Author's Note: This is my very own, original version of the fairy tale
Cinderella. It really isn't anything like the cartoon by Disney or the
story by...I think it was the Three Brothers Grimm. But the general idea
isn't mine...but as you will see this is definitely my own twist on things.
I hope you enjoy. (R/R)
*******
It was that time of the year, when we had to walk around the villages and greet all the servants and people who lived on our land. Actually it was Papa's but this year I was old enough to join them on the trip. My brother Francis has been going for the past three years and he always teases me when I can't go. But this year I am going...whether he likes it or not.
Who am I? My name is Sydney Rochesester de la Memoria. What a name, huh? My father is the Duke de la Memoria, but I simply call him Papa. He is a French man but we live here in England, because my that is what my new stepmother wants. You see I was born in France along with my older brother. My mother died when I was only seven, which makes my brother only 12. I don't remember her, but he does and each day he goes to the chapel to offer prayers for her soul. He always used to tell me stories of how she was a beautiful princess and he always described her as having hair that was a bright golden color and flowed to all the way to the floor. He says she was young and happy, and never cross even when he locked me in the pigsty! I don't remember that but since I hate pigs it must be true.
Then she died and left us all alone. No one has ever told me how she died, I just remember that one day she wasn't there. Along came the first stepmother, but she didn't last long. Her name was Marie and she wasn't much older than I was at the time. I was ten and she was fourteen. She died in childbirth with my little sister Anne Marie. Anne Marie is in Russia with her grandfather and will likely stay there for the rest of her life. Her grandpapa says that English air is bad for one's health.
Then when I was fourteen, Papa found another young girl, she was nineteen and he hoped that she would last through child birth as she was older and stronger. But I never got a sibling from her; she died from a terrible fever. It was a warm summer day and we were sewing in the garden underneath my favorite willow tree. She fell over and started coughing up blood. I was so terrified I couldn't run for help. Francis came along and he went to get Papa. A doctor was called and they bled her. I remember seeing them put the leeches all over her body and face. I ran away and cried silently in my room, because those things are horrible. She coughed up blood and shook violently and called out in her sleep for over a fortnight, but she died one night in her fitful sleeping and the funeral was small and not many attended since she didn't have a family.
And now I am sixteen years of age, ready to be wed and I have a new stepmother. She is awful! Not in looks, no in fact she is beautiful. Dark raven hair and a light cream complexion, but she is coarse and I suspect not of noble blood. She doesn't like me at all, because many rich men come and ask father for me in marriage. She won't allow it since her daughters are a year older and should go first. They are not at all pretty and if they were their looks would be spoiled by their attitude. They are both seventeen and supposed to be twins but they look nothing alike. The first one, her name is Adele and she is tall, thin and very awkward. Her bones jut out from her skin and when she walks she looks like a bird. Her hair is blonde and stringy and just hangs at her side with no life. She is incredibly rude and haughty; if nothing is her way she will hit you and scream. I heard one of the stable boys call her a shrew!
The second is Martha, she is short and round and rosy. Her dark hair is a mass of curls that fly everywhere to the annoyance of her mother. If her eyes weren't so close to her nose and she didn't have such a thin mouth I believe she would be pretty. But oh she is so whiny. All she does is moan and complain and she won't do a single thing by herself. If my stepmother could I think she would make me their personal servant. Luckily Papa won't hear of me doing anything a servant should do.
It is time to go for the inspection. Only Francis, Papa, some troops and I will go, the "terrible two" as Francis calls my stepsisters don't want to hurt their delicate sensibilities. I don't know what that means because there isn't anything delicate about them!
*******
As we traveled through the village I looked about at the people who lived there. I was sitting up on my horse wrapped in snug furs that were keeping me very warm. The snow reached nearly up to my knees and more of it was falling about us. It wasn't falling hard; in fact it was just lightly dusting the brown grass visible through the cleared paths. I felt it was coming down only to say, "Look at me! Aren't I pretty?" Of course snow isn't human and can't feel insulted by the fact we cleared it out of our way to walk.
The houses were all huddled together and they were made out of spare wooden frames and tightly packed straw for the roof and sides. In the snow I could make out poor children frolicking. I was deeply concerned that they weren't dressed properly. The boys were in thin pants and many had holes in them. The shoes they wore, if they wore any looked to be thin leather that couldn't offer much protection. If you are wondering how I see their shoes in all the snow it is because one of the older boys was dangling a smaller one upside down in the snow. As we came further into the village I saw what looked like a church nestled in the middle of houses. This was the only building that wasn't made of straw. It looked to be stone and wood. The church was also the only one to have smoke coming from the roof. I kicked my horse lightly so it would move up to my father.
"Papa, why don't they have furs on? And why is only the church have a fire burning inside?" I asked him. My brother looked over at me as if I was a dolt.
"They are poor, Sydney, how could they afford furs? And their homes would burn with fires inside." Francis explained condescendingly.
"Well build better homes," I told him.
"They don't have any money to do that," Papa explained quietly. I grew silent and looked at the children playing. They seemed so happy, but they must be cold and I am sure many of them will grow sick. Papa stopped his horse in front of the church and a plump friar came out to greet him.
"Hello m'lord," he bowed deeply. Papa nodded and the man straightened up. "My name is Friar Paul and I am very pleased to see that you are well and so is your family."
"Thank-you," Papa boomed out in his great voice he used only with people who were of a lesser stature than himself.
"Would you like a list of things we request this year?" Friar Paul asked him. I began to ask what he was talking about but Francis put a gloved hand on my arm.
"We do these rounds, and Papa receives a list of requests each time. Mostly for building materials and land rights but occasionally there is a serious problem," he hissed into my ear.
"What is a serious problem?" I whispered back.
"Bandits, gypsies, wild animals, disputes with other villages," Francis replied, still in his hissing voice.
"Oh," I sounded quite lame but this was all new to me.
"Papa is the only lord to do this for his people so they are very lucky," Francis straightened in his horse and watched silently as the Friar handed Papa a scroll. A few young women came out of the church and my brother glanced at them with interest. All of them were very pretty, but I knew my brother was too smart to want them for anything other than a quick tumble. That may seem like a horrible phrase for a girl my age to use, but sadly it is true. I didn't even know what that meant until I caught Francis with a maid in the library on one of the chairs. I still think it is rather hard to tumble when you are on a chair but I am only a virgin so I don't know about these things.
Friar Paul was talking animatedly with his arms swinging wildly in the air. His face was turning beet red and I decided to listen in again because the man was very excited about what he was saying.
"...M'lord there were thirty of them. Thieves, they were, took all our livestock and half the woman. We didn't have much else for them to take. Killed many of the men with arrows. We don't know what to do. This was a week ago but the leader promised he would return. We all stay in the church so that when they come we will have some sort of protection..."the Friar babbled on and I stopped interested in what he was saying.
I never have seen a thief or a gypsy and I always wanted to. They seemed so exciting and..OH MY! Francis just fell off his horse. No one else seemed to notice so I went help him up. I jumped off my own stallion and plodded over to him. "Francis you big oaf.." I whispered playfully. Walking around his horse I saw him lying face down in the snow with blood pouring out all around him. He had an arrow that went straight through his heart sticking out. I yelled loudly and Papa came running over. He starting swearing and lifted my brother onto his lap. The Friar was running for the town physician and the girls had run back into the church.
I fell into the snow on my knees tears pouring over his body, and buried my face into his shoulder. He didn't move or talk and I felt his breathing slowly leave. He was dead before the doctor even made it over. My brother was dead. He died in my arms and from that moment on my life was never the same.
*******
It was that time of the year, when we had to walk around the villages and greet all the servants and people who lived on our land. Actually it was Papa's but this year I was old enough to join them on the trip. My brother Francis has been going for the past three years and he always teases me when I can't go. But this year I am going...whether he likes it or not.
Who am I? My name is Sydney Rochesester de la Memoria. What a name, huh? My father is the Duke de la Memoria, but I simply call him Papa. He is a French man but we live here in England, because my that is what my new stepmother wants. You see I was born in France along with my older brother. My mother died when I was only seven, which makes my brother only 12. I don't remember her, but he does and each day he goes to the chapel to offer prayers for her soul. He always used to tell me stories of how she was a beautiful princess and he always described her as having hair that was a bright golden color and flowed to all the way to the floor. He says she was young and happy, and never cross even when he locked me in the pigsty! I don't remember that but since I hate pigs it must be true.
Then she died and left us all alone. No one has ever told me how she died, I just remember that one day she wasn't there. Along came the first stepmother, but she didn't last long. Her name was Marie and she wasn't much older than I was at the time. I was ten and she was fourteen. She died in childbirth with my little sister Anne Marie. Anne Marie is in Russia with her grandfather and will likely stay there for the rest of her life. Her grandpapa says that English air is bad for one's health.
Then when I was fourteen, Papa found another young girl, she was nineteen and he hoped that she would last through child birth as she was older and stronger. But I never got a sibling from her; she died from a terrible fever. It was a warm summer day and we were sewing in the garden underneath my favorite willow tree. She fell over and started coughing up blood. I was so terrified I couldn't run for help. Francis came along and he went to get Papa. A doctor was called and they bled her. I remember seeing them put the leeches all over her body and face. I ran away and cried silently in my room, because those things are horrible. She coughed up blood and shook violently and called out in her sleep for over a fortnight, but she died one night in her fitful sleeping and the funeral was small and not many attended since she didn't have a family.
And now I am sixteen years of age, ready to be wed and I have a new stepmother. She is awful! Not in looks, no in fact she is beautiful. Dark raven hair and a light cream complexion, but she is coarse and I suspect not of noble blood. She doesn't like me at all, because many rich men come and ask father for me in marriage. She won't allow it since her daughters are a year older and should go first. They are not at all pretty and if they were their looks would be spoiled by their attitude. They are both seventeen and supposed to be twins but they look nothing alike. The first one, her name is Adele and she is tall, thin and very awkward. Her bones jut out from her skin and when she walks she looks like a bird. Her hair is blonde and stringy and just hangs at her side with no life. She is incredibly rude and haughty; if nothing is her way she will hit you and scream. I heard one of the stable boys call her a shrew!
The second is Martha, she is short and round and rosy. Her dark hair is a mass of curls that fly everywhere to the annoyance of her mother. If her eyes weren't so close to her nose and she didn't have such a thin mouth I believe she would be pretty. But oh she is so whiny. All she does is moan and complain and she won't do a single thing by herself. If my stepmother could I think she would make me their personal servant. Luckily Papa won't hear of me doing anything a servant should do.
It is time to go for the inspection. Only Francis, Papa, some troops and I will go, the "terrible two" as Francis calls my stepsisters don't want to hurt their delicate sensibilities. I don't know what that means because there isn't anything delicate about them!
*******
As we traveled through the village I looked about at the people who lived there. I was sitting up on my horse wrapped in snug furs that were keeping me very warm. The snow reached nearly up to my knees and more of it was falling about us. It wasn't falling hard; in fact it was just lightly dusting the brown grass visible through the cleared paths. I felt it was coming down only to say, "Look at me! Aren't I pretty?" Of course snow isn't human and can't feel insulted by the fact we cleared it out of our way to walk.
The houses were all huddled together and they were made out of spare wooden frames and tightly packed straw for the roof and sides. In the snow I could make out poor children frolicking. I was deeply concerned that they weren't dressed properly. The boys were in thin pants and many had holes in them. The shoes they wore, if they wore any looked to be thin leather that couldn't offer much protection. If you are wondering how I see their shoes in all the snow it is because one of the older boys was dangling a smaller one upside down in the snow. As we came further into the village I saw what looked like a church nestled in the middle of houses. This was the only building that wasn't made of straw. It looked to be stone and wood. The church was also the only one to have smoke coming from the roof. I kicked my horse lightly so it would move up to my father.
"Papa, why don't they have furs on? And why is only the church have a fire burning inside?" I asked him. My brother looked over at me as if I was a dolt.
"They are poor, Sydney, how could they afford furs? And their homes would burn with fires inside." Francis explained condescendingly.
"Well build better homes," I told him.
"They don't have any money to do that," Papa explained quietly. I grew silent and looked at the children playing. They seemed so happy, but they must be cold and I am sure many of them will grow sick. Papa stopped his horse in front of the church and a plump friar came out to greet him.
"Hello m'lord," he bowed deeply. Papa nodded and the man straightened up. "My name is Friar Paul and I am very pleased to see that you are well and so is your family."
"Thank-you," Papa boomed out in his great voice he used only with people who were of a lesser stature than himself.
"Would you like a list of things we request this year?" Friar Paul asked him. I began to ask what he was talking about but Francis put a gloved hand on my arm.
"We do these rounds, and Papa receives a list of requests each time. Mostly for building materials and land rights but occasionally there is a serious problem," he hissed into my ear.
"What is a serious problem?" I whispered back.
"Bandits, gypsies, wild animals, disputes with other villages," Francis replied, still in his hissing voice.
"Oh," I sounded quite lame but this was all new to me.
"Papa is the only lord to do this for his people so they are very lucky," Francis straightened in his horse and watched silently as the Friar handed Papa a scroll. A few young women came out of the church and my brother glanced at them with interest. All of them were very pretty, but I knew my brother was too smart to want them for anything other than a quick tumble. That may seem like a horrible phrase for a girl my age to use, but sadly it is true. I didn't even know what that meant until I caught Francis with a maid in the library on one of the chairs. I still think it is rather hard to tumble when you are on a chair but I am only a virgin so I don't know about these things.
Friar Paul was talking animatedly with his arms swinging wildly in the air. His face was turning beet red and I decided to listen in again because the man was very excited about what he was saying.
"...M'lord there were thirty of them. Thieves, they were, took all our livestock and half the woman. We didn't have much else for them to take. Killed many of the men with arrows. We don't know what to do. This was a week ago but the leader promised he would return. We all stay in the church so that when they come we will have some sort of protection..."the Friar babbled on and I stopped interested in what he was saying.
I never have seen a thief or a gypsy and I always wanted to. They seemed so exciting and..OH MY! Francis just fell off his horse. No one else seemed to notice so I went help him up. I jumped off my own stallion and plodded over to him. "Francis you big oaf.." I whispered playfully. Walking around his horse I saw him lying face down in the snow with blood pouring out all around him. He had an arrow that went straight through his heart sticking out. I yelled loudly and Papa came running over. He starting swearing and lifted my brother onto his lap. The Friar was running for the town physician and the girls had run back into the church.
I fell into the snow on my knees tears pouring over his body, and buried my face into his shoulder. He didn't move or talk and I felt his breathing slowly leave. He was dead before the doctor even made it over. My brother was dead. He died in my arms and from that moment on my life was never the same.