There was the house. It would have looked very cold and stern, were it not
for the ivy growing all over the front and one side of it, and the colorful
tulips that bordered the walkway.
I stood outside the large stone gate, watching the house. No one seemed to be home. No, someone was home, they were opening the front door. I waved my wand over myself, muttered *Ivisaleo* and suddenly I didn't seem to be there, at least not physically. I was, of course, invisible.
A girl, about fifteen years old, was coming out of the house. My, she was a beauty. Big blue eyes, flawless skin, ringlets cascading down her back, and peeking out from the handkerchief she had tied around her hair. Her mouth was drawn in a perfect pout. She was holding a large wooden bucket.
She walked slowly to the well that was on the side of the house. *Idiots.* I thought. *Running water is available, why don't you use it?* I could answer that question: tradition. *Traditional dingbats.*
I realized I was thinking badly of my first client... oops. That wasn't going to help me.
The girl was attaching the bucket to a rope. She dropped it down, waited a moment, then started tugging on the rope, straining for all she was worth. This one wasn't too strong, it was obvious that the rope was a LittleWeight product, there was their logo every couple of inches along it.
The front door opened again. A girl about the age of the blonde beauty poked her head out. Her hair was a reddish brown, and freckles dotted her nose.
"Cinderella!" she yelled. "Hurry up with that water! I can't make dinner without it." she waited for a response. There was none. "HURRY!" she yelled. "I have to go get the bread, it's burning."
"I'm coming." sighed Cinderella, in a long-suffering voice.
"'Thanks." the head disappeared.
Cinderella pulled the bucket up the rest of the way with ease. She had as much strength as the next girl, she had been stalling. Just great. She was obviously spoiled. Great, just great.
She hobbled back to the house, opened the door... she was gone. Time for a little more in-depth work. I waved my wand over my back, and gently kicked off from the ground. The sparkly pastel wings (or at least they would be sparkly pastel if you could see them) attached to my dress started to flutter. They actually didn't do a thing to help me fly, but I wore them anyways because fairy godmothers make a better impression when they have wings.
I flew over to the nearest window, into what looked like the dining room. Nothing in there. The next room was the kitchen. Cinderella and her stepsister were both inside, the stepsister making what I hoped was soup, a couple loaves of burnt bread on the table beside her. Cinderella had set the bucket on the table also, and was now talking to her stepsister.
I pulled out a microscopic Xtra-Ear device, which was enchanted to let me hear through walls, glass, stone, etc. I slipped the beige device in my ear.
"That soup looks terrible." Cinderella was saying. "And the bread is horrendous. It looks like it fell into a firepot. I'll bet it's hard as a rock, too."
"Cinderella, please go away." the stepsister sighed resignedly, as though she had no hopes of her wishes being granted.
"No, Anya. You can't order me around!" snapped Cinderella. "Your *mother* does enough of that!" "Stop talking like that about Mother!" snapped the girl, a flush rising to her cheeks. "You're just sore because you can't have your own personal maid anymore, and you have to do these absolutely..." she searched for the right word "these... *miniscule ... chores!"
"I'm doing twice what you do!"
"Yes, today you've fetched the water, and halfway swept the entrance hall. *Before you got up* I had made breakfast, straightened my room, dusted the dining room, swept the fireplace, and watered the vegetable garden. After you woke up I weeded the tulips, cleared the table, did the dishes, mended your party dress, and fed the chickens. Now I am making lunch, and it is NOT helping that you took so long to get the water that half the vegetables got scorched because there wasn't enough water in the pot! And you also made me burn the bread, because I had to get you to move faster than a slug!!!" Anya yelled. "Now GET OUT!"
"You are indeed a cruel girl." said Cinderella in a very haughty-snobby voice. It sounded very rehearsed. She stalked out.
An angry tear made it's way down Anya's nose. She wiped it away impatiently with her apron. I wanted to stay and watch her --- I was beginning to like her more than my client. I almost wished I had been assigned to help her, she needed it more than Cinderella. But stepfamilies never seemed to get any help.
I flew over to the next window, hovering slightly. It seemed to be a parlor, a rich rug lay on the floor, there were a couple of straight-backed chairs by the fire, and a highly polished piano stood on the opposite wall. This must have been from before the father lost his money; everything looked *rich*. Cinderella was sitting on one of the chairs, embroidering silver thread onto what looked like a green silk coin purse. She was humming softly to herself. Her voice was typical of her beauty: sweet, ladylike, and perfect.
The door creaked open. A girl who seemed to be a year or two older than Cinderella, maybe 17, looked in, saw the silver needle and thread flashing, and walked briskly over to the chair. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant green gown, and her black hair was piled artistically on her head.
"Cinderella, *what* are you doing?" the girl demanded.
"Nothing that you need to concern yourself with." said Cinderella airily, not looking up from her needlework.
"Nothing I need to be concerned about, indeed!" scoffed the girl. "Except for the fact that you are using Mother's finest and most expensive thread, which she bought for the sole purpose of embroidering the gown she is making for Baroness Relina, and she has expressly told you not to touch. And that you are embroidering on my new coin purse, which I bought from my own wages."
"This purse ought to be mine. I did some of your chores yesterday, this is my payment." replied Cinderella with an unconcerned air.
"That is *not* your payment! And what exactly am I paying you for? I don't you recall doing *any* chores yesterday."
"I fed the chickens for you." said Cinderella primly.
"You spilled the feed all over the place. The chickens got fed, certainly. Half of them got nearly bloated, for heavens sake, and I had to go clean up what they didn't eat because you said it was 'too messy', if I recall correctly." the girl said with a touch of exasperation in her voice.
"The fact remains that I fed the chickens for you. It wasn't my fault that the feed spilled. one of the hens pecked at me, and I was startled." said Cinderella. "Not to mention injured."
"I don't care. Give me my purse." said the girl.
"No."
"Now." the girl held out her hand. There was a warning glint in her eye.
"No. You can't make me."
The girl sighed. "I wish I didn't have to do this." She snapped her fingers and held out her hand. The purse flew to it, along with the needle and thread. I was impressed. It takes quite a bit of practice to do unaided magic, even something simple like what she had just done.
"How dare you!" exclaimed Cinderella.
"How dare *you*." the girl corrected calmly. She held her hand out over the purse, which was lying embroidered side up on her palm. The thread glinted, then flew out of the silk, and wound itself back onto the spool of silver floss.
"All my hard work, ruined!" said Cinderella dramatically. "Sylvia, you have destroyed my self-esteem!" "Sorry about that." said Sylvia, looking amused. I bit my lip, trying to stifle the laughter that was threatening to burst out of me. "I won't have to do it again if you will use your own things from now on." She turned around and swept to the door, taking the purse and thread with her.
"Cruel sorceress!" exclaimed Cinderella.
"I'm a sorceress in training. And I'm one of the nice ones that questing princes ask directions and assistance from." Sylvia replied over her shoulder.
Cinderella scowled.
I stood outside the large stone gate, watching the house. No one seemed to be home. No, someone was home, they were opening the front door. I waved my wand over myself, muttered *Ivisaleo* and suddenly I didn't seem to be there, at least not physically. I was, of course, invisible.
A girl, about fifteen years old, was coming out of the house. My, she was a beauty. Big blue eyes, flawless skin, ringlets cascading down her back, and peeking out from the handkerchief she had tied around her hair. Her mouth was drawn in a perfect pout. She was holding a large wooden bucket.
She walked slowly to the well that was on the side of the house. *Idiots.* I thought. *Running water is available, why don't you use it?* I could answer that question: tradition. *Traditional dingbats.*
I realized I was thinking badly of my first client... oops. That wasn't going to help me.
The girl was attaching the bucket to a rope. She dropped it down, waited a moment, then started tugging on the rope, straining for all she was worth. This one wasn't too strong, it was obvious that the rope was a LittleWeight product, there was their logo every couple of inches along it.
The front door opened again. A girl about the age of the blonde beauty poked her head out. Her hair was a reddish brown, and freckles dotted her nose.
"Cinderella!" she yelled. "Hurry up with that water! I can't make dinner without it." she waited for a response. There was none. "HURRY!" she yelled. "I have to go get the bread, it's burning."
"I'm coming." sighed Cinderella, in a long-suffering voice.
"'Thanks." the head disappeared.
Cinderella pulled the bucket up the rest of the way with ease. She had as much strength as the next girl, she had been stalling. Just great. She was obviously spoiled. Great, just great.
She hobbled back to the house, opened the door... she was gone. Time for a little more in-depth work. I waved my wand over my back, and gently kicked off from the ground. The sparkly pastel wings (or at least they would be sparkly pastel if you could see them) attached to my dress started to flutter. They actually didn't do a thing to help me fly, but I wore them anyways because fairy godmothers make a better impression when they have wings.
I flew over to the nearest window, into what looked like the dining room. Nothing in there. The next room was the kitchen. Cinderella and her stepsister were both inside, the stepsister making what I hoped was soup, a couple loaves of burnt bread on the table beside her. Cinderella had set the bucket on the table also, and was now talking to her stepsister.
I pulled out a microscopic Xtra-Ear device, which was enchanted to let me hear through walls, glass, stone, etc. I slipped the beige device in my ear.
"That soup looks terrible." Cinderella was saying. "And the bread is horrendous. It looks like it fell into a firepot. I'll bet it's hard as a rock, too."
"Cinderella, please go away." the stepsister sighed resignedly, as though she had no hopes of her wishes being granted.
"No, Anya. You can't order me around!" snapped Cinderella. "Your *mother* does enough of that!" "Stop talking like that about Mother!" snapped the girl, a flush rising to her cheeks. "You're just sore because you can't have your own personal maid anymore, and you have to do these absolutely..." she searched for the right word "these... *miniscule ... chores!"
"I'm doing twice what you do!"
"Yes, today you've fetched the water, and halfway swept the entrance hall. *Before you got up* I had made breakfast, straightened my room, dusted the dining room, swept the fireplace, and watered the vegetable garden. After you woke up I weeded the tulips, cleared the table, did the dishes, mended your party dress, and fed the chickens. Now I am making lunch, and it is NOT helping that you took so long to get the water that half the vegetables got scorched because there wasn't enough water in the pot! And you also made me burn the bread, because I had to get you to move faster than a slug!!!" Anya yelled. "Now GET OUT!"
"You are indeed a cruel girl." said Cinderella in a very haughty-snobby voice. It sounded very rehearsed. She stalked out.
An angry tear made it's way down Anya's nose. She wiped it away impatiently with her apron. I wanted to stay and watch her --- I was beginning to like her more than my client. I almost wished I had been assigned to help her, she needed it more than Cinderella. But stepfamilies never seemed to get any help.
I flew over to the next window, hovering slightly. It seemed to be a parlor, a rich rug lay on the floor, there were a couple of straight-backed chairs by the fire, and a highly polished piano stood on the opposite wall. This must have been from before the father lost his money; everything looked *rich*. Cinderella was sitting on one of the chairs, embroidering silver thread onto what looked like a green silk coin purse. She was humming softly to herself. Her voice was typical of her beauty: sweet, ladylike, and perfect.
The door creaked open. A girl who seemed to be a year or two older than Cinderella, maybe 17, looked in, saw the silver needle and thread flashing, and walked briskly over to the chair. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant green gown, and her black hair was piled artistically on her head.
"Cinderella, *what* are you doing?" the girl demanded.
"Nothing that you need to concern yourself with." said Cinderella airily, not looking up from her needlework.
"Nothing I need to be concerned about, indeed!" scoffed the girl. "Except for the fact that you are using Mother's finest and most expensive thread, which she bought for the sole purpose of embroidering the gown she is making for Baroness Relina, and she has expressly told you not to touch. And that you are embroidering on my new coin purse, which I bought from my own wages."
"This purse ought to be mine. I did some of your chores yesterday, this is my payment." replied Cinderella with an unconcerned air.
"That is *not* your payment! And what exactly am I paying you for? I don't you recall doing *any* chores yesterday."
"I fed the chickens for you." said Cinderella primly.
"You spilled the feed all over the place. The chickens got fed, certainly. Half of them got nearly bloated, for heavens sake, and I had to go clean up what they didn't eat because you said it was 'too messy', if I recall correctly." the girl said with a touch of exasperation in her voice.
"The fact remains that I fed the chickens for you. It wasn't my fault that the feed spilled. one of the hens pecked at me, and I was startled." said Cinderella. "Not to mention injured."
"I don't care. Give me my purse." said the girl.
"No."
"Now." the girl held out her hand. There was a warning glint in her eye.
"No. You can't make me."
The girl sighed. "I wish I didn't have to do this." She snapped her fingers and held out her hand. The purse flew to it, along with the needle and thread. I was impressed. It takes quite a bit of practice to do unaided magic, even something simple like what she had just done.
"How dare you!" exclaimed Cinderella.
"How dare *you*." the girl corrected calmly. She held her hand out over the purse, which was lying embroidered side up on her palm. The thread glinted, then flew out of the silk, and wound itself back onto the spool of silver floss.
"All my hard work, ruined!" said Cinderella dramatically. "Sylvia, you have destroyed my self-esteem!" "Sorry about that." said Sylvia, looking amused. I bit my lip, trying to stifle the laughter that was threatening to burst out of me. "I won't have to do it again if you will use your own things from now on." She turned around and swept to the door, taking the purse and thread with her.
"Cruel sorceress!" exclaimed Cinderella.
"I'm a sorceress in training. And I'm one of the nice ones that questing princes ask directions and assistance from." Sylvia replied over her shoulder.
Cinderella scowled.