Author's note: Well, it's another fairy tale, which is almost fanfic. Besides, no one reviews on fpress, and I want reviews. Anyway, I'm a coward and went the way of Cinderella, but I hope I made it fun anyway. Reviews make me happy, so please review! Please?

Chapter one: The first dance

The servant girl always marries the prince. There is no getting around this: it's just the way things are done. Real princesses don't even try anymore: they get to marry talking frogs or woodcutter's sons who turn out to be princes after all. That's how it works. It has been like this for countless years, and it will be so for countless years more. It is tradition, and tradition is sacred. The servant girl must always marry the prince. But what if she doesn't want to?

Cecilia, scullery maid in the richest house in the country of Conte, didn't want to. She thought the prince was a slimy git who didn't deserve her any more than she deserved a lump of coal. She'd met him – as the youngest, filthiest, and prettiest of the maids of the house, she had no choice – and she had known within moments that she absolutely did not want to marry him. That didn't seem to matter to anyone but her. Maggie, the chief cook, would go on and on about how handsome the prince was and about how lucky Cecilia would be. Cecilia always tried to leave the room at that point. There was no point in being made a fuss over, especially since she didn't want the attention in the first place.

As December approached, her life became consumed with thoughts of the upcoming ball. Or rather, her mind became consumed with increasingly desperate plots to get out of the upcoming ball. None of them seemed about to work. She didn't have a fairy Godmother, or, if she did, she didn't know about it, and none of the staff was willing to help her out. They all played the game according to the rules, and it was their job to prepare her in secret and send her off, radiant and unrecognizable, at the appropriate hour on the appropriate day. At times, Cecilia wondered if they even cared anymore, or if they were just mindlessly playing the game. In the end, it didn't really matter.

The day arrived, heralded by laughter in the streets and cold dread in Cecilia's heart. She endured the snubs of the family, who knew perfectly well that she would be there and only insulted her because it was part of the script, in sullen silence, desperately trying to concoct one last desperate plan. All of them fell through. By five in the afternoon, two hours before the ball was scheduled to begin, she had almost resigned herself to her fate. But there's something funny about fate: it tends to swing in your direction precisely when you've decided you don't want it to. At precisely six sixteen and twenty-nine seconds, when Cecelia was alone in her tiny room, a puff of silver smoke appeared and her fairy Godmother stepped inside. Or, at least, her fairy something. Cecilia supposed that it had to be her fairy Godmother, but somehow, Cecilia hadn't expected her to be so… young. The pink hair was a bit of a shock too, as was the terrified expression.

"Um," Cecilia said, when it became clear that the girl wasn't going to begin. "Are you my fairy Godmother?"

The girl nodded, relief washing across her face. "Yes! I'm so sorry, am I late?"

"No. Late for what?"

"The ball, of course! Oh dear, I have come to the right house, haven't I?" She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of her jeans (Cecilia hadn't noticed those before, but they only added to the girl's unprofessional aura.) "Yes, yes, past the spiky gate, through the back door, three rooms down. You are Cecilia, right?"

"Yes, but…"

"And you were obviously expecting me. So what's the problem?"

Cecilia sighed, then decided to say it outright. "You don't look like my idea of a fairy Godmother."

The girl sighed back. "Well, I'm not technically one yet," she admitted. "I'm still in school. Oh, but I've almost graduated," she assured Cecilia. "It's not like I'm just a first year or anything. You didn't think they'd send you a first year fairy Godmother, did you?"

"I didn't know fairy Godmothers had to go to school."

The girl's eyes widened. "Of course we do! Where else do you think we learn how to do it properly? Actually," she glanced around guiltily here and lowered her voice. "Actually, I haven't gotten it quite right. The smoke's supposed to be pink, see? I just can't seem to manage pink. I can get it a very nice shade of blue, but they told me that blue is the color for fairy Godfathers, and that it was wholly inappropriate."

Cecilia blinked. "They have fairy Godfathers?"

"Of course they do!" the girl said, sounding slightly offended. "You don't think they give girls to the princes, do you?"

"Oh. I really hadn't thought about it."

The girl looked around the room, her lips pursed. "I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I?" she sounded worried, and Cecilia couldn't help feeling slightly sorry for her. "This isn't how it's supposed to go! I'm supposed to come, you're supposed to fall to your knees in gratitude, and I'm supposed to save you and send you off to the ball. We're not supposed to stand here talking about fairy Godparents and education."

"About the ball…," Cecilia began, wondering how to tell the girl that she would really rather not go.

Unfortunately, the girl didn't seem to hear the tone in Cecilia's voice. "Of course! We'll get right to it! Now, what do you have to use as a model?"

Helplessly, Cecilia gestured at her wardrobe, which contained the usual array of almost rage, perfect for being changed into dazzling ball gowns. She didn't wear them on a daily basis: they were impractical and cold, and it reflected badly on the family to have her dressed in them every day. But she had to have some, and so she kept them.

"Do they really make you wear those?" the girl demanded, horrified.

Cecilia shook her head, privately thinking that the girl must be very new at this indeed not to have figure out how it worked. The girl looked at her in surprised, taking in her serviceable dress, one with no holes in it at all. Understanding dawned in her eyes, and she blushed. "Oh, of course. I should have realized. Do you have any color preferences?"

"Not pink and not white," Cecilia said.

"How about green?"

Cecilia shrugged. "Green's fine."

The girl looked at her censoriously. "You're not nearly excited enough about this, you know. Are you sick?" She fingered her wand, which was shiny and silver and had a bright pink star bobbing at one end. Cecilia looked away.

"No, just tired, I guess."

The girl looked hard at her for a long moment, but shrugged and turned away. "If you're sure. And, no, green, dang it! There we go. And lower the neckline. Oops, not that far, they'd kill me. Now, easy on the waist; there we go. And voila!"

Dreading what she would find, Cecilia turned to examine what had once been a completely unwearable rag. Sure enough, a glistening green ball gown lay there, complete with puffy sleeves and at least six layers of chiffon under the skirt. It seemed to glitter softly. It was everything a ball gown should be. Cecilia had to physically stop herself from throwing it out the window.

"Do you like it?" the girl asked anxiously.

"Yes, it's lovely," Cecilia said dully.

The girl frowned. "Are you sure you're not sick?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm sure," Cecilia assured her. She began to pull off her work dress, wondering if striping in front of her fairy Godmother would be frowned upon by Elizabeta, the oldest daughter of the family, who went on and on about maidenly shyness, especially when Cecilia was in the room. Cecilia rather thought she would. It made her smile, and, as she realized just how low cut the dress really was, the smile widened. Maybe she could have fun, after all.

"Something's missing," the girl said, once Cecilia had put the dress on. She waved the wand once, and Cecilia's black hair piled itself up into a tower on top of her head. Another wand wave brought glistening emeralds to her throat, ears, and fingers. "That's better," the girl murmured, surveying Cecilia. "But something's still wrong."

"Shoes," Cecilia offered.

"Of course!" the girl said, shaking her head. "How could I have forgotten the shoes? Hold still now."
She waved her wand again, screwing up her eyes in concentration. A pair of glass slippers appeared next to Cecilia. Cecilia bent to examine one. It wasn't so much real glass as glass cloth. It was strong and flexible, and she knew without even trying it on that it would fit her perfectly. Sure enough, when she stepped into them, they fit her exactly, adding at least two inches to her height.

"Perfect!" the girl squealed, clapping her hands together. There was a blinding flash of light and Cecilia's room was bright pink. The girl blushed. "Oops, sorry about that. I'm still working on controlling my reactions. I'll have it back to normal in a jiffy." She screwed her eyes up in concentration, and, a moment later, Cecilia's room was almost exactly like it had been before. Her floor was still bubblegum pink, and the girl looked at it in dismay.
"Don't worry about it," Cecilia said wearily. "It's not like it'll be mine for much longer."

"True," the girl said, brightening. "Now, come with me, and we'll see about a carriage."

"Can't I just walk?" Cecilia asked. "The castle's only three doors down, you know."

The girl shook her head. "Sorry, I can't do that. It wouldn't do for you to show up on foot. Now, do you have any pumpkins?"

"Out back, probably," Cecilia said. "And there's mice in the wire cage out front."

The girl beamed. "Wonderful! I'll only be a minute!" She vanished in another puff of silver smoke, some of which drifted over to Cecilia and settled on her like a mist of glitter. Cecilia winced.

A shout from outside marked the completion of her fairy Godmother's task, and Cecilia began to negotiate her way towards the door. She was having far too much trouble walking in the spiked heels, and she wondered how she would be expected to dance in them. Maybe she would get lucky and sprain her ankle before she had a chance.

She made it out the door and into the carriage, which was as green as her dress, without mishap, and the girl grinned at her, the star on her wand bobbing alarmingly. "Good luck!" she shouted, as the coach began to move.
"Thanks," Cecilia shouted back, watching the sliver smoke dissipate into the air. She sighed. It was going to be a long night, even if she did come back before midnight. The girl hadn't mentioned that part, but Cecilia assumed that that was how it would work. After all, that was part of the tradition too.

The ride to the castle was far too short. Almost before Cecilia had managed to sit down properly, she had to get up again. She sighed, the arranged her skirts, tacked a suitably awed smile onto her face, and stepped out of the carriage, managing not to kill herself in the process. She didn't even twist her ankle.

She made her way precariously up the walkway and up the grand stairs. The footman who took her coat couldn't help staring, and she smiled at him. He smiled back, slightly star struck. She supposed he was a new footman, one hired for the occasion who didn't know the drill.

She continued down the hallway, smiling at those she passed, and scanning the crowd for Elisabeta. She couldn't wait to show off the low cut of her dress. The footman at the entrance to the ballroom clearly knew what he was doing: he barely glanced at her, only announced, "Mysterious and beautiful stranger," and walked her down the stairs. Everyone turned to look at her, as they were supposed to, though everyone knew who she was. Elizabeta was there, a shocked expression on her face, along with her younger sister Desdemona, who was grinning. Cecilia and Desdemona didn't get along terribly well, but at least Desdemona sympathized with Cecilia's reluctance to marry the prince. ("A bore and a pig," was how Dez had put it the first time she met him.)

And there he was. Prince Maximillian, his blond hair carefully combed, his blue eyes bored, his clothes impeccable. Compelled by protocol and tradition, he stepped forward and, driven by the same tradition, Cecilia accepted his arm.

"You look lovely," he murmured in her ear as they began to move to the music.

"Don't talk to me," Cecilia snapped. "I'm leaving at midnight."

"I know," he replied. Glancing around, he lowered his voice even more. "I don't want this any more than you do, you know."

She sighed. "I know." She did know. He'd made it quite clear that he was just as eager to marry her as she was to marry him. It wasn't his fault that he had to marry her: he had as little choice as she did.

"Can't we just be civil to each other for three days and then ignore each other?" he asked hopefully.

"Not a chance," she said.

He blinked. "What?"

"Do you think they'll let you get away with that? Watch Dez on your right."

He swerved, narrowly avoiding Dez and some anonymous noble she'd hooked for the night. Cecilia felt sorry for him. Dez was ruthless and power hungry, and she stopped at nothing to get exactly what she wanted. He didn't stand a chance.

The clock finally showed ten minutes 'till midnight, and Cecilia stepped away with relief. "I'll see you tomorrow," she told Maximillian, making her way through the crowds of people and out the door. Once outside, she breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the stairs, wrenching the wretched shoes off. Holding them with one hand, she walked over to where the green carriage was waiting. A crack of the whip, and the carriage was off, dropping her at the door to the house. She walked around back and slipped in through the back door, left open for just that reason, doing her best not to wake Maggie. The cook would want enough details tomorrow, no reason to disturb her sleep now.

The clock rang midnight just as she closed the door to her room, and it was with relief that she shed the rags. The shoes she held hadn't changed, unfortunately, and she stuffed them under her bed until tomorrow night. Not bothering with a nightdress, she fell into bed, realizing as she did so that dancing took a lot more out of you than she'd imagined it would.