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CHAPTER EIGHT
The shattered glass pane where we staked our lives jumps with us. As we descend, shards of it fall like glitters in all forms, making lines on my skin. My hair seems to collect traces of it, which irritates my scalp. We land on a palace's concrete thoroughfare, which thankfully hasn't been broken into. I glance upward to find faces peering down on us, inquisitive of what our idiotic stunt had resulted into.
The little noises produced by the shattered glass window reverberate like overturned coins. If I hadn't taken a few quavery breaths, I wouldn't have realized I was trembling. People crowding around the window have splintered us, and the cacophonous conversation has just added to my uneasiness. I instantly avert my gaze to the concrete we'd fallen from, fearful of seeing the Prince or Lady Tremaine peering down at us.
Despite the fact that it is dark and the cuts on my flesh from the fall are not visible, I can feel them itching and aching. When I hear Flynn giggle
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