Author's Note:

This is a long, unfinished, re-vamped version of Thumbelina that I wrote a couple of years ago just for the fun of it. I am posting it now not because I think it's incredibly well-written, but because I think it is an amusing story that will surely entertain. It is already several parts long and I will be updating it periodically, but be forewarned that this story is also written in present tense, which is a new/odd style for me, so it may read a bit unusually. Thank you and I hope you will enjoy it! :)

Chapter One

"Rianna, hold still." Mother pulls a comb through my long dark locks as I sit at the vanity in our traveling abode. "You can't expect me to get all the tangles out if you squirm all the time!"

"But it hurts, mama." I complain, cringing at each stroke.

"One must be willing to suffer for beauty." She tells me again. "It's for your own good. No one would pay to see an ugly girl dance to the fiddle."

I quiet then, but only because she expects it.

My name is Rianna and this is my mother. She is not a terrible person, though she's not a wonderful mother. We do a traveling show together and I dance for it. Oftentimes I wonder what she would be like if there was no money and if there was no me or show or carriage and horses to be controlled. Would she still be the same? I glance at her in the mirror and wonder. I always wonder.

"There." She finally puts down the comb and begins to twist my hair into a knot. "Beautiful." She adorns the bun with my sea pearl wreath and then tells me to look in the mirror.

It's the same old face I see day after day: Dark hair, green eyes, pale face, rosy lips, accented by a dusting of dark and sparkling makeup.

"The citizens of Amon will be pleased." She smiles at my reflection and I rise from my chair. "Come, let us emerge grandly and get ready to dance to some fast music. I've been rehearsing a new song. It is sure to bring in plenty of revenue, providing you do your part."

I nod uninterestedly, and wait for my mother to retrieve her violin before exiting the wagon. There is hardly a crowd and I stand by the cart, feeling nervous like I always do.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" Mother greets the few paupers who gathered. "My name is Meredith and this is Rianna," She motions to me and I curtsy, as it is expected. "We will be performing for you tonight. Please, enjoy yourselves!"

She sets out her violin case and then begins to fiddle.

I start out slowly and pick up with the music, arms swaying, feet moving across the cobblestones in quickening steps. I take this time to survey the audience as a crowd begins to form. I instantly spot an unfriendly face in the mob. His mustache is gray and crooked and his small black eyes watch my graceful body as I sway to the music.

He is frowning and continues to as I skip. His gaze is unwavering and it makes me feel uneasy. I try to close my eyes for a moment to erase him from my mind, but as soon as I open my eyes again, he is there: cruel, dark and ominous, standing out against the cheering crowd. I turn towards my mother.

"Bravo! Bravo!" Cheer the happy voices of my audience. I skip and twirl, never enjoying myself, concentrating heavily, knowing that mistakes are not permitted in my mother's watchful eye. I rise to my toes and twirl on the ruby slippers just as the song ends. I curtsy as coins fill the empty violin case.

"Thank you, thank you!" Meredith cries out to the mob as they disperse and soon no one remains. She turns to me and frowns. "Inside the wagon. We'll get you out of your costume and then it's off to the next town."

It was the usual ritual. I am dressed, I perform, and then I am stripped and strapped into my traveling clothes. I much prefer the cotton shirt and skirt anyhow as it is much friendlier to my skin. Cotton is cool and flowy in the hot sun and I needn't worry of becoming overheated.

I step behind the screen in the wagon and allow Meredith to unzip my costume. As I am finally pulling on my cotton shirt, a knock comes at the wagon door. Meredith looks to me and I shrug, instantly pulling on my skirt and sash. As I go to the washbasin to remove the makeup, she goes to the door and opens it.

"Hello?"

"Miss Rianna?" It is a man's voice I hear: quiet and guttural. I scrub at my face trying not to think about it.

Mother's tone is cold. "She's inside. What do you want?"

"To speak with you… both."

And to my surprise, Mother lets him in.

I remove the towel from my face just as he enters and gasp. It is he! It is the man with the dark, cruel eyes and the crooked mustache. He smiles at me and stops to bow politely. "Miss Rianna?"

I look to mother for direction and she shrugs. "Yes?" I say the first word that come to my mind.

"Please, may we all sit down?"

"Of course."

I slip on my traveling shoes as mother leads him to our table. He sits in a chair and I soon join him as Meredith brings cold coffee.

He thanks her for the refreshments and then looks at me for a long time. I suspect that he is studying me, though, what he is searching for I haven't a clue.

"How long have you been performing?" He asks me and Meredith answers.

"Not too long."

I wonder why she lies.

The man frowns. "I didn't ask you, I was asking the girl."

He looks to me again and I answer quite truthfully. "Since I was five."

"And you are how old now?"

"Fourteen." Says Meredith.

"Seventeen." I correct her. Meredith has lied again and I wonder why. Does she see something of this man that I do not?

"Do you enjoy dancing?"

"No."

"Yes." Meredith lies once more.

The man frowns at her and says sharply. "Let the girl answer."

Meredith quiets.

"Now," He looks back to me, "If you do not like dancing, why do you do it?"

"It is our living. It's the only way we can make money."

He looks to Meredith as if knowing she is the one who fed me those words. "What happens to the revenue?"

"I use it on us. For Rianna's costumes and for necessities like food and water; for us and the animals."

"Where does the rest of it go?"

"There isn't any more."

He doesn't believe her and I wonder how he knows she is lying. She has been, of course, for I know that she buys jewelry with the rest of the money and a new costume for me comes only twice a year.

He looks to me then, and as if knowing, he asks me of my health.

"Are you well?"

"Well, sir?"

"She beats you."

"No!" Insists Meredith.

I do not answer. What is to be gained by the ugly truth? I don't want to lie so I sit silently. He cannot make me speak.

He turns to Meredith. "Are you this girl's mother?"

"Yes."

"You bore her, she is your own?" He takes my hand lying on the table and I feel a sharp prick of his thumbnail on my palm. I bite my lower lip and pull back.

Meredith answers uneasily. "Y-Yes." She didn't notice the exchange.

No. I think. You found me. I am not your own. You adopted me.

The man knows the truth. "You treat this girl unfairly and she isn't even your own."

But Meredith is insistent. "She is my own and I treat her well."

Yes. She treats me well enough. I am not happy, but I am alive. Isn't that what counts most? "Please, w-who are you?" I ask the question that has been burning inside me for a while.

"A friend." He tells me and then glares at Meredith. "You'd better treat your daughter better, or you will be sorry."

I wonder what he means by that, but say nothing.

Meredith leads him to the door and sees him out. She turns to me just as I am removing the pearl wreath from my hair.

"You wretched, wretched girl!" She calls me and glares.

"I am sorry, mama. But I must tell the truth." Yes. I must always tell the truth. Lying never got me anywhere.

"Not if I tell you not to."

"I shant lie, mama." I am insistent, but so is Meredith.

"I don't know who that man was, but he had no right asking those questions." She goes to the hook in the far corner for her belt. I know what is coming before she gives the next command. "And you shouldn't have answered him."

"But, mama. You answered him."

"You should have kept quiet." Her anger is burning now and it is a fierce, hot, anger. She unties the back of my cotton traveling-shirt and tells me to get to my knees. I obey and she hits me three times.

I remind myself never to argue again.

…

That night I lay alone in my bed, stretched out on my stomach. My back still stings from the lashes, but I try to ignore it. I was wrong to have questioned Meredith. She knows what is best for me. I sigh and lay awake for the longest time. It is here I remember the sharp prick on my palm.

I hastily light a lamp and look at my left hand. A small purple bruise remains, the shape of a heart. I am puzzled and look closer. How did this happen?

Meredith's voice comes from the other side of the wagon. "Rianna? Is that you? Turn out that light!"

I do as I am commanded. I do not want to be punished again. I curl up on my cot and close my eyes, pressing the palm of my hand to my heart. I remind myself to look at it again, come morning, to see then what it is all about.