A/N Hello fellow readers and writers! I welcome you whole-hardheartedly to my first fanfic!
This story is inspired by the events that have occurred in cinderella, with the occasional tweak here and there!
I hope you stick with me through the ups and the downs and i will do my best to update regularly! Please enjoy!
- SA
1703
Panem, France
We are in the meadow when I am called.
Rory and I attempt to amuse ourselves by dancing- or something close to it, anyhow. It's a medley that spells disaster; a concoction of poorly sung melodic notes and the stepping of dressing hems and big toes. Mediocre dancing at best. However, we find ourselves laughing with mirth that I wouldn't possess without his presence. We share unforeseen kisses and that is how I spot her. For when I pull away from my Lover's lips, my Escort stands there, far from pleased.
And my heart stops.
I needn't look into Rory's eyes to acknowledge his understanding. With a kiss of haste, he bids me adieu.
I meet Effie in three strides and I can almost feel the trepidation that I see in her eyes. She fails to rid the tears that fall freely and her figure is trembling with a force I cannot withstand. Her spindly, bony fingers twist into each other and out; interwoven with a terror that is unbecoming of her person; for she would surely scold me of such an act as that.
"Pray you, Madame. What ails you?" my tone is hushed, not in hopes to lull her nor I, but in evident fear of what words will appear itself from her glossy lips. For kind words, she possesses, though scolding, through them she displays her love. Good words, moreover, differ entirely. Words of corpses and anguish, she speaks well enough. Though this day, she shakes. Her unlikely state is disconcerting, though not alarming. More harm has been spoken through those stately lips.
"Your Grandmother-" she begins. And I leave her no time left to finish because at that time my skirts are kilted up and my feet leave the ground in a run. Effie is left to handle herself as I dash madly through the thick leaves and pines. The overgrown grass proves to be difficult as it catches onto my pattens, causing me to stumble and fall more than once. My locks, plaited in a braid, become undone and unravel in a frenzy; matted with soil and twigs. At one point, the soles of my feet catch onto my skirts, tearing them into oblivion, but no matter.
As I traverse through the village, I am eyed thoroughly once over and again by curious children and disturbed elders. My presence in this sector of the kingdom is far from convivial; we thrive in mutual distrust. Me, derived from a class where we sip daintily from engraved glasses embellished with gold trimmings and them, who gulp from their scarred palms. I enrage them greatly when they spot me, blonde and vivacious, bright attire. For I come only to share an embrace with my lover, in the silver of the evening sky. They are repulsed by me, convinced with hearsay that I traipse the dusty streets of the seam, gallivanting and doting on newfangled accoutrements; blushing and proud.
C'est dommage.
I must be a sight; far from the nimble princess they perceive of me, all slashed dresses and fanatic tresses, dirt and dust trailing on my porcelain skin; a stark contrast. For in the distance a laugh pierces the air followed by a dozen.
At least they are enjoying themselves.
Overhead, clouds are in formation and the sun is nowhere to be found; turning from cerulean blue to a dark mauve in a matter of seconds. A clap of thunder. A streak of lightning. And the rain is beginning its downpour. Hard.
Along the streets children leave their playthings and rush inside with exclaims of excitement, followed by bothered adults and larking elders. Droplets collect and build, heavy on my person; weighing everything tenfold, yet, I still run.
I am drenched when I reach the palace gates at long last. Sopping and sloshing with every step beneath me.
The dull, brick exterior looks even more so monotonous and dreary with the accustoming storm over yonder. A dreadful sight. My subconscious reels back to when I was no older than a babe. When my Mamie had held me in her arms and tearfully informed that my mother and father were victims of a plague that claimed the lives of many. Death creeping, lurking near unsuspecting people who later befell to its grasps; for it had no exception, royalty and the poor were alike in this way.
The gates open.
Alacritous, I dart about the steps with urgency wrenching the doors open and halt for a moment because I can hear it.
I can hear it.
An awful sound that head directly towards my heart because I know that sound. It is a sound of anguish. Of moans and tears and sweat in one sickly sweet embrace. They are a dependent trio that without one another will fail to create the emotion they so desperately desire. And they collide into me with ravenous grasps, weighing me down. They whisper to me, come with us and grieve. Come along and fall into darkness. But I refuse to let them.
I shake myself as though they were tangible objects and rush down the corridor.
You will not take her, I assure them, you will not take her from me.
The embellished walls with their rich finery becomes a gray blur before me as I haste through various hallways, eager to reach the solar in time when i notice something is out of the normalcy.
There is no help.
The lack in service deeply disturbs me, although the absence just fuels my fire and each step is quicker than the last when I reach the hallway. And my heart stops for the second time today.
For they are all lined up along the walls of the double doors to my Mamie's room.
Heads bowed, caps and head covers off and clutched in calloused palms, bodies hunched as if though they cannot stomach the feeling. When I come to a halt, heads turn and in their eyes I see an amalgam of emotions. Remorse, regret, lucidity, and the most common is as plain as day.
Sadness.
They all look to me now. Tear stains are evident on dark faces, streaks contrasting to dirty faces.
Tears.
I take one step. Followed by another. And another until I remember myself and propel through the large mahogany doors like a barricade crashing towards the ground; falling into dust and ashes.
And again, I can hear her before I can see her. The moans rattle my ear drums even though it is a miniscule sound.
Moans.
And I see her. My Mamie. Pale and sickly. She lies in her flourished bed, encased with blankets and comforters galore. Clad in a fine satin gown, with cuffs derived from the softest cotton, I can barely make out her bony frame. Mamie has always been a petite dame, but her spindly fingers tell of illness not of beauty. The cheekbones she possesses jut out in a morbid fashion and her skin, just scarcely stretches out to accommodate the newfound bone.
She is sick.
She is dying.
And I just stand there.
In the framework of the doors I stand, gazing down at my grandmother. It seems as if she was in the state of deep conversation with the only other person inside the chamber.
"Ah," my grandmother speaks. "Here she is." She carries on as if she is completely unaware of the fact that she is on her death bed, however much I want to deny it. Instead of giving a response, my eyes find Heavensbee and he casts his gaze away from me in apparent guilt. A bead of sweat collects along the lines of his right brow.
Sweat.
"Come, my dear. And Heavensbee, would you pull the drapes? This room is in need of some light." She gestures to him and then towards me as I walk ever so slowly to her and seat myself among the lavender sheets. As the light, fluorescent, spills in through the windows and enters the space, I can see everything clearer. My grandmother's head is propped up on numerous pillows and atop her head is her crown. I could almost laugh at her folly ways since they seem so inane among her stately being, but I do not.
She raises a frail hand to my face; soft and heartfelt. I shut my eyes and squeeze them tight, mayhap if I wish and wish I will open my eyes and everything will be fine. My grandmother will be lively and well, hustling and bustling through the palace with the common click of her heels. We will dance and hum melodies and play the day away as we did in the younger days, the easier days. When I would stuff my belly full of cakes and pies and laugh until my cheeks stung with red and twirl and spin and clap alongside Mamie's divine singing voice. When she would collect me in an embrace, despite any further lamentations from me insisting that I was not in fact tired, although yawns erupted from my mouth instead no matter how fiercely I attempted to stifle them.
"Primrose."
Her voice startles me out of my stupor. I slowly open my eyes and meet hers. We are similar in appearance. Tall and slender, blond and milk-faced, but our eyes differ. Whilst mine resides in a cerulean blue, hers is a stormy gray. They are never cloudy, not even today. Clear and concise, they stare back at me. I cannot read her, I never was able to. She has this way about her, something I will never learn to acquire, that makes it so she can place a wall between her feelings and other people. She can veil and shield her emotions just as quickly as she can reveal them.
But here and now, in close contemplation, I can see her. Really truly see her. And I know that she is contrite.
"Oh," she sighs wistfully. "My sweet sweet Primrose." She removes her hand and places a tendril of my hair behind my ear, allowing herself to let her fingers linger. And then she takes my hands and clasps them between her trembling ones.
She opens her mouth and a cough comes out. Wet and dreadful; like a wave caught upon the shore, obstructing everything in its path.
Heavensbee dailies towards us with an urgency. "Shall I fetch the undertaker?" I gasp at his ignorance.
"No! There is no need for it!" I bellow. He draws back at my sudden outburst, shock is evident on his red face.
"Peace, my child. Be still." Mamie says. Her voice takes on a raspier tone after the fit, even though, she still sounds of honey. Calm and soothing. "Heavensbee, leave us be." He does no such thing as to protest as he exits the chamber, closing the doors behind him.
And then we are alone.
Mamie pats the side next to her. "Come, chérie. Lie with me." I am careful not to bump her as I slide under the covers and instead of laying upon the plush pillows, she wills me to rest my head on her chest, and I do. She envelopes me with her arms, warmer than the sheets themselves, and I feel safe. I inhale the familiar scent of vanilla and can faintly hear the steady beating of her heart and wonder whether it will continue to do so later into the evening.
And then the tears come.
They pour from my eyes so suddenly and so fully they startle even me, and once they begin, they only worsen. Like lashings upon the skin, once the pain starts it does not recede. The skin cracks against the bull whip and again and again, opening wounds increasing the vulnerability of scars. This is what happens to my heart. The sobs that wrack my entire being open wounds to my chest. The sounds that come from my mouth are dreadful but I have not the power to stop them.
"Mamie," I gasp, "Please don't die." A stupid thing to say really, but all that I can muster at the moment.
"Hush, now." She whispers to me. "My darling is far too comely to cry at such silly things."
A fresh round of tears surface. "But it isn't silly! You're dying! You're to leave me, I can feel it!"
At that, I can feel her hands brush back tendrils of my hair, and she wills me to look at her which of course I cannot do.
"Primrose," she says. I shake my head with fervor, refusing to respond. "Primrose." This time, her tone turns sternly and strong. "Look at me." Slowly, I bring my face in level with hers. Her chin is turned up and her eyes are focused on me with an intensity that is alluring. Then the façade is dropped, she returns to that of comfort and love. Raising a finger to my face she swipes at the tears that have yet to cease their falling and places a kiss to my fore head.
"Do you remember your old cat, oh, what was his name? Ah, yes. Buttercup?" she questions.
How could I forget. My faithful feline companion for more than a decade. I had discovered him among the violets and gardenias in the court yard one evening. For I had heard the rustling of leaves in the bush and as the senseless child I was, pulled him out from under the prickles and weeds. He was a nasty thing; vomit color supplanted his fur, one ear was half chewed off, a puss filled eye and a foul odor that stuck with him for fortnights after. Regardless, I overlooked his flaws and loved that thing for a long while after. He was my first friend.
"And," she continues, "Do you recall how devastated you were when he died."
A heartbroken soul I was, awoken to a lifeless carcass of my most dependable friend. I had spent many days in my bed after that.
"And, what did I tell you?"
I swallow. "Death is but a stepping stone in the path of which we shall encounter." A pause. "It isn't to be feared, but to be awaited upon."
"Finish, love." she encourages.
"And…And one day, where tears will cease and sadness will succumb to laughter. There we will be, happy at long last." I shake my head. "But a child I am naught, Madame."
She clucks her tongue. "And so you aren't, my dear." She smiles which saddens me more so. "You are a young lady, of ten-and-seven. Lovely as they come." I clutch her arm, willing her to stop. "And I have brought you up well and after."
"Mamie-"
"My time is near and there is little that may be done to stop it."
At this point, the tears are dried and my heart aches and ache that I've not experienced before. I look at my grandmother and she looks weary. Ready to be with her husband and my father and mother, once again. Mayhap, I have been self-regarding in this matter of life and death. Mayhap, she need to rest.
She looks to me suddenly. "I love you, so very much."
What I feel is the equivalent of being stabbed. How painfully ironic I find it to be that I compare my pain to is death itself; the one thing I loathe so much.
"I love you all the same."
It is over, I think, it is finished. She will die here, at this very moment. And I will have nothing. I will have no one.
She lies back onto her cushion, and surely I think that I will fall with grief unbeknownst to any other being. She shuts her eyes.
"Fetch me the gray box atop my vanity." She whispers to me.
I nod numbly. Numb. All I feel now is numb. Helpless to halt the inventible from occurring.
I stand and trudge towards the vanity. My steps echo through the room and out onto the corridors. Absurdly loud in comparison to the silence we've endured. I retrieve the chest from the surface of the wood it was seated upon and once again fall onto the covers across from me grandmother. She takes it from me blowing specks of dust off the top. I have seen it many times and have been more than inquiring about its significant presence in the palace. For we possess many a things more valued and pristine than that. Nonetheless, it is unique in its retrospective sense. A silver thing, lined with jewels of color.
My grandmother grasps it with such caution, it astounds me. Slowly, she flips the top open, revealing an object concealed by leather, tied with burlap rope. She places the silver box onto her bed and unties the rope, exposing…
"A glass slipper?" My voice is tight with wonder and awe, as such a feat has never been known to be accomplished in this age or the last. A shoe entirely made of glass is hearsay, or at least was. My eyebrows furrow in utter confusion and as I look at Mamie, she only stares and smiles.
"Let me tell you a story. The very last one." She whispers to me. Drawing me nearer, she cradles my head near the shoe and sighs.
"Now, what are the words again..." she hums to herself. "Oh. Right then, well. Once upon a time, there was girl and then there was a boy, and then there was a race…"
A/N what do you think? So far so good? Well this was the preface or the sneak peek to what will soon be coming. It will take awhile before full chapters are up and ready to read but in the mean time please review and tell me what you think! Thank you for reading! :)