Cinder

Cinder clutched the basket of clean linens to his chest as he ran through the halls, trying hard to not spill the sheets or break anything in his haste. Thankfully the halls had long since been cleared of most of the decorative tables and expensive, incredibly fragile ornaments that had once lined the walls. He tried not to think of that, of all the treasures his father had gathered over years of travelling, treasures that his stepmother continually sold off to fuel her extravagant life-style.

He skidded to a halt around the corner from the bedrooms. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, steadying breath before creeping forward, his ears straining for any sign that his stepbrothers were in their rooms. All seemed quiet but silence meant little when his stepbrothers were involved. They’d perfected the art of sneaking up on him when he least expected.

He put his ear to the first door along the hallway – Alexander’s room – and listened for a long moment before slipping inside. The room was blissfully empty. He dropped the basket by the door and stripped the bed, changing out old sheets for new, then remaking the bed. The old sheets were shoved to the bottom of the basket. He moved around the room, gathering up the clothes Alexander had tossed to the floor and cleaning as quickly as he could. He pulled the curtains open, letting light into the room. The room seemed less terrifying in the light, but he didn’t linger.

Cinder repeated the process for the next two rooms. His bare feet made little sound as he snuck from one room to the next. He was just finishing cleaning Donovan’s room when the loud thud-thud of boots on stone made him freeze. Panic welled up in him, bringing with it a sense of urgency. He needed to run. He had to run. His eyes darted about the room. The bed was made. Windows opened. He grabbed the last of Donovan’s dirty laundry off the floor as quietly as he could, nearly tripping in his haste but he caught himself just in time.