Mandy places Ella's few possessions--a pair of glass slippers, a magic book, an elven-made cup, two drab, tattered servant's dresses and numerous letters--in a small box. She brushes back a stream of tears from her cheeks. It has been over a week, yet the image of Ella collapsed on the kitchen floor, the knife protruding from her breast as a pool of blood collects around her lifeless body is seared in Mandy's memory as if it had happened moments ago.
As much as it grieves her, she understands it. Ever since that last ball, Ella had been empty. She neither laughed nor cried, never retold her favorite stories nor customary small defiances. She mutely accepted any order given to her and went about her daily tasks with indifference. In truth, there was nothing left of the clever, spirited lass Mandy knew as her godchild. In her place was a gaunt, emaciated figure who's glazed eyes seemed to register no emotion at all. It was only when Mandy looked at Ella's lifeless face, arranged in that defiant smile, that she recognized something of the girl's former spirit. Mandy thought Ella had given up trying to resist her gift; she was wrong, she realizes. Ella's very death was her resistance.
Mandy glances at the pile of letters she has just placed at the top of the box. Many are in Ella's handwriting, some written by another person. She wonders if Ella had been corresponding with someone before her death; perhaps there is someone else besides herself who still cares for Ella . She pulls a letter from the pile, one without Ella's writing and examines it. The date is nearly a year past and the penmanship belongs to Prince Charmont. These letters Ella concealed under the flat pallet are from her past correspondence with the Prince. Disappointed, but still curious Mandy reaches toward the pile again, this time for a letter in Ella's hand. Despite being addressed to the Prince, it has never been sent. Nor have any of the others bearing Ella's penmanship, she notes with some sadness after perusing them all. The last dates back more than four months ago, before the first of the three balls, before Ella lost all hope of ever overcoming her curse and became a shadow of her former, vibrant self. Mandy realizes that what Ella never said to her friend, she wrote in unsent letters.
Indeed, there is much that has gone unsaid despite thorough confessions on paper. Mandy was constantly aware of the dangers Lucinda's magic presented for Ella, but she rarely considered whether or not someone else would share those dangers by association. But Ella had, and she sacrificed her own happiness to ensure it would never happen. She couldn't tell the young man who wanted to marry her why she must refuse him. He would never understand that she exchanged his love for his hatred because she valued him (and the people he would one day have to protect) too much to accept it. In these letters though, Ella allowed him to understand everything, to share the most minute details of her life. In these letters, she made no attempt to hide her curse, did not shy away from telling him how much she loved him. None of it matters in the end, though.
No one but Mandy herself seems to care that Ella is dead. By the time another maid had noticed the poor dear lass's body in the corner, it had been a cold corpse for hours. Although Sir Peter was informed of his only child's passing, he did not even send a reply acknowledging the message. Dame Olga merely ordered the body to be "disposed of promptly." Only Mandy was there to witness Ella's coffin lowered into its grave beside Lady Eleanor's. Only Mandy seemed to regret the death of this kind, intelligent, courageous lady who attempted to live a life already defined by a foolish fairy's fantasies, yet ultimately lost herself through the sacrifices it demanded.
Mandy looks down again at the letters she is holding. They are all the remain of Ella now--the spirited, compassionate Ella she loved and lost. Ironic, that the person they were meant for will has no notion of how much she truly valued him.
