Snow gets thrown out of the door as she is a cannon ball. She rolls past the ground until her dress becomes all grey in the mud. Raindrops fall with a coldness she has never felt before. It touches her skin like drops of fire. So cold, yet feels so hot. She moans from haplessness and lays where she fell. So much to regret. From riches, down to rags. Lost her grip. Fallen so hard with no succor. Rather than being disgusted by the dirt, she takes time to feel it well. She’s never been there before. The place where no heir of any throne has ever been to or felt like. Laid in the mud, her snowy skin submerged with gravelly muck, her pride injured, her grace stained. There’s a sore on the side of her face. It is probably carved by the stuff that were in her way when she was getting thrown out of here. She has no interest to lift herself from the filth. She looks at her hands, those fingers and fingernails, that someday she used to polish them with gold bits, are now tainted muddy grey, wrinkled and roughed by the means of cold. She pities herself more than anyone else. And by the hate that burns inside of her, she considers herself deservant of this humiliation. The lead actress of the band stands out of the barracks and spits on her. She puts her muscular hand to her hip and throws a bale look down at her pitiable state.
"There’s no place for a pathetic worm like you here. Go back to your mama and cry." She says to her and gets back inside the barracks.
There’s no sound in the distance but the beating rain. Suddenly a lower, deeper sound gently echoes along... the sound of her heart breaking down gradually. Two hands reach for her shoulders and pick her up with a medium care. Rose lifts her from the depth of her despair and looks into her rainy eyes. Now she can see that it would have been better to never send her. Perhaps she did that on purpose only to see if Snow would try and convince them to help her. Now even Snow knows that it was not a good idea to try and tell them who she is, or very likely who she used to be. However, more than Snow is hurt, Rose feels sorry. She softly reaches a hand to the groove that lays over her delicate face. She feels it, that it must be irritating. Snow cries like a child that’s beaten too much and barley can catch a constant breathe. Cinderella tenderly takes her side. She firmly wraps her arms around hers and tries her best to make her feel safe, even though she knows that Snow hates her naturally. But it doesn’t matter. Cinderella's heart is somewhat careless to negative feelings against herself. But to Rose it matters, more than it mattered to keep her from impressions in order to retain her blood in a good condition. It aggravates her with the same flames that burn inside of Snow. Her face becomes red, her fists clench, her eyes stare at the sore on Snow's face so hard, the saliva in her mouth becomes venom, her foots stomp towards the barracks, she slams the door hard. In one hand she holds her knife and her other hand is free to cast deadly spells. Someone turns the knob. The first cling of the lock is the sound that Rose needs to hear. The one behind the door could expect anything but a shot so strong that flies him back. Rose appears with the broken pieces of the door.
"Yo mad berk. Where do ya think you’ve bolted in like a savage?" Says the ugly man the one who probably played the wolf before. "I’ll teach ya a lesson now."
And that is going to be his last words. When the rest of the band either panic or pick what’s near them to hit with it, the big bad guy comes to face Rose on his own, and he has no idea what awaits him in her hands. Rose cuts loose into them like a hungry wolf that assaults a herd of sheeps. Harsh and breaking sounds continuously come from inside the barracks. Yelling and shrieking resonates. Screaming of those that treated her like a filth, now crushes the rainfall. Voices that make Snow creep, sound like a song of agony and blood to Cinderella. It doesn’t even bother her. She listens on and holds Snow to prevent her from shaking. After a few seconds Rose appears out. Her stature has no single drop of blood on it. But the knife in her hand is soaked in blood. Red-drops drip from its edge without a stop. She walks down to them and stands before Snow.
"We need to fix this." She touches the injured side of Snow's face as her eyes still burning.