A/N: This was inspired by a piece of art I saw recently on Tumblr and needless to say; I was inspired. Hopefully you'll enjoy this!
Chapter One: A Box in the Garden
It was late.
I could still hear the sound of hoof beats against the dirt road as step-mother and her two awful daughters drove away from the house. God above, I hated them then! To be perfectly honest, I hated the lot of them anyway.
Nothing I ever did was good enough! They'd make me do all the house work when we were wealthy enough to afford a maid and I wouldn't get an ounce of thanks.
Cinderella, do this! Cinderella do that! I could still hear them in the back of my mind. It was enough to drive anyone absolutely bonkers!
I missed my old name. Instead they decided that Cinderella was much more amusing. I did not find it amusing. Every time I heard it, it felt like a stab in my heart. I had fallen from grace and my name was a constant reminder.
I felt like crying as I turned away from the door and finally locked it. I slid down the wooden frame and tucked my knees up to my chest. I hated myself, I hated my life, and I hated my papa for marrying that horrible witch.
I shook my head and looked up towards the fire. I could never, ever hate my papa. It wasn't his fault that my awful step-mother was a sly little minx. Poor papa was so old when mama passed, he didn't stand a chance against that vile woman's charm. I had to admit that step-mother did have a charismatic side that she used as she pleased. My papa loved my mama so very much and swore he would never love again. Deep down I knew that he did not love my now greying step-mother, but he was very lonely.
Step-mother was beautiful on the outside, with hair like a ravens wing and eyes bright green. She was ugly on the inside however, and when I was alone and did something to displease her, a horrible and monstrous side of her would appear. I was never without luck, though, she could never take that away from me. Every time, one of her horrid little spawn would come around the corner demanding a new dress or some frivolous trinket and would turn back into her beautiful self.
She was so kind to her own daughters. I always wondered why. The two were absolutely vile! No man could stand to be around them, provided that they open their mouths first, for alas! They were as lovely to look at as their mother.
It was unanimously agreed by my mama and papa that I was pretty to look at. Now, I am sure they would have thought otherwise. Once, my hair was long and blonde, but when we fell on hard times, my step-mother shore my beautiful golden locks to sell. I never saw a penny of the money. Besides, now one could not have ever guessed that it was blonde, it was too dirty. My step-sisters took a bath every Saturday, step-mother said I was not allowed, as it 'wasted hot water'. I thought she was mad.
My skin was so pale now, as I was not allowed to go outside more than once a week to buy things from the market. People would stare at me in my dirty old rags and give me looks of pity that hurt me more than they helped I detested the people who would stare at me, or comment on how thin I was. My step-sisters were fat, and they ate way too much while I wasted away. I was hungry all the time, I had gotten used to it.
All of my friends turned a blind eye to my step-mother's harsh treatment. They faded away and would call on the house less and less often until they disappeared entirely and I was left utterly alone. I had no hope of finding a suitor who would try to court me, for step-mother would provide no dowry to sweeten the deal. I would die as I had lived, completely alone.
I stood up from against the door. Crying solved nothing and merely left me with a horrible headache. I crossed the kitchen floor and curled up on the ground once more by the fire where I could at least get warm. Every bone in my body hurt from working all day in hopes that I would get to go to the ball, I should have known that my step-mother was playing a cruel joke on me.
I wanted to slap the smirk off of her red lips when she rubbed my face in the fact that I had nothing to wear. In fact, she slapped me. My cheek still hurt.
"What will become of me?" I asked to the fire. It did not respond, naturally, and instead is content to crackles away. Fire is my only friend, but while it warms me, it is cold in its lack of response. I wished that I had someone to talk to, someone to share secrets with, but I was unlucky in that respect.
I missed my mama and my papa. I missed the handsome, kind husband I would never know and the children that I would have. I could see my darling love in my mind when I closed my eyes. He would be tall and perfect, with bright blue eyes and dark hair. He would have a kind smile and a strong jaw. He would kiss me and call me by my real name.
I allowed my eyes to open again. Fantasies only ended up hurting in the long run, but I still let my mind wander to what I would name my children. My husband would be called James, my children, three girls and two boys, would be named Margret, Alice, Beatrice as well as Harry and Will. I liked those names very much. Beatrice and Will were my parents names. Beatrice and Will Schamp.
What an ugly last name for such a noble family; Schamp. I couldn't help but let out a throaty, foreign laugh that sounded almost hysterical. My step-mother's surname was Ragana. It sounded pretty, but a foreign stable boy told me that it was Latvian for witch. It suited her. Freida Ragana. It suited her.
It suited my step-sisters as well; Vera Ragana was a fat, spoiled monster with a mess of red wires she called hair. Agnes Ragana was a bit skinnier, but on her head was scraggly black tangles like her mother. The dresses they chose for the ball that evening were so complicated that it was ridiculous. They were made of purple silk! Purple! Who did they think they were, wearing the King's color? They would never attract the Prince that way, unless he was attracted to shiny things, for there were plenty of those on their giant hoop skirts.
I laughed to myself. The Prince was no cat! They would look like fools. I pictured them spiraling out of control as they danced, falling onto their rears. They would blush a deep red and they would run from the castle to cry in the stables with the horses.
I finished my vision and realized that my cheeks felt a bit wet. I touched the dry skin with the tips of my grubby fingers and realized that I was crying. I was laughing and crying at the same time; I was truly going mad.
I stood up again from the hearth ans ventured out into the garden. I needed some fresh air and the cool night was a relief. My hot, flushed face felt better under the light of the moon. I sat down on my favorite bench and looked up at the stars. Two shone brighter than any other. I knew that those two were my mama and papa.
I felt a pain in my chest. I knelt forward and put my head in my hands, finally giving in to the pain that stung in the back of my throat and in my eyes. I sobbed into my hands, getting my face wet again.
Everything in my life seemed so pointless. I would live and be miserable and then die and face the unknown. I had never been more afraid in my life.
"Why are you crying?" I looked up and almost screamed when I heard the voice of a stranger from right in front of me. My eyes widened after I wiped my tears from them and my mouth hung open in shock. Before me was a large, curious blue box. It had a bright light on top and from behind frosted windows, a warm glow shone.
But stranger still was the man leaning against its doors, the man who asked the question. He was quote tall, and he would have towered over me had I been standing. His hair was not dark and his eyes were not blue. Instead his hair was cropped in an odd fashion and a nice, medium brown. His eyes were brown as his hair, like my step-sister's, but they were also very, very kind. He did have a nice jaw, but what he was wearing was so very, very odd. Instead of the formal attire of a modern gentleman, he had on a navy blue dress shirt, brown slacks, a matching brown jacket with a red tie and odd looking shoes. He looked very out of place in my garden. After a moment of staring at him, I decided to answer his question. It would be rude if I did not, and my parents raised me better than that.
"I'm crying because I can't go to the ball." I confessed and he nodded.
"Ah. Would your name, by any chance, be Cinderella?" I winced at my false name and he seemed to notice.
"My name is Ella." I began. "Not Cinderella, not Dirty Ella, not Ratty Ella, just Ella." My voice was bitter and the look he gave me was apologetic.
"I'm sorry." He said. "I take it that you didn't choose to add Cinder to the front?" What was with this odd man and his questions! I found that I did not care, he had been kinder to me than anyone else in my time of being a glorified slave.
"No. My step-mother and step-sisters thought it would be amusing to call me that." I replied. He sighed and walked over, sitting down next to me.
"I'm sorry." He said. I didn't shy away from him. This man made me feel safe for some reason.
"Don't be." I replied. "Who are you?" I asked. He smiled a little bit at my question.
"I'm your Fair God Doctor." He said with a small laugh. For the first time in many, many years, I laughed with him and didn't shed a single tear.