A/N: So this is the first technical chapter of The One with the Shoe. It's sort of filler, but I wanted you all to see what life was like for Aurélie living with the Derniers. Obviously, it's not fun. It should be pretty clear by now which fairytale this story is based on, and I apologize for its shortness.

-Ana

Elle remembered very little when she woke. She didn't know where she was, but her head was throbbing profusely, and she was covered in soot and ash. She couldn't remember anything from before when she woke, and she was in a mysterious, strange place. The one thing she could remember for certain was the echo of a name she knew was hers. Her arm ached, and something was dripping into her eyes. She held her hand to her cheek, and it came back stained with red, and she felt the pain hit her like a wall. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and she tried to breathe, but the ash swept into her mouth. The sky above was dark with stars, and she stood up, staring heavenwards. The map of constellations swirled above her, in and out of focus, as she rose to her feet and took off at an unstable limp, towards what appeared to be a road. When she reached the dirt, she fell to her knees, and red drops stained the brown dust of the road. She stood once more and wobbled down the road slowly, searching for a sign of anyone to help her. The night was quiet and blank, a clean slate of nothing but inky black sky, parallel to darkened ground.

She walked up hills and past valleys of green, until she found the first sighting of help.

A small cottage sat on a tall hill at the top of a path leading off of the road, a meager garden boxing it in. The forest continued below, teeming with the things that go bump in the night, and Elle hobbled slowly towards the cottage, a lamp lit in the doorway.

When she climbed to the top of the hill, she limped to the door and rapped so quietly on the warped wood that she couldn't be sure if anyone would hear her.

The woman who answered the door was intimidating. She was miles taller than six-year-old Elle, with wiry brown hair with strands of grey here and there. It was pulled tightly from her forehead and prodded into a tight bun, but it pulled the rest of her features skyward. Her squinting eyes were a clear blue that Elle felt were familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd seen them. The woman's face was lined with just the faintest of wrinkles, but she had the ghost of smiles she might've once made painted on her lips. Now, a combination of age and many years of frowning had thinned her lips into a hard, pale line.

She stared down at Elle with distaste, paying no mind to her injuries and instead, focusing on the blonde hair she knew so well, in combination with the blue eyes she used to love. She stepped outside and stared down the road, towards where she'd seen the smoke waft to the sky hours earlier. She'd seen the house burn, and she'd felt a perverse pleasure in seeing Genevieve get her comeuppance. Genevieve herself had always said, 'those who plant with stolen seeds will find their garden choked with weeds.' Those who commit the sin will never reap the benefits.

The woman now saw this proof in the face of the young girl, an ugly cut marring her beautiful features. She knew this girl, for she was the spitting image of her mother. The question was what to do with her.

In the end, as she stared into those wide blue eyes, her conscience performed a reappearance, and she opened the door wider to let the girl in.

Elle saw two girls behind the tall woman when she opened the door. They were peering behind the legs of their mother, curious to the stranger at the door. One was tall, a bit older than Elle, with beautiful red-gold hair that curled past her shoulders, but pinched brown eyes like her mother's that made her look much like a mouse. She was stick thin, with cream white skin that had never seen the sun. In contrast to the taller girl's unnaturally thin figure, the other girl seemed positively obese. In all seriousness, she was the picture of a healthy weight, but when she stood next to her rail-thin relatives, she became unusually overweight. She had chocolate brown hair, unlike her sister's red-gold, and round doe eyes that looked significantly nicer than her sister's. Her face was as pale as her sister's, with not even a freckle to mar her complexion, and it was clear that these girls were spoilt by their mother.

Their mother let Elle into the house, and though Elle didn't know it, her life was about to start over again, as if she'd never had a different family at all.

Age Seven

Her first year with Nicolle Darnier and her daughters, Perfinia and Calliope, was rather uneventful. Nicolle was hard to understand to Elle, because at some moments, she acted sweetly to her, but at others, she was horrid.

Perfinia, however, was just horrible all the time. She'd trip Elle as she carried her laundry or dirty dishes, and teased her by calling her Cinderella, from when she first arrived at their door, covered in ashes. The name stuck to the point where only Calliope still called her Elle. Calliope was a small relief to Elle. When the two were alone, they were friends, but as soon as Perfinia or Nicolle intruded, she would shrink into herself as they scolded her for distracting Elle from her chores. Elle's temper would often flare, but she would never let it show, for she soon learned that Madame Darnier held her own children higher than Elle, and would side with Perfinia each and every time.

The chores themselves didn't bother Elle too much. She learned how to weed the garden and wash the dishes and, later, aid Madame Darnier with the meals. It was soothing, something to take her mind off of the blank space before she woke up in those ruins.

She asked Madame Darnier if she knew who Elle really was, but she didn't answer, and when Elle pressed further, she went off on a rage, and she left Elle to burn the dinner by herself. When Elle even tried to sneak out and visit the ruins on her own, Perfinia caught her at the door, and Madame Darnier smacked her hard across the face. She didn't attempt to leave again.

The cut on her face the arced over her right eye had faded into a pink scar, only noticeable by its color, and it was a clean curve over her brow, ending even with her nose.

Age Nine

Her hair reached to her waist, and Madame Darnier sat her in front of the fire and cut it with her sewing sheers, the ones she used to mend clothes.

It was then, when Madame was in a good mood, that Elle asked where a Monsieur Darnier might have gone.

Madame Darnier laid her hands on Elle's shoulders as Elle stared at the fire crackling. Madame didn't speak for a many moments, but Elle laid her hand on her shoulder on top of Madame's, and she turned and stared into her eyes, and something in Madame seemed to thaw.

She smiled just briefly. "The only man I ever loved was taken from me, and the man that I ended up with could never hold a candle." She paused. "He left me with two children that I would not be able to care for without his money, but I did not cry at his funeral."

Elle nodded. She didn't quite understand, but she could hear an underlying tone of sadness in Madame's voice that she rarely heard.

Age Ten

At age ten, Elle had grown into a very beautiful child, her golden hair brightening in the sunshine. This led Perfinia to treat her even worse, perhaps out of jealousy, although Perfinia would be even more beautiful if she ever thought to smile. Instead, it seemed her features were set in constant frown.

Age Eleven

Elle enjoyed wandering about the house in her spare time, when she was alone, and she one day found herself in front of Madame's imposing oak doors, with carved panels with the likeness of roses on the vine.

She had never ventured into Madame's room, but Madame was gone.

She pushed the door open with as much strength as she could muster, and wandered into the largest room in the house.

The bed was large, with a velvet purple canopy and a gilt vanity in the corner. Sitting on the vanity was a peculiar stack of paper next to a bulging velvet sack. Elle had merely a peek at the inside of the bag before Madame, who had returned from the store without Elle's notice, and flew into the room in a rage.

She smacked Elle hard in the jaw, and Elle raced out in tears, but as Calliope rubbed salve on the purple bruise, Elle couldn't help what a velvet sack of gold coins, far more than Elle knew they owned, would be doing on Madame's vanity.

Nevertheless, she tried to put it out of her mind, and she never ventured into Madame's private room again.

Age Fourteen

The nearby village boys had sometimes witnessed Elle gardening, and would stare from the top of the hill at the beautiful girl who never left the cottage, the one with the mysterious scar that did little to hide her beauty. When she caught them staring, she would gently wave. But if they were to whistle or jeer, she would throw rocks with scary accuracy, and they would run away.

Although she was beautiful, she had a temper that could not be tested on any but Perfinia and Madame Darnier. She was hotheaded, but she was not stupid enough to challenge either of them.

Elle kept track of her birthdays on a piece of broken tile that had fallen from the chimney. Elle had used a broom handle to get rid of a robin's nest and the eggs had fallen and landed on Elle's arms, little flecks of blue mixed with the goo of the yolk. It took nearly half of the bar of grainy wheat soap that Elle had made to wash off the slimy feeling.

She spent the rest of that day making another bar, in fear that Madame would need a bar and not have one.

A/N: Again, sorry for the short length! You can expect the next chapter next weekend, New York time, and that's when stuff will really start to pick up!

-Ana