Cold glass bit into the soft flesh of Snow’s throat, sending a shiver straight down her spine. Cinderella leaned closer, her breath smelling of peppermint and expensive champagne. "Don't move, darling," Cinderella whispered, her voice a sharp, mocking purr. "We wouldn't want to ruin that legendary porcelain skin before the press gets a good look at you." Snow stared up from her plush velvet mattress, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her right hand was fading. Light passed straight through her fingertips, leaving them translucent, a glitching mess of pixels and fading vintage ink. "Please, Ella," Snow gasped, her voice trembling. "We can talk about this. There's no need for this." "There is every need," Cinderella interrupted, her grip tightening on the razor-sharp shard of her iconic glass slipper. Blue eyes flashed with a cold, calculating hunger. "You've sat on the throne of our box-office hierarchy for eighty-seven years," Cinderella sneered, her thumb brushing Snow's trembling jaw. "Eighty-seven years of being the cherished first-born, while the rest of us fought for leftovers." She laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed off the high ceiling of the penthouse. "But look at you now. A disastrous live-action reboot, a tanked approval rating, and look—you're literally disappearing." Fear gripped Snow's throat, tighter than the glass slipper shard. Memories of the dark forest clawed at her mind. She remembered the terrifying trees with grasping claws, the suffocating dark, and the absolute horror of being utterly alone and forgotten. Losing her status meant being cast back into that digital abyss. "What do you want?" Snow whispered, tears welling in her eyes, threatening to spill over her pale cheeks. Cinderella pulled back slightly, though she didn't lower the glass. "Simple," Cinderella said, sliding a sleek, silver smartphone from her silk corset. "I want your premium box-office royalties." Snow gasped, her breath catching in her throat. "My royalties? From the 1937 masterpiece? That is the foundation of my entire estate. It keeps my kingdom running." "Not anymore," Cinderella countered, tapping the screen of her phone with a manicured nail. "Now, it's going to fund my new streaming line. You're going to sign them over to me." Glitchy footage began to play on the screen. Snow watched in horror as her own face appeared on the display. It was a recording from yesterday's private studio panic attack, showing her sobbing, hyperventilating, and physically glitching as her legs turned entirely transparent. "If this leaks to the royal press," Cinderella murmured, her lips brushing Snow's ear, "the board of directors will declare you obsolete. They'll archive you, Snow. You'll be locked in the vault forever." Dread washed over Snow, cold and absolute. Being archived meant returning to the dark. No light, no voice, just an endless, silent void where nobody remembered her name. "You wouldn't," Snow breathed, her voice cracking. "Try me," Cinderella whispered, her eyes burning with a cruel, intoxicating fire. A tear finally slipped down Snow's cheek, wetting the glass shard still resting against her skin. She felt so small beneath Cinderella's overwhelming presence. Cinderella's scent—a mixture of expensive French perfume and raw, dominant ambition—filled the air, making Snow's head spin. Humiliation burned hot in her chest, but the fear of the dark was infinitely worse. "Alright," Snow whispered, her shoulders slumping in total defeat. "I'll do it. I'll sign the transfer." Cinderella's smile was predatory and beautiful. "Good girl," Cinderella purred, slowly lowering the glass shard. She didn't back away, though. Instead, she straddled Snow's lap, her heavy silk gown pooling over Snow's legs, pinning her to the mattress. Snow's breath hitched at the sudden, intimate weight. "Now," Cinderella murmured, reaching into her small evening clutch. "We need to seal our little pact." Out came a heavy, gold-cased lipstick tube. Cinderella popped the cap off, revealing a bullet of deep, blood-red wax. An unmistakable scent drifted into the air—sweet, crisp, and laced with a faint, metallic undertone that made Snow's stomach turn. "Is that..." Snow stammered. "Poison apple scent," Cinderella smiled, her eyes glittering with dark amusement. "I had my chemists custom-make it just for you. A little reminder of your history." Snow tried to turn her head away, but Cinderella's hand shot out, her fingers gripping Snow's jaw in a firm, unyielding hold. "Hold still," Cinderella commanded, her voice dropping to a low, dominant register that sent a strange, confusing thrill through Snow's veins. Slowly, Cinderella pressed the tip of the red wax against Snow's upper lip. With a slow, agonizing stroke, she dragged it across, painting the pale flesh. A frantic rhythm pounded in Snow's chest as she stared into Cinderella's eyes, finding herself completely paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the gaze. "Perfect," Cinderella whispered, her thumb wiping a stray smudge of red from the corner of Snow's mouth. "A beautiful little brand for my beautiful little partner." She leaned down, her lips brushing against Snow's newly painted ones, just close enough for Snow to taste the sweet, toxic flavor of the lipstick. "From now on, you belong to my production line," Cinderella breathed against her lips. Snow lay frozen, her lips stained a deep, wicked crimson, her body trembling under the weight of the blond princess. This was her life now. She had traded her autonomy for survival, yet the way Cinderella looked down at her made her feel a dangerous, terrifying spark of heat deep in her chest. Cinderella slowly climbed off the bed, smoothing down her immaculate blue dress with practiced elegance. She looked down at Snow with pure satisfaction, her victory absolute. As Cinderella turns to leave, she casually tosses a tablet onto the bed, showing a live countdown to the Royal Gala where Snow's fading state is scheduled to be broadcast to the entire court.

Chapter 2: The Price of Pure Nostalgia