The heel snapped right off. No amount of hot glue or magic dust could fuse the glass heel back onto the damn glass shoe. I was screwed. My meager wage as a maid couldn’t even cover the cost of one shoe – nevermind two. The first shoe I had lost while sprinting from the ball. I took an unfortunate stumble, I ended up breaking the heel and twisting my ankle. No damn ball was worth all of this trouble. It took blackmail to convince the shoemaker to lend me the gems. There was only one condition: bring them back unharmed. A single scratch on the glass surface was a far more serious offense than adultery. (I’m not sure if his wife agreed, but that’s how the shoe-maker phrased it.) Whatever the case, it was a clean break. There was no way I could fix the damage done. I had one fantastic night at the ball. I had met prince charming.

Now only if Mr. Charming could figure out how to fix the broken heel – or at least return the other shoe.