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If there are any differences between the description of a sing in Ella Enchanted and in my story, I apologize. I don't have my book handy, so I did my best from memory.

10th October

Apologies, apologies, apologies, apologies, apologies, etc., etc…

I really did mean to write. But what was there to say? Not much one can write about their curtsey being fine-tuned. Or Enile pulling one's hair and getting away with it. FIVE TIMES. Or finding that Astraea is very kind when alone with one, but won't speak a word in one's defense when faced with authority figures.

Ahtia is still annoying. And my uncle Unatu? I don't see him for more than an hour a day, and that is at meals. He does not speak at all, which I am told is genteel Ayorthaian behavior.

I am no judge of what is and is not genteel, but I DO know the difference between mind-numbingly dull and interesting. If this is genteel society, I want out.

Innai has let up on me a little, which is enough to raise my spirits. She says I have a lovely voice—"A bit lower than is in fashion, but it will do."

The word "fashion" is thrown about disgustingly often. I don't quite understand it. Why place so much stock in something that is always changing?

Alas, statements like that are why Ahtia is forever sighing that I am impossibly coarse.

I don't understand her. Why does it make her happy to insult me? It's not that I care very much, but… Well, it gets tiring.

I'm not ill mannered. I do try. I'm not wild for the sake of being contrary. Perhaps I'm a little rough-hewn in comparison to Astraea, the consummate young lady, but I'm polite and I don't slurp my soup, which must count for something.

I don't think Ahtia really cares about my progress, but if she did I'd want her to know that I'd like to be the sort of girl who can be pretty and dainty. I want to improve. I want to dance well and be admired and meet people and make friends. I really do.

But I never, NEVER, NEVER want to be the girl who's unwilling and afraid to say anything for fear of offending others. Of course I don't want to be gallivanting around, running my mouth off, hurting people's feelings. I just don't want to be so timid that I never speak up for myself. I do want to make other people happy in my life, but I don't want to lose myself for their sake.

All right, Diary: I am done being philosophical.

There is a small sing at the palace tomorrow, and a royal invitation has been extended to Unatu, Ahtia, Astraea, and Enile. Ahtia is "hesitant" to bring me along because: "You've still SO much to learn before you're ready to be introduced to polite society."

Grr. I wasn't exactly raised by wolves, you know! Astraea claims she will put in a good word for me, but I find it doubtful that she'll actually carry through on this promise.

And so all tomorrow I shall sit like Acenicienta, that poor little cinder girl from the old Ayorthaian Fairy Tale. Well, I suppose Madame Innai will be here too, and so I shall have a lesson. As if that is much of a comfort.

And if things were not bad enough, I asked Astraea whether she'd ever seen an Elf at one of the royal sings.

"An elf?" She replied, arching a brow. "Oh, I've seen several. On several occasions I've seen Gnomes there, too. And of course, there are dignitaries from Kyrria, Opyre, Surluna…"

Acenicienta might've had to clean the house, but she only had a stupid prince waiting for her.

Dinner is ready. I refuse to sulk. Perhaps Ahtia will prove that she is not as terrible as I think her.

-- Adareia

10th October, after supper

Diary,

She is not as terrible as I think her! She is not as terrible as I think her! (Actually, Madame Innai and Uncle Unatu are not as terrible as I think them. Ahtia was backed into a corner.)

I'm going!

Madame Innai, in the middle of the meal, cleared her throat and said quite confidently: "Adareia may be somewhat rustic, but she is making marked improvement. I trust that she will be able to remain composed—" Code for keep my mouth shut. "—during your excursion tomorrow, should you allow her to go."

I made her proud and did not break into a grin. I turned my eyes to Aunt Ahtia and Uncle Unatu, waiting.

"I see no reason why she should not," Uncle Unatu mumbled gruffly.

I could have—but did not, of course—hugged him.

Ahtia looked at her husband, blinking furiously. My theory is that he never speaks more than a word, so she's free to treat people however she likes. However, on the rare occasion that he DOES speak, Ahtia's obligated to actually listen to what he says.

"Fine. She'll come along," Ahtia managed to say through gritted teeth.

Astraea offered a secretive 'I knew it'd turn out for the best!' look, which I disregarded because she hadn't done anything for me. (Well it's true!)

Anyways, I'm sitting in their garden, which despite being impeccably manicured and not very natural is still nice to behold. Astraea is inside, going through my trunk and picking out a suitable outfit. She seemed very eager to, and I don't particularly care, so I humored her.

It's nearing nightfall, so I suppose I ought to go inside. But I like it out here, and I can see the spires of the palace over the hedge. I wish I had Astraea's talent, for there's nothing I'd like more than to be able to capture the beauty of this moment.

Forgive me. I suppose the world seems lovely when, like Acenicienta, you're allowed to go to the ball.

Figuratively speaking, of course. I'm only going to a sing… WHERE I MIGHT MEET AN ELF.

Ah… Life can be good.

-- Adareia

October 12th

Diary.

Yes. You're still Diary. I didn't meet an Elf, so you remain sadly unnamed.

I suppose you're nevertheless dying to know what happened at the sing. But that would be getting ahead of ourselves.

We must begin when I was woken. By Astraea. Who was insisting to know why I was not up yet.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, sitting up lethargically.

"Seven," she chirped, patting my back. "Up, up, up with you!"

I stared at her abjectly. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I was under the impression that the sing was at TWELVE. IN THE AFTERNOON!"

Astraea crossed her arms over her chest. "It is! But we have to leave at eleven thirty, silly!"

I continued to stare.

She widened her eyes as if to say 'Well? Get up!'.

"You're telling me that I need four and a half hours to get dressed?"

"Well, eating breakfast might take up some time."

Astraea pouted.

I threw off the covers and grumbled.

"Don't be so sulky! Look! Your dresses were all so plain, so I took one of my sashes and… Well, look already!"

She held up a cream-colored gown of mine—one with pretty red, embroidered flowers on it—and a crimson sash. They looked decent together, so I grunted appreciatively and took them from her.

Astraea was beaming. "Oh, I'm ever so glad you like it!"

I shrugged and shooed her out. (I had to get dressed and all.)

Astraea offered to send in a servant to help me dress. Call me crazy, but I've never heard of such a thing. Must be the influence of Kyrria again. Ugh. What a tragedy. The supreme laziness of Kyrrians will forever baffle me.

(You'll forgive me for my bitterness towards Kyrria. I can hardly help it at the moment… But you'll understand that in due time.)

For the sake of my cramping hand, I'll spare you banal tales of breakfast conversations. I will, however, tell you of the significant looks Madame Innai sent me. I interpreted them as saying: 'I've put in a good word for you, so if you make me look bad you'll regret it.'

Which I completely empathized with. She did me an enormous favor, and I intended to behave perfectly to make her proud.

But intentions only go so far, as you'll see. Ah, I shouldn't torture you so. You are eternally good to me, diary, and I tease you. My apologies.

At eleven thirty sharp—I kid you not; Ahtia takes her punctuality very seriously—I was herded into the carriage, where I was crushed between a sweating Unatu and a perpetually whining Enile. I shall leave the gloriousness of this ride to your imagination.

The pity was that the carriage curtains were drawn—the light gives Ahtia "a headache"—so I saw nothing of the people of Aamina or their homes or the character of the city.

The carriage arrived at the sandstone palace quite promptly, easily before twelve. Luckily, as Astraea was so kind to point out, the Ayorthaian custom of arrival has not been influenced by Kyrrian culture. It is still fashionable to arrive before the invitation stipulates, so I was—again—herded into the palace before I could sufficiently appreciate the contrast between the warm colors of the building itself with the cool greens of the garden in front of it.

(Fine, perhaps I'm getting sappy about contrasts and colors and nonsense like that, but I NEVER GET TO TAKE A MOMENT AND JUST ENJOY ANYTHING! A-hem. Sorry about that. Rant complete, I promise. Anyways…)

We were whisked through grand halls and corridors with the traditionally sparse Ayorthaian furnishing, complete with gorgeous pottery and tapestries and art, etc., etc. It was breathtaking, and I doubt I'd be able to do it justice, so I shan't even try.

After this hurried, unceremonious tour of the palace, we were led to a courtyard in which many well-dressed people (courtiers, I assume) were seated. A small, empty stage stood before them, on which the leader of the singing was to stand. Off to the side, segregated from the Ayorthaians, were various foreigners. (It was obvious from the way they watched us natives that they had either never seen a sing or knew that they were not quite a part of the proceedings.)

I was almost as awestruck as they, for Onofro's sings were even smaller than this one! I couldn't help but grin excitedly at Astraea, who smiled patronizingly.

"You're so funny, Adareia," she whispered.

The courtyard was almost silent. Our nobles are always reputed to be the most reserved in the world, but I never suspected such a degree of silence was achievable.

"There's the king," Enile remarked, elbowing me in the stomach. (So much for manners!)

"And queen. And their son," Astraea added, instantly receiving a reproachful glare from her mother.

I was nervously anticipating an introduction, but Ahtia guided us to a back row and all but pushed us into our seats. She then grabbed Unatu's arm, looped hers through it almost violently, and marched off to the king.

King Amadi is not at all how I pictured a king. He's broad-shouldered, but not very tall, and his coloring is far lighter than most Ayorthaians. (His mother, I believe, was a Surlunaian, and they are a fair people.) His hair is only a medium colored brown with an almost reddish hue, and his eyes were either hazel or light brown. He was not handsome, but by no means ugly. He had a strong jaw and a prominent nose, and a thoughtful, studious look about him. Not very commanding, but I suppose I like that about him.

The Queen—who is Ayorthaian by birth, and of a most noble and ancient family—was a beautiful creature, with classic Ayorthaian looks (dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin, etc.) and a cool air about her. Though she is quite a bit younger than her husband, I think I would be more afraid of speaking to her than him. She's an intimidating woman to behold.

I couldn't quite see their son, for Enile was in the way and he wouldn't move to let me see because he insisted that I was being rude staring at the royals like that. Conscious of the necessity of good manners, I gave up on seeing Ayortha's young prince and sat back in my seat.

It was quite a while longer 'til the sing began, and in the meantime I was bored out of my mind in the silence maintained by all around me.

It was when a young woman, sickly looking and small, took the stage that the magic began. Immediately she began, her voice steady and low, with a heartbreaking valediction: a song of goodbye from a soldier to his wife as he goes off to war. When she reached the chorus, the rest of us started in, and you could see tears glistening on people's cheeks as we sang the tale of their star-crossed love. Next came an ode, and next a paean to the breeze, and on and on.

I shall never forget the young woman's voice. For those hours I was not myself or in myself. I was wherever she took me and whomever she was singing about. It sounds silly, I suppose, but never has anything ever been as true as that.

The sing was not the usual all day and night affair, but an abridged version, if you will. I did not want the music to ever end, but once it did I realized how exhausting the experience was. I turned slack-jawed to Astraea, who only smiled that cheerful smile at me.

I shall never know anything of what she is thinking. Did it affect her as deeply as it affected me? Who knows? How could one ever know, when she is always acting that way?

Had the afternoon ended thus, I would have been infinitely happy. But of course it did not.

Perhaps, Diary, you remember my brush with death not too long ago? You remember the Kyrrian who nearly killed me?

Well, he's the prince.Of Kyrria. Prince Jerrold, guest of the Ayorthaian court. Just my luck, hmm?

And almost immediately after the sing had ended, he marched over to me, narrowed his eyes, wrinkled his nose and demanded: "Wait… I've seen you before, haven't I?"

At first I didn't recognize him. I was nevertheless embarrassed, naturally, because Aunt Ahtia and Uncle Unatu were staring at me. So was Astraea. Come to think of it, many people had turned to look at me.

I did not know then that he was the prince, so I assumed the fact that he spoke so freely and loudly had attracted their attention.

It hit me after a moment that he was the young man from that night, but I wasn't about to admit—IN FRONT OF AHTIA—that I had snuck out of the house to take a midnight stroll!

He spoke Kyrrian, so I prayed and hoped with all my might that Ahtia and Unatu did not know any.

"Your… Highness," Ahtia managed clumsily in Kyrrian.

She curtseyed, and Unatu bowed his head. I stared blankly at the young man. Highness? What?!

The prince ignored them.

"Well, don't I know you?" Prince Jerrold demanded. He crossed his sinewy arms over his chest.

I shook my head. I did not want to speak a word of Kyrrian, for I knew Ahtia would think I was saying something… well, something she wouldn't approve of, simply because she couldn't understand. Besides, I WAS TALKING TO A PRINCE?!? THE PRINCE OF KYRRIA HAD ALMOST KILLED ME?

Forgive me, but words were not forthcoming.

"Wait…Uyri! Uyri!" Prince Jerrold clapped his hands victoriously and gestured to his riding companion from the other evening. "Uyri, isn't this the girl we almost trampled that night?"

Uyri arrived and glanced at me, nodding vaguely. "I believe so."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the king and his queen coming over. My face was aflame. That was NOT how I'd wanted my introduction to the royals to go.

"Adareia," Ahtia murmured virulently in Ayorthaian, squeezing my arm. "What is the meaning of this?"

I looked helplessly to Astraea, who conveniently happened to be looking away at the moment. I even looked to Enile, who seemed only to be enjoying the awkwardness of the situation.

I finally mustered the courage to speak.

"I'm sure I've never seen you in my life," I informed him in quavering Kyrrian. I turned to Ahtia and innocently translated what I'd said into Ayorthaian.

She was unconvinced. So was the prince.

"What do you mean? You were in that rut, and you said to me—Uyri, don't you remember? She said that little jibe about how it's perfectly acceptable for Kyrrians to run each other over or something like that? Don't you? Come now, don't look at me as though…"

He trailed off. I suppose my imploring expression finally got through that thick skull of his. He wrinkled his freckled nose and grinned down at me.

"Oh. I see. Out past curfew, eh? Forget I ever mentioned it."

Then he winked.

I could have slapped him. Perhaps Ahtia couldn't speak Kyrrian very well, but his wink was enough to incriminate me more than words ever could.

"Your Highness?" King Amadi inquired in Kyrrian, arching a brow. His accent was pedestrian, I thought, for a king. "Who is this acquaintance of yours?"

Prince Jerrold looked at me and shrugged. "Acquaintance? What acquaintance?"

I think I let out a small sigh, so frustrated was I by his denseness. (Part of me wanted to holler: IT'S TOO LATE, YOU IDIOT, TO PRETEND YOU DON'T KNOW ME!)

So I looked at my feet. I knew Madame Innai was never going to put in a good word for me again.

"This is my niece," Ahtia replied, every syllable spoken with unnecessary force. "My sister Euthalie's daughter, Adareia."

I was still staring at me feet (wondering why I'd worn the particular shoes I'd worn: they matched very poorly). Someone nudged me, and I at last looked up and swept a quick curtsy, never really looking at the king.

"Well," the queen said, laughing, "I for one am quite confused. Adareia, my dear, how do you know our royal guest?"

Jerrold was looking on in irritation, and it at last occurred to me that he didn't even speak Ayorthaian. Uyri, however, did. Lying was out of the question, unless Uyri was willing to play along.

I could tell by the unsmiling look on his face that he was not.

So, with much fumbling and stuttering and blushing and wishing I'd never come to Aamina, I explained how we met.

The queen tittered. "Oh, what a charming story!"

The king stared at me. I've no idea whether he was amused or horrified or perplexed or… well, you understand. Prince Jerrold, bored by the interaction or annoyed that he could not understand it, wandered off somewhere.

We left soon after that, and no one said a word to me in the carriage. No one spoke a word to me when we arrived back at the manor. Dinner will soon be served, but I don't know that I have the heart to go.

I really am quite afraid.

-- Adareia