AN: Thanks for the reviews y'all; I appreciate it

So I'm trying to find my feet here; it's a little weird writing a story that follows the plot and characters of another. If you've read Ella Enchanted, you'll notice the first two chapters borrowed from the original story quite a bit, but I think as I get more comfortable and we get further into the plot and let a bit more of Glee seep into this universe, things will diverge a bit more from the novel.

In this chapter we've got more bizarre, cracky family relationships, so I hope you enjoy that.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or Ella Enchanted.

I hadn't realized how long I had been crying by that willow tree. As soon as we arrived at our manor, I had to hurry to change into a new outfit so I could join our guests downstairs for a banquet in Father's honor. I literally had to hurry because Mother barked the instruction at me as I raced up the stairs to my bedroom.

I spent as much time as the spell would let me just sitting in my room, enjoying the familiarity of the decorations I had picked out, the silence, and the peace. Soon enough, I was in too much pain to further delay the inevitable, but as soon as I stood and walked to my wardrobe, my symptoms were gone. I put on a new outfit and went downstairs to greet our guests.

When Mother saw me, she fixed me with a particularly malevolent glare. "Porcelain, what is that bile-inducing monstrosity that you're wearing?"

I simply smoothed my bangs back in reply. Rather than donning more traditional black mourning garb, I had chosen Father's favorite ensemble of mine. I could not deny that the soft brown trousers, burnt orange silk shirt with billowing sleeves and rust-colored vest held closed by glimmering brass buttons was a bit ostentatious, but Father had always grinned in approval when he saw me wearing it. Orange was Father's favorite color, and he had hated black.

"People are going to think you have no respect for your father," Mother scolded, "Now –"

I smirked when her order was cut off by a strange, bellowing wail, but my triumph faded quickly as a pair of pink-clad arms encircled my waist from behind and crushed me against an unfamiliar body.

"You poor thing; does it hurt much? And Lady Susan, it's devastating to see you under such awful circumstances," a whiny voice moaned near my right ear. I pulled away and turned to face a balding, bespectacled man dressed in all pink, save for a mint green scarf. I suppressed a cringe at the sight and shifted my eyes to the left. Standing just behind him were two rather large boys. The taller of the two was quite handsome, with dopey dark brown eyes and dark hair that stood up every which way. The shorter was a bit stouter as well, clearly powerfully built, and judging by the beady look in his eyes, he was the cleverer of the two. He had thin brown hair and a wide face.

"This is Sir Sandy," Mother said as she reached out to touch the older man's bright pink-encased forearm. Apparently she saw no need to scold him for his lack of black attire.

I greeted him awkwardly, managing something between a curtsy and a bow.

Mother enquired after the young men who accompanied Sir Sandy, and he proceeded to introduce his two sons. The taller of the two was named Finnegan, and the shorter, David.

"Boys, comfort poor Kurt in his hour of need," Sir Sandy sing-songed as he offered Mother his arm and escorted her into the dining hall.

The three of us stared around in silence. Finnegan and I caught each other's eye and he offered me a small half-smile, extending his hand.

"Hello, I'm Finn."

I shook it delicately. "Kurt."

"This is my brother, Dave," Finn added needlessly.

"Why did you act like that earlier?" Dave asked abruptly, interrupting my soft "Hello."

I bristled. "I don't know what you're referring to."

Dave scowled, regarding me with a strange glint in his eyes. "Crying like a girl in front of everyone. Why did you do that?"

I fixed him with a pointed glare.

"Dave," Finn said softly, unsurely, "His father just died."

Dave shrugged his shoulders and cast his gaze around, and Finn followed his lead.

"This is a nice hall," Finn commented hesitantly, glancing at Dave as if in confirmation, and seeming to relax when his brother gave a slight nod.

"Our father says your mother earns a lot of money in her trading business," Dave began, "I think it's kind of strange, a woman leaving her family's manor to travel and trade goods, but it looks like it's working."

He glared at me suddenly for no reason, and I simply narrowed my eyes at him in return. "We're rich, too," he added.

Finn coughed awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Kurt, will you show us around the rest of the manor?"

I showed them the upstairs, and we looked in every room, Dave pausing once in a while to quip a thinly-veiled insult, while Finn occasionally paid a sincere compliment. We made our way to the dining hall and found ourselves next to one of the side tables, which was straining under the weight of the pastries and meat pies piled on top of it.

"Do you want something –" Dave didn't wait for me to finish my question before proceeding to shovel a disgusting amount of food down his throat. Finn shrugged at me, but then joined his brother in the activity.

I wasn't hungry, despite having eaten nothing all day, and the sight of the two boys stuffing their faces was nauseating. I glanced down at the rug under the table, looking at the little yellow canaries woven into the material, and tried to imagine what notes they might like to sing. As I stared down, it was as though I could actually hear their cheerful songs. My brow furrowed in concentration, and – was that a flutter of a wing? Yes! I watched in fascination as the little birds actually began to move, flying about the carpet, spiraling and chasing one another. Their pretty songs filled my ears, and I began to whistle along quietly.

"What are you doing?" Dave grunted. My head snapped up. Dave was glaring once more, and Finn was looking at me in dull confusion. They had actually ceased inhaling food while waiting for my response. I glanced back down at the rug. There was no music now, and the canaries were stationary once more.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"You were whistling," Dave shot back, his tone laced with accusation.

"What's wrong with that?" I snapped in reply.

"I-I like whistling!" Finn offered hopefully, but then blanched when Dave sent him a dark look. "But, I mean, not at the dinner table."

I snorted at the sight of them. "I don't think I need lessons in table manners from you two."

Finn frowned and looked down at his doublet, which was stained with gravy, but Dave actually rose to his feet and leaned across the table.

"You're weird," he hissed angrily, "When your father was alive he must've forgot to teach you how to act like a normal man."

The slight against Father left me speechless, and Finn let out a surprised squeak. I was sure that what little color my face usually held had drained completely.

"Boys, boys!" Sir Sandy's moaning voice filled the air as he swept over, a silk pink cape rustling behind him. "We must be going." He dragged me into another hug and I was enveloped in the bewildering stench of rotten fruit.

After Sir Sandy and his sons had left, I snuck away from Mother and joined Carol in the kitchen, helping her with the dishes.

"Your feast was a success, as always," I commented to her as I pulled on an apron to protect my outfit.

She laughed, "Those people must have been starving."

"Nobody can resist your cooking," I sent her a little smile and a wink. It was true; I had never tasted food quite as delicious as Carol's. I had often tried to follow her recipes, and Father would sometimes join me, admittedly often more a hindrance than a help, but we never managed to produce anything quite as tasty as her dishes, no matter how closely we adhered to the instructions.

I suddenly remembered the rug.

"You know the rug in the dining hall? The one with yellow canaries? Something strange happened when I looked at it earlier this evening."

Carol laughed again, scouring a pan. "Oh, you needn't pay that old thing any attention."

"Why is that?"

"It's a faerie rug. Just an old practical joke."

I stopped drying the plate I was holding and faced her fully. "Really?" I asked, intrigued, "How do you know?"

"It belonged to Sir Burt."

"Did my faerie godmother give it to him?"

"Many years ago." Carol let out a heavy sigh.

"Do you know who she is?"

"If your father wanted you to know, he would have told you himself."

"He promised he would after I turned fifteen, but he didn't get the chance to. Please, Carol, tell me."

"I am."

I rolled my eyes in impatience. "No, you are not telling me. Who is she?"

"Me. I'm your faerie godmother. Now, here, taste this pudding I've made for Shannon. How is it?"

Oooo of course Carol was hiding something. She's crafty, that one. I know it seems weird with Finn basically under Karofsky's control, but trust me, this is me being generous to Finn, because his counterpart in the novel is much more pathetic (and mean!).

Next Chapter: Kurt learns more about faeries from Carol, and Sue and Kurt face off. I promise Blaine will appear again soon, though!