A/N: The world of Ella Enchanted does not belong to me, but these characters are very much mine.

I've actually put A LOT of time and research into this tale, meaning I've been constantly skimming through both Ella Enchanted and Fairest to get the setting semi-accurate, and I've re-read The Brother's Grimm version of Sleeping Beauty numerous times. The name Rosamond is actually one of the many translations of the princess' name.

Also, the country 'Pu' is NOT made up. It is mentioned in both Ella Enchanted AND Fairest, though it is only described as 'faraway'.

I've also almost created a new language and culture in the process, and have used "ü" in most of the Püzü words.

I hope you enjoy it.

CHAPTER ONE

In the little village of Shübü, located in the southern region of Pü, was where I was born. My parents weren't considered anything special, Father being a well respected blacksmith, and Mother being the local seamstress. In fact, they were considered common.

They were happy, charming folk, or at least that is the way I liked to picture them. My father never lived to see my birth, and my mother was not strong enough to endure labor. I was left an orphan.

I know not what would have become of me if my mother's three sisters hadn't of swooped in and claimed guardianship.

Despite never meeting my birth parents, I grew up happy, perhaps even wilder than I would have, should I have had proper parental guidance.

Oh there were rules, though. Silly one's that I would protest, such as wearing shoes inside our cottage. I spent most of my days outdoors in the chicken coop, playing with our goats or exploring the forest behind our house, all without wearing the slightest bit of footing.

If I were to dash inside for even a minute with my bare feet, Aster would snatch me up and force me into my pair of leather slippers. "If you would bother to wear them outside, Rosamond, you wouldn't be tracking that filth onto my freshly polished floors."

I would fight and argue, but Aster stood firm. In the end I would don the slippers, whining all the while.

However, Aster was the least of my worries when it came to the rules. If I stayed out of her kitchen and kept up with my chores, she was the more relaxed of her sisters. Althea, the eldest, was a worrier. With her around, I would constantly hear, "Rosa, don't wander off too far. I see storm clouds in the distance" or "My goodness, Rosa! You're skin is so golden! Perhaps you shouldn't go outside today. I wouldn't want you to get too much sun" or "Rosamond, dear, let me comb your hair. You're an absolute mess!"

Through all of this, Avery and Aster would shake their heads and throw me pitying glances, knowing better than to come to my aid. They had their own share of dealings with Althea's fretful antics. Though their opinions on how to raise me weren't exactly mutual, my aunts all agreed upon one thing; I was never to help with any sewing, whatsoever.

It had always been the most curious of my restrictions, and when I finally had the courage to question it, Avery gave me a long, grim look. "It was your mother's whole life, love. We wouldn't want you to end up the way she did."

Still puzzled, I asked, "Did she despise being a seamstress?"

Avery nodded, "She worked until the day you were born. Perhaps, had she not had worked so hard, she would still be with us today."

My aunt's over protectiveness never stopped me from pushing their limits. I remained defiant; climbing trees when I wanted, swimming in the river during the summer months, and always dancing in the rain.

But my longing to help Avery in the laundry room grew by the day. Watching her sit at her spindle, spinning her flax so elegantly and precisely made me resent my mother, and made me rebel even more.

One day, when my aunts were doing chores away from the cottage, I slipped into Avery's room and admired her collection of fabrics. They were all uniquely lovely. Deep blue velvets, light yellow crepe material, sugar pink satins. I ran my hands down each and every one, longing to use them to their full potential. What wonders could I make with these supplies?

Turning away from the last bit of fabric, a delicate lace the shade of butter cream, and I began to examine the rest of the room.

Shelves set neatly around the walls donned endless bobbins of thread and reels of yarn. I found myself mesmerized as I walked about. It was all so foreign to me; all I could do was wander around in awe.

I spotted Avery's loom in the corner, completely empty and ready to use. Fashion now days had changed so dramatically, that looms weren't really necessary. Tailors and townsfolk all favored ensembles freshly spun on a spindle over all other methods.

Avery was truly talented, and could easily handle such changes. She had taken over my mother's business after I was born. Sewing came to her naturally; a gift I longed for.

In recent times, her loom was only used when requested. It looked lonely, sitting bare in the corner, so I gently perched myself on its stool, fearing what would happen should I bump anything.

I soon understood why it was considered a trying activity. The bench beneath me was hard and stiff, and I quickly shifted in different positions, pretending what it would be like if I was really making a garment. It was nearly impossible to imagine, for I had never seen one in action.

I sighed, and wondered if this had been the same loom that my mother had owned. It very well could be. She could have sat on this very spot, years and years ago, making my baby clothes… little outfits she would never see me in.

Deep in thought, my eyes wandered to the left side of the room, where Avery's spindle sat. I went to it, examining every inch of it. I had never seen one up close before. It was made of deep red wood, the wheel gleaming in the afternoon sunlight that spilled through the window. I was completely drawn to it.

I reached out, ready to touch it, when I heard a scream.

I spun around quickly to find Avery in the doorway. Her face was milk white as she rushed me hurriedly out of the room.

Once my other aunts had arrived home, I was punished, and confided to my room for a week. Upon questioning, Althea sat me down and said to me seriously, "We love you more than anything in the world, sweet. We couldn't have asked for a better niece. But you have got to listen when we set boundaries."

I grumbled. Boundaries were set to be crossed, in my opinion.

Althea read my mind, "You will do as we say, Rosamond."

I despised being obedient, and to punish my aunts I subjected them to the silent treatment for weeks. It did little good, and upon attempt to test my limitations, I found that Avery's sewing room had been locked up tight.

As I grew older, I noticed that I was much different than the other children I spent time around. When suffering emotionally, I was surrounded by the strangest of occurrences.

Once, when a boy stole my watering pale, I chased after him in earnest, trying to retrieve it. As quick footed as I was, he was much faster, and I struggled to keep up. I quickly became hysterical, and the moment I shouted for him to stop, the boy halted as made of stone, eyes unfocused, standing in mid-sprint.

It wasn't the first time I had experienced peculiar happenings. Another time, while playing with others, I skinned my knee. It was a deep gash, but before anyone could get more than a seconds glance of it, it simply began to heal. New flesh sprung forth rapidly, leaving my knee as good as new.

Afterward, the local children wanted very little to do with me. My unexplainable actions frightened them. Truth be told, they frightened me, as well.

These anomalies were enough to perplex even my aunts. Althea summed it up by calling it, "getting what I wanted." She said it was possible that I thought about things so hard, that they just happened to go my way.

I accepted this answer, though the neighboring children did not. I quickly became an outcast, and spent less and less time playing with those my age. I found refuge only with the animals we kept.

When feeling lonely, and there was no one to talk to, I could make the chickens strike up a conversation, though they were never any good at it.

One afternoon, while in the midst of conversing with our hens, Aster stepped in the coop to collect eggs. In excitement, I made each and every chicken cluck out salutations. It was the first time for me to demonstrate my abilities.

Aster didn't seem to hear.

I made Flüra, the chicken nearest her, cackle yet another greeting.

Still, Aster acknowledged nothing and continued filling her basket with eggs. "What are you doing out here all by your lonesome?" She asked me,

"Talking to the chickens," I said, as if it were obvious.

She didn't take me seriously, "Oh, you are, now? Well, tell them they should start pulling their weight around here. They've been slacking off on the eggs lately."

Frustrated, I replied, "No, truly! I was talking to them and they can talk back! Did you not hear?"

Aster turned and stuck her hand behind her ear, as if trying to listen intently. I knew she was humoring me, but I took the chance and made the coop explode in noise.

Nothing. No reaction. "They certainly are chatty today." Aster said, looking puzzled.

My annoyance bubbled to the surface, "I promise, aunty, I promise! Can you not hear them?"

"Child, I don't hear a thing. Now you listen here," she got down on my level, looking severe. "I don't mind you playing your little games, love, but you have got to be careful who you tell things to. Even though I know you, and your family knows you, you're out to scare someone who doesn't."

I understood. Hearing voices wasn't normal, not even with our lot. Not even in faraway Pü, so close to Fairyland.

From then on, I kept my bizarre doings to myself, for if I ever mentioned them to my aunts, they would become anxious, and I knew that it was best for my own protection.

A/N: The first chapter. I've written up to chapter 7 so far, and I've completed the epilogue, but I will be posting them slowly so I can tweek the things I dislike, and make sure the story stays in character.