Cinderella turned restlessly in bed for the fourth time that night. Sleep was evading her, and it didn't seem like she was going to capture it any time soon. She had to assume that it was due to the afternoon nap she'd taken earlier, as well as all the revelations she'd just learned that were troubling her thoughts. She shut her eyes tightly and tried again to relax, when she heard a round of painful-sounding coughs emanating from the room down the hall. Opening her eyes once again, Cinderella let out a light groan and pushed herself out of bed, wrapping a dressing gown around herself as she went to her stepmother's room.

Taking up a candle from the hallway, she opened the door and peered in. Her stepmother was writhing on the bed, wracked with tremors from the coughin. Cinderella turned to face the hallway and listen. The snores coming from the other two rooms told her that her stepsisters' sleep hadn't been interrupted. She turned back and tiptoed into the room, walking over to Lady Tremaine's bed. She propped up her stepmother's pillow, poured her a glass of water from the pitcher, and helped her to drink it. The old woman took a few small sips, then waved the glass away. Cinderella could see in the dim light of the room that there was a faint smear of blood beneath her stepmother's lips. She wiped it away gently, and when it appeared the old woman was at peace again and asleep, Cinderella started to make her way out of the room.

'Wait,' a frail voice called. Cinderella stopped and turned around. There was a faint light coming from Lady Tremaine's grey eyes as she watched her. Cinderella returned to her bedside and sat down.

'What is it?' Cinderella asked softly.

'I…I'm going to die, aren't I?,' the old woman said, punctuating the statement with a painful cough.

Cinderella searched for the right words. 'Well…yes, we are all going to die—'

'That's not what I meant, and you know it,' her stepmother snapped. 'I don't have long. There are still things I need to say.'

'Talk to me,' Cinderella said. 'Tell me what happened after Prince Miguel died.'

Lady Tremaine's face contorted into a pained sort of smile. 'Miguel,' she whispered, before launching her story.


"After Mother told me that Miguel was dead, the strangest thing happened to me. I didn't scream, or cry, or rend my clothes or beat my chest. I didn't even weep slightly. A feeling of calm surrounded me, as though I were sitting on the beach on an early summer morning. My mother appeared upset by the news, but I couldn't feel the same sort of unrest. She told me the circumstances surrounding his death and left me alone, and I simply sat there peacefully for a long while.

I knew I should feel something; after all, I'd been desperately in love with this man who was now gone. As I sat there for a while, alone with my thoughts, I finally came to understand my impassivity: for every inch that I loved Miguel de Argentes, I also hated him just as much. The idea of him not loving me and choosing my best friend over me stirred the greatest of rages and sorrows within me. But now, with him gone, Elizabeth and I were now on even footing. After all, she was now just as miserable as me. Oh, I would probably dislike her for the rest of my days, but perhaps I would dislike her less. Perhaps we could even be civil to one another.

And so I dressed in my finest black dress and went to visit the Farringdon estate several days later, after Miguel's body was being carried back to his native land. I entered the house full of forgiveness, ready to publicly reconcile with Elizabeth and accept any sort of demonstration of remorse she wished to give.

Most of Elizabeth's immediate family who lived in and near our kingdom were there, moving softly and quietly as if underwater. I saw Elizabeth sitting in the reception room with her parents on each side of her, holding each hand. I moved closer, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence. She, too, was dressed in black, her face pale and tired and her eyes watery but not flowing with tears. At last she looked up at me, and I expected a sad smile or some sort of expression of gratitude at my presence. But that was not what I saw.

Instead, Elizabeth's face contorted into a look of anger. She let go of her parents' hands, and I heard her mother start to say, 'Ellie, dear, let me…'

'No, Mother,' she said in a voice so low and grim it startled me. 'I will handle this.'

And then Elizabeth was walking toward me, so determined and dark that in spite of her petite size, I felt a moment of fear. She looked up at me, blue eyes hard like granite.

'Why are you here, Julia?' she asked me in a soft, fierce voice. In spite of the soft tones of her words, the others in the room were attracted to our exchange and turned around to see what was going on.

'I…,' I wasn't sure how to respond. I was unprepared for this. 'I came to offer my sympathies and-and my support.'

Elizabeth stared at me coldly for a moment. Then she said, 'I don't want anything from you. You aren't welcome in my home. Please leave.'

I was stunned by her words, and evidently everyone else in attendance was as well. I could feel every eye at the gathering on me. Feeling my face burn with embarrassment, I promptly turned on my heel and left the house. I felt as though my whole body was on fire, as though I were being bathed in a shower of crimson rage. And up to that moment, I have never hated anyone so much in my entire life."


"Up to that moment," Cinderella repeated softly to herself. She wondered if somehow, she'd replaced her mother in terms of her stepmother's incomprehensible hatred. Her mind flew over the painful memories: the humiliating orders, the hurtful insults, the neglect. She was her stepmother's revenge on her mother, she realized now. She put these thoughts aside as her stepmother continued her story.


"The next few days were spent moving in a trance. I ate, I slept. I practiced on my piano. I went into town. I didn't notice or care much about the things happening around me, except I did observe my mother writing a copious amount of letters, and then fluttering about nervously, waiting for the postman to bring the mail each day. She pored over the society columns, and even had a 'very discreet' appointment to attend to in town one afternoon. She was planning something, I knew. She was trying to find a husband for me. Ah well, let her, I thought. I had no romantic ideals about love and marriage anymore, not after Miguel. If my mother was able to secure me a husband of comfortable means and with a little bit of charm and intellect, then I should have no true grievances, should I?

After nearly three weeks, I was tired of my self-imposed imprisonment and decided to take in some fresh air. I left the carriage at my estate, and instead took a walk, allowing the sun to warm my back and neck and the wind to flutter against the skirts at my ankle. I walked nearly two miles, past the other estates, past the town. At last I came to the old overgrown fields, which had once been lush, manicured gardens that my family and several of the other families of nobility would go to for picnics. The owner of the fields had died several years ago, and with no one willing to maintain them, they quickly were reclaimed by nature in her entirety. I waded through the tall grasses, thinking about the times I'd had here as a girl, and inevitably, Elizabeth came to mind. For even as a young girl, my memories seemed to always contain her.

In the springs and summers our parents would bring us to the picnics and I, being the older one, would always end up playing with and looking after little Ellie. I was the one who taught her to play croquet and how to hold a racquet while playing badminton. I kept her from wandering off into danger and shielded her from the sun and rain. I fed her the petit fours and fruit from my plate. Would I have cared for her so much at the time had I known that eventually she'd be my rival? I didn't know.

'Julia?' a familiar voice called from behind me.

Ah, I thought with a bitter smile. Speak of the devil and he doth appear. I didn't turn around, choosing to instead to continue walking as the footsteps got closer.

'Turn around and talk to me!' she demanded.

Rolling my eyes, I turned around to face Elizabeth. 'I thought you had nothing to say to me,' I snapped.

'Oh I have much to say to you,' she argued. 'The dilemma is whether you're willing to hear it.'

'It seems to me,' I said through gritted teeth, 'I never had a choice as to what I was allowed to hear or not hear.'

Elizabeth sighed sadly. 'I am sorry for that, Julia. Truly. Miguel asked me not to say anything until he could contact his family in Arragosta. I would have told you long ago.'

'Long ago,' I repeated. 'So you two were carrying on for quite some time. It must have been so romantic. You must have felt so grown up, with your little secret courtship, knowing you were with a prince—'

Elizabeth winced. 'Julia, stop, please.'

'Your mother must have felt such triumph! I'm sure she couldn't wait for the wedding, to lord it over my parents' heads, that she had succeeded where we failed!'

'I said stop!' she screamed, and I was silent. She burst into tears, but she wiped them away angrily. 'I loved him, can't you understand that? I loved him! He wasn't just a prize to be won for me! I accepted his proposal because I wanted to be his wife, not because I wanted to be a princess!'

'And you think I didn't love him too?' I demanded. 'Do you think I would hate you so much if I didn't?'

She stared coldly for a moment. 'You went too far,' she accused. 'You ruined our engagement party, and Miguel was so upset about what you'd done that he went for that walk in the hills and wasn't being careful. He never would have taken such a risk by himself! If he hadn't been so emotional, he wouldn't have gone for that walk and he'd still be with me!'

I was stunned. 'Are you—you're not possibly—blaming me for his death?'

'Not-not completely. But yes, in part.' When I didn't answer—as I was still too shocked to answer—Elizabeth continued. 'But I can forgive you. And perhaps…you can forgive me too. We're both hurt, but we're even now. Perhaps someday we will be able to reconcile completely. We have known each other all our lives. We shouldn't throw that away.'

My eyes narrowed to slits. 'Well, isn't that quite the comfort? You'll forgive me if I don't stay any longer to listen.' I turned around to leave.

'Julia, please! You're my best friend. I don't want to lose you!' Elizabeth pleaded.

I laughed mirthlessly. 'There is very little sense in striving to hold on to what is already gone. Goodbye, Elizabeth.' I took up my skirts and made my way out of the fields, not pausing to look behind me.

I ran. I ran until my chest felt like it was on fire and my breath came out as frantic huffs, and still I ran. She had the gall to blame me for Miguel's death. I couldn't believe it. Couldn't she see that she'd brought all of this on herself? If they hadn't fallen in love, none of this would have happened! Could she not see that?

Finally, I came to my parents' estate, and slowed my pace to a graceful walk. I entered my house and could hear my mother and father's voices, along with one I'd never heard before. As they heard my footsteps, my mother said, 'Oh that must be Julia now! Excuse me!' My mother soon appeared in the hallway, and her welcoming smile quickly faded as she saw the state I was in: my face flushed, my hair long and wild around my face, the bottom of my dress and shoes splattered with blades of grass and hay. 'Oh goodness,' she said in disappointment. 'Too late now. Come on.'

She led me into the drawing room, where my father was sitting by the window with a man I'd never met before. He appeared to be only a few years younger than my father, I had to guess. He was not a handsome man by any means. His nose was wide and stubby, his thin lips barely covering the enormous crop of teeth in his mouth. His eyes seemed to bulge slightly. As he stood up to greet me, I could see the rest of his form left much to be desired too. He was tall and gawky, his arms, legs and hands seemed too long and clumsy. The only scant bit of attractiveness this man possessed was his dark red hair—an unusual, somewhat exotic shade in my estimation. Of course, the hair he had was in a ring around his head, the top of it long since fallen away and having left just shiny pink skin.

'Mr. Gareth, may I present my daughter, Julia. Julia, dear, this is Mister Alvin Gareth,' my father told me.

'How do you do, Mr. Gareth?' I said unenthusiastically, holding out my hand.

He took it and I willed myself not to wince from its cold clamminess. 'She's lovely. Every bit as lovely as you described in your letter, Lady Hartwell. You must be so proud.' He spoke as though I weren't in the room.

'Thank you, you're very kind. Julia, Mr. Gareth will be joining us for dinner tomorrow night. He has requested permission to court you, and your father and I have accepted,' my mother said.

I smiled as well as I could. So. This was the best my mother could do for me. A hideous man, practically old enough to be my father, who reeked of new money…"


Lady Tremaine abruptly stopped her story, and Cinderella looked up with bleary eyes to find the old woman had drifted off to sleep. She didn't know what to do: whether she could go back to her room or wait here under the possibility of her stepmother waking up again to finish. And so, Cinderella sat quietly for a while, and was just barely cognizant of her eyelids starting to get heavy, and her mind beginning to go empty and wander off.


Anastasia tentatively pushed the door open to her mother's room with one hand, while the other hand held a large package wrapped in paper. They were sets of bedsheets that a one of the royal pages had brought to the house early that morning. At first, Anastasia was confused by this. "What are these for?" she asked the man.

"Her Highness Queen Cinderella asked for them. That is all I know," the guard told her. "One of the royal guards shall be visiting later today. See that Her Highness is made aware." The page gave Anastasia a stern look as though it were a threat, then promptly left the property.

She was happy to have them, but she also felt a great deal of guilt. She didn't want to be in Cinderella's debt. Nevertheless they were needed and they would be used.

When she walked into the room, Anastasia was shocked. There, sitting next to her mother's bed, was Cinderella, fast asleep. Had she sat there all night?

Putting the sheets down, Anastasia crept over to her stepsister and shook her gently. Cinderella's eyes popped open in surprise. "Oh! Anastasia!"

"Shh," Anastasia responded, putting a finger to her lips. "Have you been here all night?"

Cinderella looked around. "I…I suppose I was."

"Why?"

Cinderella hesitated. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell Anastasia the story her mother was telling her, especially since it appeared Lady Tremaine was beginning to speak of her first husband in such unflattering terms. She worried it would upset her. So she said, "Oh, I couldn't sleep and I heard your mother coughing, so I came to check on her. I suppose…I fell asleep."

"Oh." Anastasia felt uncomfortable. She decided to change the subject. "Drizella got up early and went off by herself. She seemed…annoyed. I told her that you and I would take care of Mother this morning. I hope that's all right?"

"Of course." Cinderella stood up from the seat, and noticed the package on the floor beside her stepsister. "What's that?"

"Oh…yes…one of the royal pages brought it. Bedsheets?"

Cinderella smiled. "Perfect timing."

And so, together, they bathed Lady Tremaine, put her into a clean gown, and changed the sheets. Once they were done, Anastasia began to fluff the pillows under her mother's head and Cinderella gathered all the dirty linens to wash downstairs in the tub. The old woman opened her cloudy eyes and saw Anastasia standing above her. "Anastasia," she croaked. "You won't leave me."

Cinderella saw the defeated look in her stepsister's eyes. It reminded her of how a bird might look if its wings were clipped, or a horse if its legs became lame. Anastasia sighed. "No, Mother. Get some rest."

After they'd left the room and closed the door behind them, Anastasia asked Cinderella if she wanted some breakfast. Cinderella agreed, and they sat together while sharing some bread and butter and tea. Afterward, Anastasia excused herself to do the laundry, but Cinderella offered to help with that as well. Together they filled the huge washtub with water and added some soap, and worked to scrub the linens. When they were done, together they hung the sheets on the lines to allow the sun and the wind to dry them.

Next they started on the pillow cases and the towels, and all the other linens. Cinderella washed them in soap while Anastasia rinsed them in clean water and hung them to dry. They worked together in silence for several minutes until Anastasia said, "Cinderella?"

"Yes?"

"I…I have something to confess to you."

"Oh?" Cinderella turned to look at her stepsister and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. "What is it?"

Anastasia chuckled slightly. "You probably already figured it out by now. Mother didn't write that letter asking you to come. It was me."

Cinderella nodded. "Yes, she doesn't seem to be in any condition to write a letter."

"Yes." Anastasia put the clothes she was washing aside. "Cinderella, I wrote that letter hoping that you'd come, see how horrible everything was, and just throw some money at us and go away. But instead, you stayed. You've helped to take care of Mother and to take care of things around the house. You're a queen with riches and luxuries I can't even imagine, and here you are, scrubbing bedsheets in a tub. In some ways, I'm disappointed, because I just wanted your money and I didn't want you to see how low we've become. But in other ways, I'm glad you're here. You really, truly care. Even when you shouldn't have to."

Cinderella smiled. That was the kindest thing—in truth, the only kind thing—Anastasia had ever said to her. "As I said before, Anastasia: I came here to help any way I can."

And then Anastasia looked like she wanted to tell her something else, but she stopped herself and resumed rinsing the linens. She said nothing else after that. Cinderella shrugged and went back to work. She had a feeling she knew what Anastasia wanted to talk about: that man who'd come by the other day with the pastries. Cinderella had seen them together the previous evening in the garden. The man had come by and spoke with Anastasia. They'd kissed and embraced. Cinderella had seen her stepsister sneaking out of the house, and had followed her and hidden behind a tree. She felt guilty about spying on Anastasia, but she'd been curious. And now she knew that Anastasia was in love and miserable because she couldn't be free to be with her beau. She had to assume that the man was of low birth and therefore completely unworthy in Lady Tremaine's eyes. So sad, Cinderella thought to herself. Even though Anastasia had been cruel to her in the past, she still believed that everyone deserved love.

Maybe there's something I can do, Cinderella thought. I have to think about it, but I know that I could help Anastasia find happiness with the baker. After all, she thought with a secret smile, I know for a fact that dreams can come true.