So to anyone who followed or favourites me after my posts last year - sorry this (well, ANY) post is long overdue. A-levels and all that.
Also, I wrote this a LONG time ago, and it's really only a first draft, but I really wanted to post something and get started again. And it's really short too, so sorry about that aswell! And while I'm ranting, what on EARTH (sorry, I use capitals a lot) is going on in London at the moment? And the rest of the country too? What is Britain coming to?
Anyway, here is my first story in over a year, inspired by Sara Bareilles' song, 'Fairytale'.
"Cinderella's on her bedroom floor, she's got a crush on the guy at the liquor store. 'Cause Mr Charming don't come home anymore and she forgets why she came here."
"I don't care for your fairytales. You're so worried 'bout the maiden but you know she's only waiting on the next best thing."
Fairytale - Sara Bareilles
As she walked down the twisting alleyways, she contemplated the deed she was about to do. She had sinned before, of course. She had gotten angry at her father, shouted, screamed even. But later she had apologised to him and confessed in church. She had once stolen a loaf of bread from the bakers, as the meagre scraps she had been left had left her desperate for something, anything to fill her stomach. But the baker had known it was her. In fact, a day or two afterwards, after delivering to the grand house, he had come into the kitchens and slipped her a loaf, whispering "Next time you are hungry, you need only ask." She had been given the misshapen loaves ever since. But this sin was worse. She would go to hell for this, she was certain. This was a sin that she did not (and would not, after it was done) regret. She was looking forward to it. She stopped briefly to admire her reflection in a shop window. Hair, blonde and gently curling, reaching long past her shoulders. Azure eyes which twinkled when she smiled. Red lips, white teeth, and cheeks (freckle-less, of course) were slightly pink from the hurried journey into the lower town (if anyone caught her...) Heart shaped face, with cheekbones most girls would kill for. Her body matched her pretty features; she was slim, slight and petite, most women's dream. Her cheeks went from a pretty shade of pink to a shade closely resembling magenta as she looked at her body, more specifically, the clothing covering it. Her skirts were, of course long, yet they were tighter than those worn by most fashionable and respectable women. Her corset was far too tight, and was not helping to calm her already irregular breathing. God, what was she doing? It wasn't as though she had any real cause to be here. It wasn't as though he was being unfaithful. He was the King of the bloody kingdom – he worked late. Yet, recently, he hadn't been coming home at all, and with war brewing, he may end up never coming home again. And he wasn't him. She blinked as she awakened from her almost trance-like state, so lost in thought she had been. She had got this far. She wasn't going to stop now. Quickly, and with a determination her steps had previously lacked, she strode the last few yards to the back door of the shop.
He was waiting for her. Of course he was. He had been waiting since he was twelve years old. Waiting for her to catch up with him. To realise that she loved him too. He had been determined to wait. She would work it out.
He was right. She did. But only after marrying another man. He had only given up hope after the wedding vows had been said. Up until that final kiss, he'd still had hope. She would realise. She had to realise. Any second now. She'd turn around and look at him. When she'd kissed him, that final time, when everyone cheered and clapped, that's when all hope truly left him. He hadn't seen her for almost two months, when, one day, she arrived on his doorstep. Her hair was down, it looked longer. She's put weight on. Not a lot, just enough to stop her being stick thin, from her years of poverty. Then, of course, there were the clothes. Nowhere to be found was the brown cotton he had been accustomed to seeing her in. Instead she was wearing a dress of deep blue, silk, he thought. But her smile was the same. T made her eyes light up. He had, of course, invited her in. There she had told him. Burst into tears, screamed at him, cursed him. Clung to him. It was only when she kissed him he had woken up. Pulled her in, kissed her back, letting out years of pent up emotions and passion.
They had been forced to separate all too quickly, she needed to get back to the castle before she was missed. But they would meet again, of course. They needed to meet again. He wondered if this would count as treason? Even if it did, it wouldn't stop him. He had waited too long for this moment.
She was at his doorstep. Oh God. Oh dear God. Stop. Ok. Breathe...
She raised her hand to knock on the door. Stopped. She couldn't do this. She turned, heart breaking as she took two steps away.
The door opened. He looked out and saw her retreating back.
"Ella!"
She turned, next thing she came towards him, practically ran towards him, and, as they embraced, their lips met in a kiss that prevented all rational thought. At least... for now. For this moment she was his.
His Cinderella.