Chapter 3

And off they were, through the dark gaslit streets all the way to the town square where they could see the dancing lights and hear singing, music and the tinkling of punch glasses.

"Are – are you sure about this, Spash?" Lucretia whispered haltingly as the coach drew near to the festivities. "Maybe the little fellow didn't hear us right – we did say this was a public dance, didn't we?"

"Little fellow?"

"The fairy! This is a public dance – I'm afraid we're rather overdressed, aren't you?"

Aspasia, who had disembarked from the coach and tottered drunkenly on her heels of painted china, took her first big step and crashed flat to the ground in reply. A gaily-dressed young man in a coarsely-embroidered flannel waistcoat rushed over to help. It was Robert, the innkeeper's lusty young son.

"Spash, dear!" he cried with joy at the sight of his lady love, flat on the ground, and away they whirled.

The music was rollicking, the ale flowed freely – for a fee, mind – and the dancing went on and on. Plump, practical Lucretia was not asked to dance all night. Aspasia, however, had sampled too much and was having the time of her young life. Somehow during the course of the evening she had become separated from both wig and pelisse, to the drunken joy of Robert and the absolute humiliation of her sister. Lucretia's plump feet were in agony in their strange, tight little earthenware slippers, and her heart was despairing at the sight of drunken Aspasia, who had lost a stocking somehow and was slowly losing the other one by means we will not mention. Not a single man had asked her to marry him. As Lucretia turned away in disgrace, a distant clock began to chime the fatal hour of twelve.

Heartbroken, Lucretia remembered the tactic her stepsister had used to get a husband. With a cry of disgust she tore off a shoe and hurled it to the pavement where it smashed into pieces. To the other she did the same and began to run home, her tortured feet finally free from their ceramic prisons. On, on she ran, past the bejeweled potato coach, abandoned now by its feline beast of burden and nearly picked clean of baubles, past the musicians, away from the lights and raucous music and all the way back to the damp, dark scullery of the little old inn. Off came the silly wig in a cloud of pale pink powder as she sank to the cold dirt floor in her billowy silk skirts and burst into bitter tears.

"Why, what's wrong, miss?"

"Oh – you!" Lucretia gasped for it was the fairy gentleman who had spoken. He was perched on the edge of the black stove and was glowing softly, bathing the room in gentle yellow light. He was utterly bewildered. His training had been broad, encompassing all manner of tricks from making lightning out of lace to vegetable coaches. He could have stared dragons in the face and danced in the mouth of a lion, but never in his training had he been confronted with the tears of a maiden.

"The ball not what it was cracked up to be?" he tried to soothe her.

"Oh, the ball! The ball! Wretched fool that I was!"

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to get married and not a soul asked me."

"Is that so?" murmured the little man. He had only one solution to that sort of problem. "Why do you think no man wanted to marry you?" he asked, cautiously.

"Because I'm ugly!" bawled the pathetic girl.

"I know only one man you could marry," said the little fairy, "but…you'd have to…marry me."

"I'll do it!" shrieked Lucretia, bounding up from her knees, unsure of what he meant. "I'll marry you in a second!"

"Very well, then," said the ugly little fairy gentleman. Stepping to the floor, he became the handsomest man Lucretia had ever seen. And-they-got-married-and-lived-happily-ever-after. I regret to say, however, that Spash did not. She married Robert under the gun and to this day, as the hostess of the Lion and Lamb Inn, still peels potatoes. It's a pity.

Hope you guys liked my mom's story! :) (By the way, I know the cover image is of the stepsisters from the 2015 movie, thus it doesn't really fit the description of Spash and Lu in this story – hence, the powdered wigs – but I was too lazy to draw a new cover for the story. Deal with it.)