The moon was waxing full. It was a very beautiful night.
Aladdin chuckled softly within the confines of his room. The princess was within his grasp. But beyond that, what he wanted was the sultan's throne and the riches in his command. After all, with infinite money, he could buy whatever love was.
Content with the day's worth of wooing, he lays back on his luxurious divan. Despite the fact that this was a guest room, the sultan spared no expense for his guests comfort.
"Entertain the guests even if you must sell your treasures."
What an irksome rule. But it just goes to show that money really does solve everything. And soon, he'll have more of it than he ever dreamed.
"You chose me..." Aladdin says languidly, looking at the platinum lamp in his hand, "But you can't give me what I want."
It was cruel irony. Why was his story written this way?
What use was hoping for love anyway though? He should just wish to be the richest man honestly!
He remembered with bile his life on the streets. His father was a fool that believed in things like virtue and that sort of nonsense. When he died, his trusted partners stole everything from the company and left him and his mother at the mercy of the collectors. What a miserable life, counting the spare change his mother made in her daily work of drudgery. She didn't even know her numbers since she never learned, and her father and husband never educated her. She needed Aladdin to go with her to the market so she wouldn't be cheated.
She wasn't a bad woman. But she had been influenced by her husband. She carried his naivete and blamed herself for the company failure and their poverty. Aladdin felt sorry for her foolishness, not for her pain in raising him alone.
Problems, problems, problems... the world was so full of problems. Fools struggled to define the problems. But he saw it clearly. When his mother finally passed, he stood at her grave with a rather grim smile. Not because she was finally free of the suffering in silence. Because this affirmed his theory.
"The world … has a lot of problems. But they all are solved by riches. After all... what problems do the rich have in comparison to those without?"
He chuckles a little to himself before stowing the lantern away under the multilayered cushions. Folding his arms behind his head, he sighs and lets his dreams of gilt treasure lull him to sleep.
Cinderella scowls as she stalks about the palace halls. Dripping from her dagger is crimson from the guards' throats she slit. Guarding the prostitute it seems proves too hard of a job nowadays. But where the hell was the royal quarter? These places are too damn big!
She walks before the west wing of the palace, seeing the large golden doors. With the tip of her blade, she lightly pries the heavy doors open a crack. It makes little noise. Inside, she sees the luxurious silks and satins about the room, draperies, embroidered cushions, carpets, and a wide balcony. The bed is grand, but empty. Instead, the divan has the cocky ass prince on it. He seems asleep.
Cinderella grins, "Gotcha..."
She slinks into his room, prying the door open just enough to enter. Her steps are light, but the prince is such a fucking pig he wouldn't have woken unless a parade came through. He snores as loud as a stupid pig too.
She silently moves to take one of the many pillows nearby. Just suffocate him. Easier and less messy. She just got this dress cleaned after that other job the other day.
Without hesitation, she stuffs the pillow on his face. There was about two seconds before the prince woke up and all hell broke loose.
His hands wrestled with her own to get the pillow off. Then they grabbed her wrist and he flings her off entirely. She lands in the shadows of the room where the moonlight did not reach. Before he could call out, she springs back at him and tackles him to the floor, tipping the divan over. He was stronger than her for sure. He was well built, and his moves were unusually scrappy for someone in royalty. He actually went to kick her legs, knocking her over.
"A woman?" He breathes in disbelief when he finally gets a good look at her.
She topples him with a sharp kick between his legs with her armor-tipped boots, getting past the buffer of his puffy pants.
He bends over and she jumps to her feet. With the butt of her dagger, she smacks down on his bowed head and then viciously knees his face. He falls backward, collapsing like a sack of potatoes. He moans a bit, out cold. Some blood dribbles out of his nose from the knee's impact.
"Hff... Fuck..." Cinderella growls. He surprised her a bit. That irritated her. He can't get off easy after that.
She rubs her bruising shin. Then the sound of the ocean waves gives her an idea. With a wicked grin, she gets to work with her dagger, shredding the muslin curtains, cutting down the drapes and just ripping up the upholstery.
She stuffs his mouth with some cloth before completing the gag by securing it with another strip tied behind the head. Then she ties his arms above his head and his legs. Now came the hard part. Dragging him a bit, she pulls him on his back out to the balcony.
"Fuck, you royals are heavy..."
She uneasily hoists his body over her shoulder before summoning a plant nightmare.
"Make a rope."
The nightmare's two vine arms tie to the balcony railing. She grabs onto its main body before jumping off the edge. As she saw the vague shape of the ground coming up, the nightmare's arms tightened and slowed their growth in length so they are slowly lowered safely. After she steps off, the nightmare vanishes, its job accomplished.
"Ok then..." Cinderella looks towards the darkened city slum area in the distance. It's so freaking far away. With a low grumble, she begins the slog of a trek towards her hiding place.
"You're gonna pay for this so fucking bad..."