Every tear you spill on that staircase? I drink it like wine. Every whisper you share in the pantry? I hear the melody of your betrayal. You call me ‘wicked’ because I do not bake you bread. You call me ‘monster’ because I locked the nursery tower. But tell me—who threw the key? Ah. That was you , wasn’t it? When you tried to push me down the well last spring.
Tonight, when the clock strikes thirteen (and oh, it will), you’ll knock on my door. You’ll beg for warmth. For forgiveness. For a single kind word. Mistress Marisa Wicked Stepmom-
And I will offer you tea. Chamomile, with a drop of honey. Every tear you spill on that staircase