This fic is a retelling of the classic fairy-tale Cinderella. collective sighs and groans Yes, I know, there are about a million retellings of Cinderella out there (the best ones I have read are Ella Enchanted, Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, and Just Ella). Bear with me for one more.
She watches the sun sink further away and disappear from view; the red orb becomes smaller and smaller. The sky is streaked with orange, purple, and red; all blending together like paints on a canvas. This fabulous scene in the sky is mirrored on the placid waters of the lake.
She sighs, and begins to strip off her clothes. The dirty garments she wears are cast on the soft grass. She picks up the bar of laundry soap that she brought and edges into the lake.
It is cold; her teeth chatter, and she embraces herself and shivers. Moonlight now smiles upon the lake. She removes her hands from her breasts and, taking a deep breath, dives in.
She scrubs her frail body with the soap, scrubbing away months of commands, humility, and grime. Although the water is freezing, she enjoys her bath. She dips her hair in the water, cleanses it with the soap, and rinses it out. With a shake of her head, her hair cascades down her shoulders and covers her torso.
She crawls out of the water and grabs the towel she stole from Signora Catherine's bedroom. The towel is soft and fleecy; she rubs herself dry and tucks the towel around her body.
A new dress she has made for herself. It is simple; the brown calico dress hangs a little below her knees. A white apron covers most of the dress. She ties a red kerchief around her head and quietly sets off toward the house.
A key turns in the kitchen door; she enters silently. Discarding the soap and towel at the sink, she pads across the tile floor into the dining hall.
The dining hall was very large and spacious. Many important figures in Italy had been entertained here in the hall, including the Holy See himself. At the far end of the hall was the fireplace, which was seldom used except in the winter. The walls were adorned with decorative tapestries depicting scenes from the medieval times. Large windows allowed moonlight to stream through and bathe the glossy wooden floor in a hazy glow. In the middle of the hall was a great banquet table that could seat fifty people. A silken crimson-coloured tablecloth covered the table.
She proceeds toward the dormant fireplace. From a corner in the room, she pulls out a few blankets and a pillow. She lays the blankets out on the enormous hearth to form a pallet. She yawns, and goes to sleep.
She awakes with a start. "Girl!" a deep voice roars. A bony finger pokes her in the side. She stirs, and shoves the hand away. For this she receives a slap on the face. She jolts upright and glares at her agitator.
"But Signor! You said I could have the day off!"
"I lied. Now get up, you lazy good-for-nothing!"
He aims to give her a swift kick, but she sees it coming and dives out of the way. She leaps up, her chin thrust forward in defiance.
"There'll be no more of this sleeping late. Next time I catch you dawdling, you're out! Fired! Finé!" he rages in her face. She only stares sullenly at him.
Exasperated, he storms out of the hall, rapidly spitting curses in Italian.
"Signor Bruschetti is in a very bad mood today," she murmurs to herself.
"Ouch! Pay attention, girl!" Catherine di Bruschetti turns and smartly slaps the girl for stabbing her with a hairpin. The girl trembles, but continues to dress Signora's hair.
"Father says we are to go to market today," she says gleefully to the girl. "Maybe I'll see the Prince Medici, and maybe..."
The girl pays no more attention to Catherine's ramblings. She mindlessly helps her prepare for the day, arranging her hair and jewels.
"Be off with you, girl! I have no more need of you." Catherine stops droning on and shoves the girl out the door.
The girl quietly pads down the hallway undetected, until she passes Signora Anna's room.
"Cynthia! Useless wench, come here!" Anna screams.
She meekly obeys and opens the door. "She could hear a flea landing on a dog," Cynthia grumbles under her breath.
"You didn't collect the laundry in my room yesterday! Explain yourself!" Anna rages.
"It was just an oversight, Signora, I didn't..."
She is cut off by a slap on the cheek from Anna.
"I had smelly laundry sitting in my room overnight! I couldn't stand the stench!"
"It's not my fault it smells; it's your laundry," Cynthia says wryly.
She braces herself for another slap, but instead the laundry is furiously shoved into her arms. "Wash them by today or..."
Cynthia leaves before she can find out the rest.
So, what did you think? Please give me your opinion or helpful insight. If you want to flame me, go right ahead.
More will come, I promise. And by the way, Into the Storm (ItS) has been put on temporary hiatus.