“When I looked at Indigo then, her eyes were soft and wet, and for a single moment I knew the very texture of her soul. “I wish I could win your hand like in the stories,” I said. “I’d fetch you the feather from the tail of a firebird. I’d fit the ocean in a walnut shell. Or find you Cinderella’s glass slippers.” Indigo laughed. “What would I do with glass slippers?” “Dance in them, of course.”
