I was born a slave, in a castle where time had stopped. I still live here now. My job is to keep the place tidy.
The wench in the scullery sits motionless at her churn. The footmen outside the grand bedroom are frozen where they stand. Even the dew dripping down the window panes remains as it has been since before I was born, stopped halfway down.
Inside the grand bedroom, the Beauty sleeps. My mother was a slave to Her, and only my mother remained moving when time stopped for the rest. That was twenty years ago, just before I was born. Mother died last year.
There's not much for me to do. No-one to tidy up after. I wish my mother had left just one cobweb, and not swept them all away in her first week—of course, they never came back. Just to have one cobweb, too look at, to plan for. Maybe to sweep off just before I die. It would feel like an accomplishment, if I waited that long.
The Beauty will sleep for a hundred years before the Prince arrives to kiss Her. At least, that was the story my mother told me.
Will I be around to see it? Not likely.