain) because, let's be honest here, the show tries to cartoonishly paint Cinder as a sympathetic character, and that's not the characterization that I'm going for.
Part Three: The Hollow Lies We Tell At Night
Rhodes wasn't sure when his descent into moral apathy began. Maybe it started the first time he watched his drunken father beat his mother into a sobbing, bloody mess. Perhaps it was the day that he joined forces with the school bullies, throwing his punches at a smaller boy just to avoid becoming the next victim.
Or maybe, it began much later, after he became a licensed huntsman, and returned from a commission and bore witness to an urchin get beaten to death over a crust of stale bread—and stood there, doing nothing, even as he heard the sickening crunch of brittle bones with every passing blow.
For years, Rhodes carried on, turning a blind eye to the rot festering within Atlas and even within Mantle itself. He told himself that he wasn't part of the problem, that he was just one man in a system that was far too big for him to change by himself. But deep down, in his Soul, he knew better. Every ignored scream, every mutilated vagrant corpse, and every terrified glance from the Madame's "girls" as he passed through the Glass Unicorn made it all too evident: His silence made him complicit in Atlas' depravity.
Rhodes would pretend otherwise, of course. He told himself that he'd earned his right to survive. He'd follow his commissions through to the letter, earn his well-deserved pay, and one day, retire to some far-off beach in Mistral, sipping his Imperial Sake, and bury his guilt beneath the dreamlike waves. It was all he could feasibly manage—a quiet, insignificant life, a life bereft of any and all meaning.
That plan, however, unraveled the day he met her. She wasn't like the other girls at the Glass Unicorn. At first glance, the monster calling itself "Cinder" was calm, professional—impeccably polite. But there was something beneath her mask, something that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. The glint in her eye was far too sharp for a girl her age, her movements too deliberate and precise. She wasn't just an abused child trying to survive in the hellscape that was Atlas. No, she was a Grimm in the guise of a human.
He knew that he should have walked away. He should have stayed far away, content with his safe, apathetic routine. But for reasons he couldn't explain, he didn't. Maybe it was the way she looked at him—like she knew exactly the kind of man he was, like she could see through every excuse, every lie that he told himself. Or maybe, it was the realization, horrifying and undeniable as it was, that he had finally met someone more monstrous than the very system he'd spent his entire life ignoring.
That day, Rhodes made a choice. He couldn't fix Atlas, but maybe – just maybe – he could save this girl from it. Even if it was already too late. Even if saying her meant destroying himself.
An undeniable truth in this cruel world is humanity's limitless capacity to weave fictions to suit their own needs—to tell the lies they wish to hear to sleep soundly at night.
Take foster parents, for instance. They are the greatest liars of them all. They are able to spin a tale far more smoothly than a politician, and far more palatably than a psychiatrist subtly prying open your deepest wounds.
They all think they know what they want. They tell themselves that what they are looking for in a child is someone who is in desperate need of love, of rescue, of a guiding hand to shape and nurture their mind. A poor lost Soul that the foster parents can pull out of the filth they found themselves in through no fault of their own and turn into something worthy of the parents' unconditional affection.
But that is merely the lie they tell themselves. In reality, when they enter an orphanage, what they really want – what they expect – is a child who will love them instantly. A child who will smile at their proffered crumbs of kindness, who will be eternally grateful and obedient to their every whim. A child who will be soft enough to mold into a younger version of their foster parents, yet one whose Soul had not yet fractured beyond repair.
What they really want is a carbon copy of themselves, something they can easily comprehend, something they can easily love without guilt, something through which they can vicariously live out their lost dreams. All without the dreaded burdens of raising an actual living person. No tantrums, no adolescent rebellion, no backtalk, and certainly no need for patience nor any meaningful sacrifice.
That was why they almost always led, incomprehensibly, with their hearts rather than their heads, why they would never seek out a child who could think for themselves. That was why the studious, the independent, and the wise-beyond-their-years children were all left behind to decay in their 'temporary homes,' while the broken and pitiful and inconceivably endearing were scooped up in droves and reintegrated back into society. It was a sickening display of human capital being wasted, yet another example of emotion polluting efficiency.
And that, I quickly learned, was the reason why I never found the perfect foster family. The pattern repeated itself over and over again. A family would take me in, charmed by the polite, well-spoken girl who seemed to be so much easier than the rest. But then, I would make the same, innocuous mistake—I showed them that I was far more intelligent than they were. I outgrew their expectations far too quickly. I showed that I had no desperate need to cling to them for support. And just like that, their adoration for their 'perfect little girl' soured into something else entirely.
Fear. Sweet, delicious fear.
The moment they realized I was not a child in need of their guidance, that I was something they could neither control nor fully understand, I became the object of their suspicion, of creeping disgust. They feared the cold, undiluted truth of the real girl they had invited into their home. As soon as their illusions shattered, they abandoned their interest in me. And one after another, I was cast aside in favor of a ditzy little girl they could understand, while I was left to start the cycle anew.
Of course, that did not mean that they managed to walk away unscathed. Because by the time I had managed to find the perfect candidate, I had left a rather... inconspicuous trail of suicides in my wake, their minds thoroughly broken before the fact.
It was a bitter irony, then, that the one who was finally able to see my worth was a woman as rotten as Atlas itself. The "Madame," as the pretentious woman called herself, arrived at the orphanage one day, draped in luxuries few could even dream of touching, her eyes reeking of desperation she sought to hide, her lips contorted into an empty veil of kindness.
I knew what she wanted, the kind of woman that she really was. She was a wolf cloaked in silk, preying on the desperate orphans of Mantle, dangling false promises before them while slipping shackles around their ankles.
But unlike the other orphans, I knew her true nature. I also knew precisely why she was here. It was so easy to see in her eyes. She was distressed. She had sought meek little girls, pliable enough to break, yet desperate enough to obey. What she got instead were defiant, miserable girls who turned on her the moment they realized the truth of their situation.
That was why I knew that I was exactly the type of girl that she so desperately wanted. Disciplined. Competent. Obedient.
And so, I curtsied, smiled, and played my part to perfection. I allowed her to believe that she was reeling me in, that I was someone who would be able to keep the younger, wilder girls in line. And just like that, she swallowed my proffered bait and asked for seconds.
She allowed herself to believe that this was a mutually beneficial relationship on the surface and a highly-favorable one underneath. In reality, the "Madame" had orchestrated her very own downfall right from the start.
I knew that I could not sway the younger girls overnight. Those ensnared girls were wary of me. They had quickly learned to equate gestures of kindness with deception, and generosity with hidden costs. If I had immediately come to them with promises of escape, they would have turned on me, and seen me as yet another predator looking to exploit them.
And so, I waited. I proved myself through action, not empty words. I let them see my competence, my quiet defiance against the Madame, and the way I subtly undermined her authority without consequence. I let them wonder if I was truly on their side, let them watch as I navigated the treacherous waters of the Glass Unicorn and came out unscathed.
Slowly, the girls began to let me in. Not entirely, not yet, but enough. Enough to begin sharing whispers in the dark, enough to pass glances of acknowledgment when the Madame or her daughters had their backs turned. But I knew that I needed to do more. I did not need their acknowledgment, I needed their belief, their complete trust in me. And for that, I needed a final push, a way to affirm my commitment, to show that I was truly one of them.
The moment occurred at precisely seven minutes past nine when I found the Madame poised to unleash her fury on Faith, one of the younger servant girls in my care. The shattered remnants of a glass sculpture littered the floor, glittering like broken dreams in the dim light of the suite. Faith knelt amid the wreckage, her shoulders trembling, her eyes fixed downward in a pathetic attempt to escape the Madame's searing gaze.
I took in the scene at a glance: The Madame's livid expression, betraying how much she valued the trinket—not for its artistry, sadly, but for its 'sentimental' weight. Faith's tears glistened as they streamed down her hollow cheeks, her once-defiant posture crumpled into submission. The situation was ripe for intervention and, as always, I instantly knew how to turn it to my advantage—excuse in hand, should events turn for the worse.
"Madame," I said softly, stepping into the room and bowing my head with exaggerated humility. The Madame turned, her furious visage momentarily redirected at me.
"I came to report that the Salon Privé has been prepared exactly as you requested. Councilman Armstrong is expected in thirty minutes. Might I inquire if there are any... additional arrangements you would like me to make?"
The Madame's brow furrowed, annoyance flashing across her face as she weighed my interruption against her desire to curry favor with a high-value client. Her focus wavered just enough for my purposes.
"No," she finally said, curtly. "I will make the final preparations myself. This... inconvenience needs resolving first." She gestured sharply toward Faith, whose head sank even lower.
I let a calculated pause stretch the moment out before bowing once again. "Madame, if I may be so bold..." My voice wavered slightly, and I cast a sidelong glance at Faith, carefully projecting a sense of unease. "I believe this matter falls under my responsibilities. If there is discipline to be meted out, it should be directed at me. After all, the girl's actions reflect my failure to train her properly."
The Madame narrowed her eyes. "And why was this... matter not brought to my attention earlier?" She asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
"I did not wish to presume upon your authority," I replied, the lie smoothly leaving my lips as I lowered my gaze. "But I believe this method will achieve better results. If the girls see their mistakes cause me suffering, they will understand the consequences more keenly than mere punishment ever could."
The Madame's lips twitched upward in a faint smirk. I knew I had tailored my pitch perfectly. "Very well," She finally said. "A test, then. Discipline this... 'girl.' If she fails again..." her fingers brushed the remote for the shock collars. "We'll escalate."
She pressed the button suddenly and pain lanced through me as the collar around my neck came alive, the electricity searing through my body. I collapsed onto the floor, letting out a scream more tortured and desperate than the pain warranted. My body spasmed, the muscles jerking uncontrollably, and I clawed at the floor as though barely clinging to consciousness.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Faith's resolve shatter completely. She sobbed uncontrollably, her hands reaching toward me. The Madame departed with a spring in her step, satisfied with her decision.
Once alone, Faith rushed to my side, her hands still trembling as she wrapped them around my waist, burying her face in my hair. "I'm so sorry," she choked out. "I didn't mean to-"
I silenced her with a weak smile, making sure that my voice sounded soft and broken. "It is alright, Faith," I said softly as I gently stroked her hair, my hand still shaking slightly. "You are young, so mistakes are bound to happen. I do not blame you. What matters is that we are able to learn from them."
Faith clung to me harder, her tears soaking into my shirt. "I'll do better. I promise. I'll never make a mistake again!"
I brushed a tear from her gaunt cheek, my fingers gentle but my mind impassive. "I believe in you," I whispered into her ear as I tucked the girl closer in toward my cold chest, resting my chin on the crown of her head. "But remember, we can only protect each other if we stay strong. Trust me, and I will make sure the Madame sees your worth. You will never again live in fear of her."
Her sobs quieted as she finally melted into my embrace, her spirit crushed and pliable. I allowed a genuine smile to grace my lips as I rested my dispassionate gaze at the shattered remnants of the glass sculpture. Finally, a crucial piece of the puzzle had clicked perfectly into place, the picture I was assembling growing ever clearer. Two more fragments remained to complete the image, and then I would finally be ready to step into the light.
The Madame, truth be told, had never intended to 'adopt' anyone. Her visit to the orphanage in downtown Mantle was born of sheer irritation, a last-ditch attempt to find new staff who wouldn't collapse under her reasonable demands or, worse, dare to defy her authority. The indignity of having to discipline several of her "girls" earlier that day still left a sour taste in her mouth. Why couldn't they simply be grateful? They lived in Atlas, after all—a privilege most of Mantle's filth couldn't even dream of attaining.
Her heels clicked sharply against the rotting wooden floorboards of the orphanage, the stench of decay and neglect thick in the air, as the dust and grime seeped into her delicately-applied makeup. The head matron trailed behind her, nervously prattling about the children in her 'care.' The Madame barely listened, her eyes scanning the room with a practiced look of disinterest. Toward the middle, several groups of children played with battered toys, while others huddled in corners, drawing crude shapes on the walls, having long since run out of usable paper.
All of it, she felt, was a waste of her time and, more importantly, frayed at the last vestiges of her patience. But then, just as she was about to turn and leave, the Madame saw her.
A girl, seated at the far end of the room, her back straight and her attention fixated on the thick tome in her lap. It was "Mantle to Atlas," the Madame idly realized, a rather... peculiar reading choice for a girl her age. Around the girl in question, chaos reigned—screaming children fought over mere scraps, the cries of the weak swallowed up by the cacophony. And yet, this girl seemed untouched by it all. Occasionally, however, she would rise to intervene in a scuffle, her movements economical and detached, before returning to her seat and resuming her reading.
Intrigued despite herself, the Madame made her way across the room, every head turning as she passed them by, her heels clicking with every step, her sharp gazing taking in every detail. The girl's age was hard to place – perhaps fifteen or even sixteen – but there was no softness in her demeanor. Her raven-black hair framed a face of unsettling composure, her amber eyes cold as they continued to scan the pages.
The Madame stopped, her very presence in this hovel demanding acknowledgment. The girl closed her book with deliberate slowness, as if uncaring of the woman's power over her. She tilted her head slightly, as her amber eyes rose to meet the Madame's own.
"May I help you?" She asked, her voice calm, completely devoid of the tremor the Madame had come to expect from the urchins in this decrepit city.
The Madame raised an eyebrow, privately startled by the girl's lack of deference and inexpressive visage. Her hand twitched as she inwardly scoffed. "You're awfully self-assured for someone of your... station."
The girl's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it carried no warmth. "And you are far too well-dressed for someone standing in this room. I assume you must be here for a particular reason.
"Though for what, I could not possibly fathom." She added with a knowing look.
The Madame's irritation quickly evaporated into a hesitant sense of intrigue as she leaned forward slightly. "What is your name?"
"Cinder," the girl replied smoothly without missing a beat. "Cinder Fall."
"And what is it that you 'do' here, Cinder? Besides, sitting in the corner with your nose in some book?"
Cinder's 'smile' widened slightly, yet her eyes remained dispassionate. "I keep the peace," She said easily. "The matron likes to think that she is in charge when, in reality, it is the children who set the rules around here. Someone has to ensure they do not tear each other apart. It would be too much of a bother to call in an ambulance to this corner of Mantle. I much prefer reading to dealing with insurance claims."
The Madame glanced at the head matron, who quickly looked away, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and... fear? How intriguing. But one thing still felt off.
The Madame narrowed her eyes. "If you're so competent, why haven't you been adopted yet?"
"The foster parents I met with did not prove to be... up to my standards." Cinder's smile remained affixed, and a chill began to run down the Madame's spine. It must have been the poor insulation.
The Madame crossed her arms with a slight huff, trying to regain control. "So, then, why should I care for your... talents? Persuade me."
Cinder stood, closing the distance between them with a grace that seemed almost predatory.
"Because I am exactly what you have been looking for. Someone disciplined. Someone who does not waste time crying over their circumstances or silly trivialities. Someone competent."
The Madame's lips twitched, caught between amusement and annoyance. "Is that so? And what makes you think I'm looking for someone of your disposition?"
Cinder's smile sharpened ever more, her gaze never wavering in the face of the Madame's scrutiny. "Because you did not come here for charity. If you wanted to appear charitable, you could have taken your pick of any of the wide number of base-born children in Atlas. No, you came here to find someone who can serve you, someone who would not disappoint you like the others have. Admit it—you have grown tired of their tears, their incompetence, their defiance. You want something better."
The Madame was silent for a long moment, taking in the words and studying the girl with a critical eye. There was something unnerving about her, a cold confidence that felt far too practiced for someone so young.
"... and what would you want in return?"
"Only the opportunity to prove my worth," Cinder replied, bowing her head, her tone almost humble. "Take me with you, and I will show you that I am worth more than all the servants you currently have under your employ combined."
The Madame considered the girl, her mind already mulling over the possibilities. This girl was different—that was undeniable. There was a fire in her, cold and restrained, yet undeniably dangerous. It was a risk, perhaps, but it was one worth taking. And, the Madame reasoned, If she proves to be a problem, she can always be... disposed of. There is no shortage of over-ambitious orphans in Atlas, after all.
"Very well," The Madame said, at last, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "But know this, 'Cinder': If you fail me, if you prove to be more trouble than you're worth, you will lie on the floor screaming, begging for the sweet release of death."
Cinder bowed her head once more, her expression one of gratitude even as the corners of her lips curled upward. "I would never dream of failing you."
As the Madame turned to leave, gesturing for the matron to prepare the paperwork, she couldn't help but wonder if she had just invited something far too dangerous into her stable life.
Rhodes walked into the Glass Unicorn with a slight stagger, the all too familiar intermingling scents of cheap perfume and cologne wafted through the air, invading his inhibited senses. The lazy spirals from the cigarette smoke distorted the dim chandeliers hanging over the lounge, casting a sickly golden glow. The Glass Unicorn, for all that it purported to be a high-end hotel was, in truth, little more than a refurbished pleasure house.
Rhodes continued walking, ignoring the flattering remarks from the Madame, finally coming to a rest at a table right beside the bar, as he slumped into an empty chair, the weight of the day making its presence known in his bones. He ignored the Madame's girls that were scattered around the room, some pouring drinks, others indulging the nearby patrons with trained smiles and rehearsed responses, their gazes utterly vacant. He ignored them as he always did; it wasn't any of his business how the Madame ran the establishment. He was just another patron.
His latest commission had taken much from him. Not a physical toll, mind, but a mental one. This time around, he had stood by, watching with a practiced sense of disinterest as an SDC mine supervisor had beaten a young faunus boy within an inch of his life, having been accused of being a member of the White Fang. His 'commission' had simply been to guard the supervisor as the man made his rounds, 'inspecting' the facility (an excuse to vent his frustrations, in truth).
In truth, all the boy had done was steal a loaf of bread from the cafeteria to feed his starving mother, but the supervisor had needed a more 'believable' excuse for the higher-ups to be able to ignore. Rhodes had, of course, slipped a few loaves of bread to the boy once he had awoken, but all Rhodes received in return was a thick wad of spit on his face.
At least the money was good, Rhodes thought to himself as he mentally tallied up the total Lien earned for the day. He glanced toward the Glass Unicorn's bar, surveying the countless shelves of alcohol lining its walls. What I need now is a drink.
He waved for a waitress. The girl that approached his table – seemingly young, yet paradoxically mature – made him pause. Her steps were precise and unhurried. She did not wear a saccharine expression meant to disarm the patrons, unlike most of the other girls at the bar. Instead, her visage was one of calm neutrality, her amber eyes steady as she approached him, completely detached. At a distance, she appeared to be in her early twenties, based on her height and figure. And yet, as she stood right beside him at the table, her face appeared to belong to a girl no older than 17.
She carefully placed an empty glass in front of him with practiced ease. "May I interest you in some whisky, Mister Huntsman?" She asked and, despite her words, her voice was entirely smooth, devoid of the forced lilt that had come to characterize the other servant girls.
Rhodes blinked, utterly spellbound for a brief moment. "Er, yeah."
She ignored his momentary lapse and poured without hesitation, the amber liquid filling the glass with not a drop spilling onto the rustic wood of the table, her lithe arms not even trembling despite the sheer size of the bottle.
Rhodes took the opportunity to study her closer. Her uniform was, outwardly, the same as the other girls,' but upon closer inspection, the stitching appeared flawless—almost too perfect, as if untouched by human hands. However, as Rhodes looked more carefully, tiny irregularities emerged, barely perceptible to him, yet undeniably present.
Where had she learned to stitch like that? Rhodes wondered. It's almost... inhuman.
The girl carried herself differently, too. Her posture was perfectly straight, and no timidness could be found in her presence even as she approached huntsmen, nobles, and politicians alike. This girl... she wasn't broken, not yet. A rarity in a place like this, one Rhodes wished would last, even as he scolded himself for being so foolishly hopeful.
"Cinder, dear!" "Cinder!"
Rhodes turned toward the sharp voices, as did many of the other patrons, the sounds cutting through the ambient jazz music. Two girls stood near the stairway, their expensive dresses immaculate, even in the dim lighting of the bar. He recognized them immediately. How could he not? They were the Madame's daughters.
Clara, ever the composed (cocksure) one, wore a small, knowing smile. Lila, by contrast, had her arms crossed, her lips twitching.
Both had called for Cinder. The girl beside him, "Cinder," didn't react immediately. She remained perfectly still, her gaze redirected at the Madame's daughters as if weighing her options. Then, with a quiet "Please excuse me" as she briefly turned her gaze back at him, she moved. Toward Clara.
Lila's lips parted slightly, her fingers beginning to dig into her arms. Clara, catching her sister's reaction, merely cast a fleeting smirk before turning her full attention toward Cinder, whispering too soft for Rhodes to catch the words, yet still loud enough for Lila to hear.
Lila huffed as the whispers continued, her expression darkening before promptly storming off. Cinder left shortly thereafter, undoubtedly to accomplish what Clara had demanded of her.
Rhodes exhaled slowly as the bar returned to its previous ambiance. He had seen it—the way Cinder had chosen who to obey. It hadn't been an arbitrary decision. No, it had been deliberate, calculated. This 'girl' was no mere servant.
She was becoming a player in this establishment, slowly vying for influence, for control. And yet, despite all her careful attempts, the Glass Unicorn still kept her chained in place.
Rhodes swirled the whisky, his mind drifting as he considered what he had just witnessed. Truth be told, he had never been one for 'heroics,' such a notion had been disabused from his psyche from a very young age. Instead, he spent his entire life looking the other way, keeping his head down, convincing himself that he only dirtied his hands as much as his duties as an Atlesian huntsman required.
But... something about this girl gnawed at him, refusing to let go, refusing to allow him to drift back into practiced apathy. This girl was different. And different in Atlas, especially without power, painted a target on your back, a target that wouldn't disappear until you were dead, or worse, utterly debilitated.
For the first time in a long while, Rhodes felt something stirring within him, a faint yet insistent urge. Perhaps, just this once, he wouldn't look away.
It likely won't amount to much, he reasoned to himself, But at least I can say that I tried. Then, I can get back to my quiet retirement.
Rhodes turned his gaze back to look at his glass of whisky. But at this point, he no longer felt the urge to drown away his sorrows. Rhodes frowned but thought little of it as he waved for another waitress to pay.
The next time he 'encountered' Cinder was far more deliberate. This time, he made sure to clear the day of any commissions, his mind clear—at least, as clear as a huntsman of his disposition could be. This time around, he entered the Glass Unicorn on a Monday, before the sun had yet to fully rise, before the bodies in the slums had yet to be discovered by the local authorities.
The hotel was a completely different place this early in the morning—gone was the smoke, the ambiance, the pretense. In its place was an eerily silent space, devoid of its patrons, of the nightly excess. When Rhodes stepped inside, his boots thundered against the polished floors, echoing deep into the recesses of the building.
As he rounded the corner of the hall, he saw row upon row of young girls in pristine servant uniforms, their backs perfectly straight, their eyes staring straight ahead. For Rhodes, it was uncanny, in a way, to realize just how many orphans the Madame had conscripted over the years, how it had completely escaped his notice.
At the center of the formation stood the girl from before, "Cinder," playing the part of drill instructor and older sister, all in one. Unlike the other girls, she wore form-fitting training clothes. Cinder roamed through the formation, inspecting the girls' form and discipline with a scrutinizing gaze. If one wavered, she corrected them with a single, gentle touch, and a quiet word.
Rhodes lingered near the entrance of the hall, feeling completely out of place with his rugged, worn-down uniform, his mace resting on his hip. Cinder turned ever so slightly, acknowledging him with a glance.
"Faith," she called out without looking away from Rhodes. "Continue the training in my place."
A younger girl – Faith – stepped forward from the formation instantly, eagerness evident in her eyes. "Yes, Cinder."
The others obeyed, neither batting an eye to the instructions nor to the strange huntsman that had intruded upon them. The "training" continued, the girls now following Faith's lead with precision. Rhodes momentarily broke off eye contact with Cinder, turning to watch. He noted their discipline, their focus- no, their zeal.
They weren't simply obeying, Rhodes observed. They're utterly devoted.
Cinder approached him, her footsteps unhurried and eerily quiet even without the noise from the training. "Mister Huntsman," She spoke with that smooth voice of hers, but this time, there was a slight, teasing lilt to be found.
A chill ran down Rhodes' spine and he shuddered involuntarily. "Cinder, was it?" She nodded curtly, tilting her head to the side as her amber eyes scrutinized him.
"Didn't expect to see a boot camp at a place like this," He responded to her unsaid question, gesturing at the girls currently training. "You teaching them self-defense?"
Cinder's lips curved upward ever so slightly into an approximation of a smile. "Discipline," She gently corrected. "People require structure to function. Purpose. I can provide it."
Rhodes raised an eyebrow. "Didn't take you for the charitable type."
Cinder shrugged lightly; her eyes gleamed with something Rhodes couldn't decipher. "Charity implies a selfless act, aid rendered to those unwilling to improve their lot in life. I much prefer the term 'investment'; these girls have determination in spades."
Rhodes took in her words as he studied her visage carefully. "You care about them."
Cinder said nothing at first. She paused deliberately, eyeing him. "They are mine to take care of." She said, finally, by way of explanation.
Rhodes caught the peculiar wording. Mine. It unsettled him and he fought to keep his expression neutral, dispassionate.
Cinder narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly. She had caught it, the hesitation in his posture, the slight tightness in his shoulders, the way his gaze flickered back to the girls behind her—not with admiration as he had claimed, but with clear, growing unease.
Cinder smiled—a soft, knowing thing. "You are uncomfortable."
Rhodes frowned visibly, his lips twitching. "I said nothing of the sort."
"You did not have to."
They stared at one another for several moments, neither saying a word. Then, as if dismissing his intrusion entirely, Cinder exhaled lightly and turned away.
Rhodes inexplicably felt the tension ease in his shoulders, his posture relaxing. "Look, I came here to talk."
Cinder glanced back at him impassively, neither stopping him nor encouraging him.
Rhodes took the opportunity and stepped in closer until he was but a shoulder's length away from the girl, his head level with the tall girl's. "I can get you out of here." He continued.
Cinder chuckled softly, shaking her head gently. "How heroic of you, Mister Huntsman."
He pressed on despite her dismissal. "You clearly don't belong in a place like this." He said with a shake of his head.
Cinder's smile widened; her mirth now visible in her eyes. "And where, exactly, do I belong, mister huntsman?"
He held her gaze. "Somewhere better; someplace that doesn't treat you like a disposable tool, someplace that actually cares for your well-being."
Cinder's smile shifted, the levity replaced with a cold, knowing thing. "How tragic," she spoke with not a hint of sympathy. "A corrupt huntsman looking for redemption as his final good act in this cruel world. I wonder—what sins are you hoping to wash away? Why do you think I would wish to partake in such folly?"
Rhodes stiffened but forced himself to scoff at her words. "That supposed to be a threat?"
"Merely an observation," Cinder replied coolly, her gaze now focused back on the girls, watching as her disciple, Faith, led them through yet another drill. "Think nothing of it."
Rhodes frowned but didn't press her. Instead, he exhaled slowly. "You're a fighter," he continued, trying to keep his tone even. "That much is obvious. You ever thought about training outside of here?"
Cinder's expression didn't change, but she deigned him with a side glance. "What do you think I am doing right now?"
Rhodes shook his head, crossing his arms. "I meant real training," he replied. "Something that gives you an actual way out, not something that further traps you here."
Cinder tilted her head, considering his words, her gaze having returned back to the huntsman. Then, with a soft hum, her lips curled ever upward, "You are quite the persistent one."
Rhodes smirked. "Call it an 'investment.'"
Cinder slowly nodded and, for the first time, she ceded ground to the huntsman.
"Perhaps," she mused, her posture relaxing. "Further down the line. But for now..." she gestured toward the girls.
Rhodes gave a slow nod in understanding. It wasn't much, he could easily recognize, but it was a start.
"Then I'll see you around, 'Cinder.'" He said, finally, stepping away from the girl. "Oh, and call me 'Rhodes.'"
Cinder nodded curtly, the faintest of smiles appearing on her lips. "Goodbye, Mr. Rhodes."
I allowed Rhodes to broach the subject of training over the course of the next few weeks, making sure that either the Madame or her daughters caught glimpses of him approaching me. In each instance, I would come up with a brand-new excuse as for why I could not accept, each excuse growing weaker than the last, until finally, I acquiesced to his offer.
Perhaps it would have been easy to accept from the get-go. However, such a move would have appeared far too artificial, too rehearsed. I needed Rhodes to believe that he was the one in control, the one who had all the power in our relationship. Otherwise, he would have become suspicious and, perhaps, even a little uneasy.
Each time, we would arrange for training with a subtle glance in the day and meet at night in an empty ballroom. At that hour, the Glass Unicorn was already settling into its slumber, its halls dark and devoid of the breath of life its patrons provided.
Rhodes always looked uncomfortable in his uniform amid the opulence of the hotel, yet his shoulders always eased off their tension as he saw me approach. It was amusing, in a way, how quickly Rhodes became comfortable with me, how he began to project a pseudo father-daughter relationship with me. I indulged him, gradually softening my cadence and my body language as time went on.
During training, we always began with basic drills—sparring moves, footwork, conditioning exercises, and the like. He would walk me through each step, demonstrating the proper techniques and correcting my posture with gentle, precise adjustments, his gaze softening with each passing day.
Clara sat at her vanity, gazing at her reflection through the mirror. I stood behind the girl, gently brushing her hair.
"Lila's been impossible lately," Clara complained with a loud sigh, rolling her eyes. "She's so desperate to prove herself that she can't even follow basic instructions. It's embarrassing to watch."
I nodded sympathetically as I continued to brush her hair. "That must be so frustrating. After all, you are the one the Madame trusts the most to handle the important issues."
"Yes, the Mad-" Clara giggled softly as she turned to look at me. "It's so strange calling mother 'the Madame.'
"But when I'm alone with you…?" She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling. "I wouldn't mind if you called her 'mother,' too. I'd rather have you for a sister."
"I would not wish to be presumptuous," I demurred as I looked away, making sure she could see the faint blush on my face. "I am merely a servant."
Clara scoffed. "A servant far smarter than Lila. I mean, where does she get off prancing around, acting like she owns the place?"
"Perhaps she is insecure," I quietly mused as I began to curl Clara's hair into the elaborate style she adored. The girl stared back at me through the mirror, intrigued, her eyes urging me to go on. "She sees how the Madame holds you in such high regard and is trying desperately to win her approval. Because she must feel so… small next to you."
Clara preened at the compliment as she admired herself in the mirror.
"This is really well done!" She gushed as she stood up and did a small twirl, before placing both hands on my shoulders and steering me toward the mirror. "Here, let me do your hair for you. I know just the style!" I merely smiled as she curled my hair into voluminous, "romantic" (in her words) waves that fell just past my shoulders, and tied several sections of my hair back with silk ribbons, completing the 'cute little sister' look.
The ballroom was awash with silence, save for the sound of my labored breathing, my body resting on one knee.
Rhodes stood across from me, his arms crossed. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that," He admitted gruffly. "But your form is all over the place. Relying only on instinct is a fool's hope. Instinct alone won't save you."
I wiped the sweat off my forehead as I stretched my sore muscles. I looked up toward the huntsman. "Can you teach me this?" I asked, masking my irritation with a sense of boundless curiosity. "I want to learn how to properly fight."
Rhodes nodded, a ghost of a smirk skirting his lips. "Well, that's what I'm here for, isn't it?"
He offered me his hand and I took it, the huntsman pulling me up to my feet. "Let's go again, yeah?"
Lila lounged on her bed, kicking her feet in unbridled frustration.
She groaned. "Clara thinks she's so much better than me, just because Mother favors her."
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I nodded, my voice gentle as I stroked her hair as a mother would. "She does have more responsibility than you, but that does not mean she is better. If anything, it just means she is under a lot more pressure than you. She cannot afford to make a mistake."
Lila perked up for a moment before pouting adorably like a little Buhoshee. "Still, I'm just as smart as she is, if not smarter. But Mother just doesn't see it."
I smiled. "Then the solution is simple, is it not?" I asked to the girl's befuddlement. "The reason why your mother doesn't favor you is because Clara purposefully sabotages your achievements. Because maybe… she does not want you to be seen as successful in your mother's eyes. Maybe she is afraid that if you did, you would prove her to be obsolete."
Lila stilled, considering my words for a moment, before a dazzling smile emerged on her lips. "You're right! You're always right. You know just the right words to cheer me up, don't you, Cinder?"
I smiled warmly as Lila leaned into my touch and closed her eyes, her body releasing its tension as I continued to stroke her hair.
She wanted a friend, someone she could confide to, complain to, and conspire with. I wanted information. Leverage. It was not difficult to give her what she thought she wanted.
Rhodes leaned against the grand piano, watching as I practiced my strikes.
"You said something before," I began, and Rhodes began to stir, his eyes shifting toward my face. "That 'huntsmen aren't heroes?'"
Rhodes nodded. "Huntsmen, at the end of the day, are still people. Some of us are good. Some of us are bad. Most of us, though… are somewhere in between."
I paused my swings, turning my attention toward him. "What about you?" I asked innocently, knowing full well what the answer was.
Rhodes made to speak for a moment before pausing and letting out a soft chuckle. "Guess you'll have to figure that out for yourself."
I watched as Clara sweetly apologized to a valued patron of the hotel.
"My apologies, Miss Avasarala," She simpered, yet I could see the way her eyes were fuming at the 'mistake.' "Allow me to treat you to a bottle of Gold Arbor Wine as an apology. Oh, and a Dust & Ember cigar, courtesy of the house."
Clara stepped away, the plastered smile on her face faltering as she noticed the Madame's disapproving frown. Clara's eyes darted away, refusing to look in the Madame's general direction as her face flushed with color. Lila, in the meantime, stepped forward until she was side by side with her sister.
"What's wrong?" Lila asked, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I thought you never made a mistake."
Clara clenched her fists. "It wasn't my fault!" she hissed, lowering her voice as she caught the attention of several guests. "The dossier listed the wrong wine."
Beyond Clara's line of sight, I shot an encouraging smile toward Lila who beamed, sauntering off with a final look of glee directed at Clara.
Taking the opportunity, I sidled up to Clara, the girl still clenching her fists, and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulder once we were alone. "You were distracted," I soothed. "It happens to the best of us. However," Clara stiffened and turned her head toward me as she processed my words. "This time, I don't believe it was your fault."
I leaned forward as if to share a secret. "I saw Lila flipping through the dossier this afternoon. I'm sorry," I spoke with despondency laced in my words. "I thought she was simply reviewing for tonight. I can't believe she would…" I trailed off purposefully, but Clara only shook her head.
"It's not your fault," she dismissed as her eyes burned a hole in the direction where her sister had left. "Not your fault at all…"
As our friendly spar concluded, Rhodes and I began our cooldown stretch. My hair now had a slight sheen from the sweat coating it, while Rhodes had but a bead of sweat dripping down his chin.
"So, how'd a girl like you end up in a place like this?" He tried to ask casually as we began to wrap up the stretching. It was disgusting to see the look in his eyes as if he thought his pathetic attempt at subterfuge would succeed. But I bit down the bile building in my throat. I was so close. So close to having him wrapped around my finger.
I wiped my face with a towel as I finished my stretches and offered a small, hesitant shrug. "The orphanage," I began. "That's where the Madame found me. She offered me a life free of constantly cycling through foster families."
"Cycling through foster families?'"
I hesitated. "Yes. After a few weeks of living with them, every foster family, without fail became… displeased with my presence." I shivered and wrapped my arms around my chest.
"They all rejected you?"
"Yes. And they… and they all died in one accident or another after I was returned to the orphanage." I spoke as I brought forth glimmers of tears from my eyelids. "Everyone began to blame me," I whispered. "Saying that I…" I let my voice falter.
Rhodes strode up to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a one-armed hug. "It's all fear-mongering," He said with a shake of his head. "People like to invent stories, and ruin reputations for a laugh. It's an Atlesian thing." He added with a chuckle at my unspoken question.
I laughed sheepishly. "I-I suppose that's true."
Rhodes brightened up at the sound. "That's better. I hate seeing you so downbeat." He said as I slowly lowered my head and let it rest on his shoulder. My tears vanished as he lost sight of my face.
The Madame pursed her lips as she waited outside the conference room. I stood away to the side. Soon after, Lila arrived and took in the sight of the Madame.
"Madame…? What's the matter? I thought the meeting was starting now."
The Madame said nothing, her eyes twitching. Shortly after, Clara stepped out, scowling as she saw Lila.
"You are so irresponsible, Lila!" She chastised, crossing her arms. "The meeting started an hour ago. Mother had to send me in your place."
"What? But I was told that-" Lila's eyes flickered toward the Madame and then toward me as if seeking reassurance.
"My apologies," I spoke quietly, my eyes flickering toward the Madame. "The Madame changed the time of the meeting per your sister's request." I shook my head sheepishly at Lila. "I thought you knew already. The decision was made yesterday.
"It's truly unfortunate," I continued with a sympathetic expression, politely ignoring Lila's sputtering as I gently rested a hand on her shoulder. "It seems someone must have… forgotten to pass along the message." My eyes flickered toward Clara, and Lila's followed.
Lila's gaze darkened as she took in Clara's knowing smirk. Their divide deepened as the Madame's disappointment shone through her eyes, entirely missed by her daughters.
"Alright, kid, I think it's about time we awakened your Aura." Rhodes said one day. "Ah, that's because if you unlocked it too early in your training, it would've become a crutch for the rest of your life." He answered, seeing my raised eyebrow. "If you don't learn how to fight without it, when it inevitably breaks when you're doing a commission… well, that's an easy way for you to get yourself killed very early in your career.
"Anyway," Rhodes continued, "Just hold out your hand, palm facing up. It's a simple procedure; it'll be over in no time." He reassured.
I slowly extended my hand outward and he gently placed his own on top. He concentrated, muttering an odd chant as he did so. Nothing changed. After a moment, he withdrew his hand.
"Huh," Rhodes remarked, frowning. "That's… odd."
I lowered my head. "You- You mean… I have no Soul?"
Rhodes quickly shook his head. "No, no. That's not it," He denied. "Some people just… don't have the affinity. It's rare, but it's been known to happen."
I let my voice quiver as my hand began to shake. "Then that means I'll never become a huntress."
Rhodes placed a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder. "That's not true, Cinder. You're not just your Aura. You've got real potential. I'll make sure you get there."
I smiled weakly as if accepting his words as gospel. "Thank you," I said softly.
Rhodes frowned. "What for?"
"For believing in me."
Rhodes smiled—a small, yet noticeable thing. "For you, kid? I'll always be there for you."
Lila stormed into the hall, fists clenched. "You lied to me," She accused. "You stole my opportunity."
Clara scoffed, lackadaisically playing with her curls. "Oh, please. If you were actually competent, you wouldn't have needed me to 'steal' anything."
Lila stepped in closer, her voice quivering, her hands shaking. "You're terrified, aren't you? You know I'm better than you, and Mother knows it."
"You?" Clara sneered. "Better than me? That's rich. You've been letting their compliments get into your head."
She leaned forward. "Wanna know a secret? They all think you're an attention-seeking slu-"
Lila suddenly lunged, and the sisters grappled, crashing into several, likely expensive, pieces of furniture. Voices began to rise as onlookers surrounded the pair.
I let the confrontation play out for long enough before I stepped in between the two sisters. I glared at them "That's enough," I said even as they continued to struggle to pry free from my grasp to continue the brawl in earnest. "The Madame will be here-"
As I said the words, the Madame burst in through the double doors. The hall fell silent once more as she surveyed the scene, her eyes twitching, a bulging vein visible on her face. "Everyone out," She hissed, and the hall quickly dispersed.
I pretended to leave as well, only for the Madame to stop me. "Not you," she said, a slight softness present in her voice. "You can stay."
The sisters cowered as the Madame's gaze turned toward them. "You have disappointed me for the last time," She spoke to her captive audience. She beckoned for me. "Cinder, you will be in charge for today."
I bowed my head as a small smile began to form on my lips.
Rhodes and I broke away from our spar, laden with sweat and exhaustion. As we began to move into our stretches, Rhodes sighed loudly, drawing my attention, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
"You know, kid, I- I don't usually do this."
I tilted my head. "Do what?" I asked, hiding a knowing smile.
Rhodes scratched his head. "Y'know." He said by way of explanation.
I continued to stare at him, a quizzical expression plastered on my face.
"You're really gonna make me spell it out, aren't you?" Rhodes chuckled softly. "Precocious brat. I- I don't often… get attached." He finished, his cheeks flushing.
I hesitated, as if moved by his words. Then, with barely a whisper, I told him, "Thank you, Rhodes."
Rhodes smiled—a wide, joyous thing. "Get some rest, kid." He said, placing a hand on top of my head and ruffling my hair affectionately.
I looked away, scowling in faux embarrassment. Away from his gaze, I smiled. All it had taken was a little patience.
Rhodes watched as Cinder ran through a basic drill using a pair of practice swords he purchased. He noted how light the swords felt in her hands, almost weightless in their movement as they cut through the air. He knew that starting off with two swords was unwise, but he was limited on time, and besides, he had a feeling the girl could handle it.
However, he also noted how wide the swings were, how they focused entirely on offense and left her far too exposed to counterattacks.
As she finished running through the drill, Rhodes nodded to himself.
"Kid," he called out. Cinder lowered the swords and turned to face him. "Your technique's good," he admitted. "But you're too aggressive." He gestured for her to face him. "Here, let me show you. Run the drill again, with me as your opponent this time."
She stared at him for a moment, noting his weapons – or lack thereof – before nodding slowly. Cinder began the drill in that characteristic aggressive manner of hers, and soon enough, the moment she overcommitted, Rhodes sidestepped and swept the girl's legs out from under her.
Cinder hit the ground hard, but instead of glaring or whining as he had expected, she simply picked herself up, her expression unreadable.
"How can I prevent that from happening again?" She asked, miming a leg sweep.
Rhodes nodded, satisfied. "Toss me the swords, I'll walk you through the drill again—properly, this time."
Cinder tossed the swords over to Rhodes and watched carefully as the huntsman walked her through each part of the drill.
Perhaps I really can help her survive, Rhodes mused. Maybe… just maybe, I can do some good in my life.
"Something you need to understand, Cinder," Rhodes began as Cinder turned to face him. "Is that huntsmen aren't heroes. That's how the media and the councils portray us, sure, but that's merely a popular image. Reality is, huntsmen – and huntresses –" he added with a shrug. "Work based off of commissions, not pure altruism.
"Sure," he continued. "Not even the most apathetic huntsman's gonna look away when a village is burning down, but at the end of the day, they'll prioritize themselves and, by extension, their team over strangers they only just met."
"So, in a way, they're like the Atlesian police?" Cinder asked, a frown forming on her lips. "Except… they have much more freedom in choosing what work they take on."
Rhodes flinched as the girl's eyes bore into him. Watching. Judging. Expecting him to come up with some grand justification for his actions.
But he couldn't give her one. Not one that would satisfy her or even himself.
For once, she looked almost… disappointed in him. And somehow, some way, for the first time ever, Rhodes felt ashamed at admitting who he really was.
Rhodes couldn't help but admit that he was proud of Cinder, of the way she quickly picked up the techniques and lessons he taught her. And yet, on occasion, during the training sessions, there appeared a creeping unease that would claw its way into his mind every time Rhodes observed the girl's unnerving precision—each move executed with near flawlessness, as if she were a machine rather than a teenage girl.
But those feelings would quickly vanish as Cinder would turn toward him, her eyes full of expectation after finishing a drill. And every time he indulged her with a compliment, she would beam with pride, her cheeks growing pink. And every time, Rhodes couldn't help but smile every time he thought she wasn't looking.
Today, he felt, Cinder was ready to have her Aura unlocked.
As she extended her hand, palm facing up, Rhodes gently placed his own on top. He concentrated, his own Aura flickering to life, reaching outward, grasping for Cinder's Soul—
Nothing.
Rhodes frowned and tried once more. Still nothing.
A third time.
Still. Nothing.
"Huh…" Rhodes remarked. It was as if… she has no Soul. Rhodes shuddered despite himself. No, that couldn't be it. She's such as sweet, precocious kid. He denied. Because the alternative… Rhodes didn't even want to consider it. "That's… odd."
Cinder's face didn't change, but she lowered her head in shame. For the first time, she looked uncertain. Small. Vulnerable.
His heart tightened. She's just a kid. She doesn't need that kind of baggage.
"No, no." He quickly denied it, shaking his head. "Some people just… don't have the affinity. It's rare," he admitted. "But it's been known to happen."
Rhodes' body stilled as he watched Cinder's reaction.
"Then I'll never become a huntress." Her voice quivered, her hand unconsciously shaking.
"That's not true, Cinder," Rhodes fervently denied, placing a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder, the urge lingering to hug the poor girl. "You're not just your Aura. You've got real potential," He promised, desperately hoping that Cinder would see the sincerity in his eyes. "I'll make sure you get there."
She smiled softly—a weak, sincere thing. "Thank you."
"What for?" Rhodes asked, frowning.
"For believing in me."
His heart fluttered. It was an odd feeling, to know that a person's heart could still be entrusted to him even after all these years, that the man he always wanted to be still existed within, waiting to awaken.
"For you?" Rhodes asked, a smile beginning to blossom on his face. "I'll always be there for you."
Rhodes wasn't able to save himself from the hole he had dug himself into. But with Cinder? There was still hope that he could rescue her from the dark path that lay ahead.
As Rhodes began his stretches after breaking off the spar with Cinder, he also began to ruminate. Cinder, he thought to himself as he watched the girl in question stretch, utterly at ease with his presence. Is becoming very strong. At the pace she's going, she'll soon be able to fight an academy graduate without issue. And then… Rhodes paused. And then… she'll be free. Free from anyone trying to control her ever again.
He quickly realized that this also meant that she would disappear from his life forever. He needed to tell her. Now or never. Otherwise, he would forever regret his inaction.
Rhodes sighed loudly, drawing Cinder's attention, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "You know, kid, I- I don't usually do this."
Cinder tilted her head. "Do what?" She asked, frowning cutely, acting more her age for once.
Rhodes scratched his head. He had no idea how to say it, now that push came to shove. "Y'know." He tried, by way of explanation and avoidance.
The girl continued to stare at him, quizzically. Rhodes began to fidget.
"You're really gonna make me spell it out, aren't you?" He chuckled softly. "Precocious brat." He muttered good-naturedly earning a soft giggle from the girl. "I- I don't often… get attached." Rhodes finished, his cheeks aflame.
Cinder hesitated for a moment, before her expression softened. "Thank you, Rhodes," She spoke, her words barely a whisper. "It means a lot to me."
Rhodes relaxed, smiling. "Get some rest, kid," He said, placing a hand on top of the girl's head and ruffling her hair affectionately. Cinder shook him off, scowling adorably as she fixed her hair, looking away in embarrassment.
Rhodes dared to hope that he could become a changed man. He dared to hope that when he inevitably died, he would be remembered for the few heroic deeds he accomplished and not the lifetime of apathy that had come to define his career.
The Madame had begun to increasingly grow disillusioned with the very blood that coursed through her household. Her daughters, once the promise of her enduring legacy, revealed themselves as disappointments, each new failure and every petty conflict a stain upon what should have been the beginning of an eternal dynasty. Their incessant squabbles, their incessant need to prove themselves, it all grated on the Madame's nerves, shortening the fuse of her temper with each passing day.
But then, there was Cinder, a mere orphan, all told, and yet it was she who had made good on her promise, her potential. As time went on, the girl's efficiency, her unnerving precision in managing even the smallest details, only served to highlight the vast gulf that existed between her and the Madame's own offspring.
She would be remiss not to admit that she once believed the girl to be a growing threat, with her knowing smile and the way her words, on occasion, dripped with a disarming sense of cruelty. But now? "Cinder," even after the Madame began to fall ill, continued to be nothing more than an obedient servant—competent and cunning, certainly, but without the ambitious spark that once existed in her eyes.
The Madame coughed, but inwardly, she was utterly relaxed. It was unprecedented, she admitted, but as she grew sicker, the Madame had finally decided that in her will, she would pass on control of the Glass Unicorn to Cinder, not her daughters. The girl had become indispensable, her very spitting image, and in the girl's hands, the Madame was sure, the Glass Unicorn would grow to unfathomable heights, cementing the Madame's legacy in the annals of Atlesian history.
With every passing day, with every calculating move, I consolidated my hold on the Glass Unicorn, its reins slowly slipping from the Madame's sickly hands. It had, of course, begun innocuously at first. A whispered suggestion here, a carefully-planted rumor there. But in the end, it had escalated until I now sat, secure in a private chamber beside the Madame's own.
I had spent an inordinate amount of time gathering evidence – the blackmail, rather – to use against the loose ends. The Madame, Clara, Lila, and even Rhodes; they all had secrets, they all had weaknesses they sought to hide, all of which I could exploit for my own gain.
The Madame with her pathetic excuse for leadership and noblesse oblige, had been concealing her inadequacies behind a veneer of authority, held together by naught but fear of what she was once able to do. I had discovered her hidden ledgers, the documents that revealed her illicit dealings with the underworld, all poorly concealed behind elementary accounting speech. I had compiled incriminating photos and whispered confessions of disloyalty from both Clara and Lila—every petty argument, every minor slip of the tongue, all recorded and noted. And Rhodes… he thought himself a white knight, destined to go out in a blaze of glory, with a final act of redemption. Little did he know, a lifetime of apathy was a treasure trove of evidence that I could use to turn him into the perfect scapegoat.
Tonight, while Rhodes was away on a commission, I began to execute the final piece of my plan. I had Faith slip into the Madame's private study, all under the pretense of preparing her medicine to relieve the stress that had begun to visibly wear her down—without a doubt caused by the growing discord between Clara and Lila. I had, by now, learned her routine well enough to know that she trusted me – and, by extension, my right hand – implicitly when it came to her health, believing me to be a changed person, a meek girl after all the pain I went through by her hand.
She had grown careless. So assured of her own power and authority that she could no longer see the fraying foundation on which she stood.
With meticulous care, I measured out a dose of what appeared to be her usual remedy, but laced with a toxin so subtle it left no trace. The Tears of Azure, a rather ironic choice, wouldn't you agree?
Within hours, the Madame quietly slipped away into the oblivion of death, the cause of her demise indisputably originating from stress and nothing more. Better yet, I knew exactly how to frame it to maximize its impact.
The next morning, I approached the sisters as they waited outside the Madame's private chambers. Hesitant. Uncertain. Still docile—for now. That would change very soon.
At the sound of my footsteps, they turned toward me, and I slipped on a mask of grief, my eyes directed at the floor as my posture shrunk. "The- The Madame-" I began as a fragile tremor threaded through it, the tears threatening to spill. Clara and Lila stilled, and I let the silence stretch, the unspoken words sinking in. Clara stiffened, while Lila's hands twitched. They already knew. They just did not want to believe it.
I drew in a shaky breath and delivered the final blow. "She passed away in her sleep."
Clara let out a sharp gasp, her hands flying to her mouth, while Lila remained frozen, her expression eerily blank, yet a slight quiver in her shoulders was present.
"The Madame's been under significant stress recently," I revealed with a whisper, timidly glancing up at the sisters. "She loved you both dearly, but the… the discord between you, the stress of it all…" I hesitated, feigning reluctance. "It was too much for her."
A quiet, lingering stillness filled the corridor as the sisters processed my words and the buried feelings they each shared—of each other, of the Madame.
Lila, to my pleasant surprise, was the first to break from the spell, her fists clenched.
"You did this!" She accused, her voice trembling with pent-up anger as she glared at Clara. "You let Mother suffer—let her die!"
Clara's expression contorted into an amalgamation of disbelief and a cold fury eerily reminiscent of the Madame. "I had nothing to do with it!" She fired back. "You were the one always causing problems—always making unreasonable demands!" Her voice rose, echoing off the barren walls, the raw, unfiltered outpour of resentment striking like a tidal wave against Lila.
The argument escalated rapidly, their words becoming daggers, their accusations soon growing in intensity—more personal, raw, and tearing open the wounds they tried to patch over the years. I remained silent, allowing the controlled chaos to unfold. At last, the confrontation reached its boiling point. In the heat of unbridled emotion, Clara's hand slipped and struck Lila with such force that the blow was fatal. Lila collapsed, the sound of her body muffled by the cacophony of their sisterly discord. Clara stared at the scene, her hands shaking as she processed her actions. Then, in a rare moment of clarity, she turned toward me, her eyes accusing.
"Y-You!" She glared weakly. "It's all your fault!" Clara lunged at me, far too slowly. With a practiced motion, I dodged her pathetic attack and lifted her into the air, a hand squeezing the air out of her throat. With a single squeeze, the life escaped Clara's porcelain body, collapsing onto the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
As I sat in the now-empty office – a room that once belonged to the Madame – reclaimed and repurposed for my own ends, I watched the new management settle in—servants now hanging on my every word, all eyes fixed on the figure who would soon replace the Madame. truth was, the power I now wielded was intoxicating, but I also knew that it was built on a fragile foundation of blackmail and fear. But that was of no matter. The Glass Unicorn was simply a stepping stone, an instrument through which I would carry out my vision of a perfect world.
But first, there was a final loose end to tie up.
Rhodes arrived at the Glass Unicorn, expecting yet another grueling – yet rewarding – training session with Cinder. The establishment, once renowned as a den of debauchery and misery, had taken on a new, unsettling air. As Rhodes pushed open the heavy doors, the familiar clamor of hushed voices, the musk of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke, were all replaced by a disquieting, sanitized silence.
He instantly knew there was something wrong. His hand fell toward the mace resting at his hip, ready to be used in a moment's notice, while his swords continued to rest on his back. As he continued forward, he began to notice the subtle signs of restructuring throughout the establishment. Once familiar corners were now rearranged into tight, efficient corridors, while even the décor seemed to have been altered with a cold sense of precision. It was as if the very Soul of the place had been completely replaced.
As Rhodes entered the ballroom, its all too familiar emptiness was replaced by a sickening display. The Madame and her daughters – their corpses, rather – were displayed as if they were mere museum exhibits, each contorted into a macabre facsimile of a Grimm; limbs stretched beyond their human limits and barren of skin, while hair and fabric and bone intertwined together.
A trail of blood stained the floor, leading from the display to a back door, which Rhodes followed tepidly. When he reached the end, he froze. There, in front of him, stood Cinder, usually immaculate and composed, alone amidst the disarray. Her raven black hair, still styled in that intricate manner of hers, now had dark red streaks, blood clung to her skin like macabre jewels, drowning out the color of ivory out of her uniform.
For the briefest of moments, Rhodes' hardened exterior cracked. Without thinking, he broke into a sprint, propelled by a desperate need to check on her well-being. But as Rhodes neared her, he caught the glint in her eyes, one that spoke of utter detachment to the carnage around her. He froze. In that moment, he finally understood the terrible truth that eluded him since he entered the Glass Unicorn: Cinder was not merely injured, she was the one responsible for the gruesome scene before him.
His breath grew ragged as he processed the revelation, his unsteady breaths filling the deafening silence. What truly chilled him, however, was the casual way in which she regarded the display—as if it were nothing more than a discarded art medium, a tool for her to mold the world in her image.
"Rhodes," she said softly, sweetly, yet her voice remained utterly devoid of emotion. "I trust you understand what has happened here?" Cinder tilted her head as she regarded him, amused, as if it were a mere inconvenience they were discussing, rather than mass murder.
Rhodes' jaw tightened. "What have you done?" He demanded, his voice starting to crack. "Who- no, what are you, really?"
She regarded him with a cool, unblinking gaze. "I am merely fulfilling my destiny," She replied cryptically. "The world has become soft, weak. All I am doing is paving a path for a new era, one in which only the strong shall rule." Cinder's lips curled upward into a sardonic smile. "And if you must know, the chaos is merely collateral."
Rhodes' hand trembled on the hilt of his mace. Before he could press further, Cinder continued, ignoring him entirely as she examined her 'artwork.' "You know, I think I like the Madame more like this—unwound," She remarked. "To think that such an uptight person…" She examined further the misshapen corpse. "What a shame, it couldn't have happened to a better person."
Rhodes wasn't sure what the cause was, perhaps it had been a combination of the revulsion and sorrow twisting in his gut—whatever it was, Rhodes found himself unable to resist the urge to draw his weapon. He lunged forward, aggressive and precise, his movement honed by years of experience. For a scant moment, Rhodes caught sight of the Cinder he once knew—the one he remembered as his silent, unyielding apprentice. But she was different now. Warped. Her movements were unnervingly fluid, her defenses tight and measured, and yet… she now wore a sickeningly sweet smile as she fought.
At one point, Rhodes thought he saw an opening. Cinder had overextended, defaulting back to her old careless aggression. On instinct, he exploited the mistake and stepped forward to deliver the decisive blow. But in that split second, Cinder's eyes flashed – those cold, piercing eyes filled with a predatory gleam – and a sudden wave of terror shot through him, paralyzing him to the bone. He heard an ear-piercing scream, and slowly, idly, he realized it belonged to him.
He glanced down as a searing pain lanced through his body, as Cinder's twin practice swords- no, his own, actually, tore through his flesh and bone. Rhodes collapsed, coughing up blood, the veil of darkness slowly enveloping his vision. He lay there, barely conscious, as Cinder knelt beside him, gently stroking his hair, her expression a mask of detached interest. "There, there, my dear Rhodes," She murmured, "Don't worry, no one will ever know the white knight you tried to become toward the end. All they will remember is the villain who cut down an 'innocent' mother and two daughters in a fit of rage."
In his final moments of clarity, Rhodes' thoughts stirred with a bitter realization. After a lifetime of apathy, of watching the world rot while he simply kept on surviving, karma had finally struck—a final, unforgiving reckoning for his sins.
As the light faded from his eyes, Rhodes could only laugh bitterly, inward, at the thought that he would, in the end, be remembered… but not for the dream he always, secretly, longed for.
I watched as the light finally faded from Rhodes' eyes.
"Is… is it over?" A faint, hesitant voice asked beside me.
I smiled, genuinely. "It is, Faith. It's all over now." The girl in question came closer, tentatively, until I opened my arms for a hug. She bounded forward and wrapped her arms around my waist, her head resting against my chest.
"Big Sis?" Faith asked as she looked up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. "Did I do good? Are you proud of me?"
I patted her head gently, almost motherly. "Of course I am, Faith. I'm so proud of how far you've grown." I pulled her closer and she melted into my embrace. "I told you from the start, didn't I? There would come a day when you'd no longer fear the Madame."
I paused, then continued softly, "I have a reward for you—one I think you'll especially enjoy. I want you to run the Glass Unicorn from now on."
"M-Me?" She stammered, astonishment coloring her voice.
"Who else but you?" I asked, though I already knew the answer she would give. "You're smart, resourceful, and most importantly, I know you'll make sure that none of our sisters ever falls prey to another Madame."
"I know you'll make me proud. And besides, I'm your big sis, aren't I? If you ever need help, I'll always be there for you…" Until your usefulness runs its course.
Faith beamed with pride, oblivious to my darker thoughts. As I held her close, I silently acknowledged that controlling the Glass Unicorn now fell into my hands. Next, I would contact Watts—and from there, well, would come the point of no return.
End notes:
There you have it, psychopath Cinder in all its glory. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Writing a first-person perspective, especially for Cinder, is a little tough. Oftentimes, in my initial drafts, I reveal far too much, or it comes off as rambling...