Hello, again, readers!
If the skeleton of this plot seems oddly familiar, let me just say this: yes, I was inspired by the fabulous Gregory Maguire. Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister is my favorite of his novels. And, surprisingly, it was made into a very accurate, well-directed TV movie that stars Stockard Channing, Jonathan Pryce, Azura Skye, and Matthew Goode. Read or see it, if you haven't.
This is definitely not Disney. And if Cinderella is your favorite princess, well… you might want to skip this chapter. Consider yourself warned. Also, for being such a huge Disney fan, I made a huge mistake for the majority of time I spent writing this story: I incorrectly named the brunette stepsister "Drusilla." Thank you, Whedon-verse. Even now, saying "Drizella" sounds weird, to me. Huh.
Happy reading!
Jenn
Do you enjoy a good love story? I have one to tell. It has a handsome prince, a beautiful maiden, and even a fairy godmother. And there must be a source of evil, something that good can fight against. So, let me introduce a family. And, while I am sharing my story, you may find that the players are treated somewhat unfairly. I would ask you to reserve your judgment of my narration until the very end. Not every story finishes with good triumphing over evil. Life is much more complicated than what a happy ending has to offer.
We start with the most important person, of course: the beautiful maiden. The only child of a baron, living a prime life within her father's luxurious estate. Her mother died, the tragic outcome of a fall off her horse, when the poor girl was only six years old, and both she and her father felt the loneliness that haunted the house afterward. The baron was often away, tending to business affairs. Or so he claimed. His visits were brief and strained, as he only returned to pacify his daughter. Days after his arrival, he would be itching to leave; what he would never admit was that it was too painful, seeing his late wife's image within his daughter's pretty face.
Ella's pretty face.
It was ordered for her to be given everything and anything her heart desired, whenever the baron was away. She had toys, ponies, pets, dresses, and everything else a child could ever wish for.
But what she wanted most was her mother and father.
In his absence, she acted out.
It started with innocuous, silly little things. Painting on the walls, instead of her canvas. Wearing her most costly dresses and then running outside to find the nearest mudhole. As she grew, she became more restless. She chased the cats and dogs with switches. A tantrum led to her breaking every decorative ornament in a room.
And then, it became worse. One of the ponies was badly burned with fiery coals. She smacked her governess so hard that the poor woman had a black eye for over a week. The baron's newest carriage was hacked with what appeared to be a kitchen knife.
There were no casualties, and the servants did their best to conceal the favored child's horrific behaviors from her clueless father.
Ah, now, don't worry! Here's where the rest of the family comes into play.
When little Ella was ten, her father remarried. He brought home, from one of his travels, his new bride and her two daughters. Ella was surprised, to be sure, but not unhappily so. The daughters of her new stepmother, Anastasia and Drizella, were slightly younger than she, and Ella had always wanted a sister. Now, she had two. And a mother.
Two years passed, and everyone stayed home. Ella had her father back. The cruelty ceased, and she played harmoniously with her step-sisters, although she never referred to them as such. They were all three sisters, as far as they were concerned. Ella, being the oldest, often controlled the play, but she was charismatic enough to entice the other two into whatever activity she organized.
There were some…questionable occurrences. Drizella sprained her ankle from what she claimed was a fall, even though Anastasia swore that she was pushed from the stairs by Ella. Not too long after that, Anastasia awoke to find most of her hair cut and littered across her bed.
The baron chalked it up to a natural sibling rivalry and growing pains. The stepmother watched over her daughters closely and picked her battles carefully.
After a visit to the court, the baron fell ill. The term "influenza" was used to describe the mysterious sickness, and it seemed to spare no one it afflicted. Even the queen herself succumbed to her ailments. The country was in mourning, but, in Ella's home, time was standing still.
The doctor immediately ordered for the baron to be quarantined to a secluded wing of the house. No one in the family was allowed to see him, and only a handful of servants were allowed to tend to him. They, too, had to separate themselves from the rest of the staff.
And, once again, Ella was without her father.
They all lived in a kind of purgatory. The baron would improve, then his condition would worsen. Some days, he would wave to Ella from his window, as she played in the courtyard. Then, the next day, the doctor would be discussing with the stepmother when to give the baron his last rites. Coughing would echo through the estate at night, and Ella waited for her life to change. It couldn't be this way forever. Either her father would recover or he would die. But the waiting was hell.
She still played with Anastasia and Drizella, but she was quick to lose her temper or tire of whatever they were doing.
It took months for the influenza to drain the life from the baron. He fought so hard. Or did he? Some might say that he was ready to see his angelic wife welcome him into Heaven. Some might assume that he knew more of his daughter's dark heart than he wanted to admit. Death would absolve him from seeing his precious Ella make terrible choices…
…but he didn't think about the fact that his permanent absence would make things so much worse.
The last rites were read, and everyone was told that the master of the house was dead. The girls and their mother weren't even allowed to see the body removed, under strict instruction from the family physician. They stared out the windows of their bedrooms, the stepmother with a contentious eye and her daughters with indifference. They were ready to move on.
Ella didn't look. She played in her room with her dolls, and she held her anger within her heart.
There were no immediate changes, at the late baron's estate. The three girls went on playing, as if they were the best of friends. The stepmother continued to run her household. The servants breathed a sigh of relief that the master was finally dead and the sickness and demons that hovered around the body were gone.
Every so often, there was an…incident. But, as the stepmother wasn't always present to watch the children, almost all of the small crises went unreported. Either Anastasia and Drizella, desperate to remain in their stepsister's favor, kept it to themselves, or the servants, still soft-hearted toward the beautiful little orphan, hid the evidence from their mistress.
A thin cut on Drizella's cheek, not deep enough to scar. A large bruise on Anastasia's left thigh. The goldfish in the play room disappearing.
Everything was an accident: a fall, rough play, a collision, or possibly the fault of the stepmother's cat, Lucifer. Lady Tremaine heard every excuse with a cynical look. And she was losing her patience.
One day, almost a year after the funeral, Ella, Drizella, and Anastasia were playing outside. The girls ran through the woods on the property, enjoying the sunshine and taking turns pretending to be a predator that stalked the others. Only the three of them knew what happened, exactly, but the servants saw Drizella running from the tree line holding her bloody nose.
There was no concealing this.
The nose was broken, caused from a tree branch being pulled back and flung into her path. Both girls admitted to their mother that it was Ella who had done it. Lady Tremaine was calm and collected as she had always been. It was as if she knew this day was coming.
Ella was moved from her room to cramped quarters at the top of the estate's single tower. It was drafty and isolated. You needed to take the rickety wooden steps in a spiral to the very top.
The servants begged for their mistress to have mercy on their late master's only child.
"She is thirteen years old," Lady Tremaine answered their pleas, matter-of-factly. "Stop cowing to her!"
Drizella and Anastasia watched Ella ascend the aged stairs with trepidation. Ella would not forgive this. Her position and possessions taken, there was no telling what the vindictive beauty would do.
But they feared nothing, it seemed. Their stepsister adopted a humble, lowly posture within her family. The stepmother put the girl to work, refusing to let the little hellion live without contributing in some productive fashion. Ella kept her eyes down, spoke only when necessary, and obeyed the words of her stepmother.
Lady Tremaine, no matter how Ella tried to please her, never warmed to the girl. She eyed her with suspicion. With every month in the subservient position, Ella pitied herself more and more, imagining her situation to be much worse than it truly was. Her stepsisters were demanding. Her stepmother was cruel. She gave herself nicknames to lament her fall from grace.
The mistress of the chateau, over the years that followed, lost much of her fortune. Some of the blame rested on her own shoulders, as Lady Tremaine did not seem to have the talent of managing the tenets on her land. Some of the blame was solely on Nature, as a series of drought and bitterly cold months robbed the fields of their usual bounty. More and more of the staff had to be dismissed.
If Ella could have seen the pleading her stepsisters did on her behalf, behind closed doors and in private petition to their mother… perhaps she wouldn't have treated them so callously. It was through their efforts that Ella remained at her childhood home, the sole servant left on the immediate grounds.
Anastasia and Drizella grew in grace, if not beauty. They were thankful for the late baron taking them and their mother in, and, although he wasn't exactly an exemplary stepfather, he had saved the ladies from utter obscurity and eventual ruin. Ella, as perfectly formed as she was, held no rank, as long as their mother did not acknowledge her as a part of the family. How could they be jealous of a pretty servant that had lost both parents and all good standing? They pitied her. They demanded little of her. And they tried, in small ways, to mend fences. Smiles, compliments…an agonizingly slow reconciling.
The two blood sisters were given every opportunity and luxury to add to their accomplishments, to the mounting detriment of the estate's crumbling finances. Lady Tremaine had some reason for her insistence that her daughters be well-bred, but she never spoke about it. Her daughters were not so simple-minded as to be ignorant of what their mother had in mind.
Drizella was given singing lessons, although she hated the activity. Every other musical endeavor had been utter disaster. She couldn't play any musical instrument, so her mother demanded her to sing. She did so, submissively taking her mother's corrections and then braying like a donkey. Once, as Drizella walked back to her room, after one such lesson, she heard Ella singing the very same song. Her voice was soft, but strong. It echoed through the foyer, and Drizella smiled with wonder at her stepsister's natural talent.
Anastasia took an interest in playing the flute; she enjoyed the mechanics of the instrument, but she hated the pressure her mother placed upon her. After a particularly grueling session with the domineering matriarch, Anastasia fled the music room and hastily sought sanctuary in her bedroom. On the way there, she collided with Ella.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" Ella cried out. "I'm so clumsy! Please forgive me!"
The redhead froze. "No, Ella," she started tenuously, "it's fine. I'm equally at fault. I just wanted so desperately to be away from mother-" She bit her lip and stopped the unkind rant.
"Music today?" Ella asked with cautious optimism. She granted Anastasia a small smile of sympathy.
"I – well, yes."
"You know," the blonde beauty gently spoke, "I think it's wonderful that you play the flute, Ana."
Anastasia's spirits lifted, hearing the term of endearment. Ella hadn't spoken this informally in years. In fact, this was already the longest conversation the two of them had since Ella's banishment to the tower.
"Well, thank you, Ella." There was an awkward pause between them, until Anastasia blurted out the next sentence. "Drusilla says you have a lovely voice!"
Ella chuckled demurely. "Oh, no! Did she hear me singing? I am mortified!"
The sound of a throat being cleared cut the air between them, and both girls whipped their heads to see Lady Tremaine staring at them with disapproval.
"Ella, I believe you still have chores that are yet to be finished, am I right?"
"Yes, stepmother," the girl respectfully curtseyed and hurried away.
Anastasia watched the retreat with reluctance. When Ella was gone, the daughter turned her attention to the older woman.
"Mother, why must you be so severe? We were only speaking cordially!"
"Don't be so naïve, Anastasia!" The tone was leveled at her youngest with a derisive air. Dramatically twirling her skirt, Lady Tremaine regally strode toward her private rooms, leaving a befuddled young woman in her wake.
There were a few more occasions, after that, where one of the sisters, never both, was able to have little conversations with their ousted stepsister. Once was another instance with Anastasia, while the redhead sat in her room working on needlepoint. Ella made the bed, staying silent until she heard the younger girl cry out.
"Ana, forgive me for interrupting you," she stepped toward the seated woman, taking care to give her a wide berth. "But, are you injured?"
The answer was obvious. Anastasia sucked the tip of her left middle finger. She removed her pricked digit to momentarily answer.
"I HATE needlepoint! What is the point, if I am to be married off to some nobleman, anyway? What would a duke or baron care about how well I'm able to decorate pillows?"
The whining was halted, when the finger found its way back to the mouth of the pouting girl. Ella came closer to her, bending down and placing her arm around her stepsister.
"It's true, Ana," she lightly consoled. "I doubt barons and dukes care much for the artistry of needlepoint."
The girls looked to each other and laughed heartily. Tension, what little remained, lifted. Anastasia placed both hands in her lap and leaned into the warmth that Ella offered.
"Still," the cheery voice of Ella continued on, "if Mother wishes you to embroider cushions across the kingdom, you know it's best to abide by her decision."
Anastasia scoffed. "She's hardly a mother, to you," she muttered.
Ella stood and began to walk for the door.
"Oh, Ella! No! I didn't mean – I was trying to – I just wish she was nicer to you, is all. That's all I meant! I'm sorry, if that came out wrong!"
The servant stopped and turned back to face her.
"She isn't mine, I know," Ella stated humbly. She smiled and there was no malice or hurt behind it. "But, with both of my parents in Heaven, I have only you, Drizella, and my stepmother to call family. To love."
After she left, Anastasia recited the conversation to herself, anxious to share the precious moment with her brunette sister.
Drizella had her own moment, not a week later. Emboldened by Anastasia's two stories, Drizella waited for a time to speak with her stepsister that would not be overheard by her mother. Ella delivered a dress that she had repaired, and, instead of nodding and being about her day, Drizella spoke up.
"It's lovely, Ella, thank you for fixing it, for me."
Ella gave a shy smile, more serious than the one reserved for Anastasia. "You're most welcome…Izzy."
The nickname had the same effect on Drizella that it had on Anastasia. Nostalgic. Immediate connection.
"Ella, you have to know…if we could go back, if we could have stood up to our mother, we would have made sure, Ana and I, that you would have remained with us. We're so sorry. I hate the rift this caused between us."
"Oh, Izzy," Ella replied with a shake of her head. "It's of no use to dwell on our pasts, is it? I would change a great many things, too… It's only our future choices that we can control, to make our dreams come true."
Drizella nodded, agreeing with the unifying sentiment. She and Ella paused, then, and remained uncomfortable for the duration of the silent moment. Drizella wondered if she should say something. It was Ella, though, who finally spoke.
"What do you dream about, Izzy?"
"Me?" the brunette girl asked in surprise. "Um, I…should like to marry someone handsome, if I have my way about it!" She giggled, and Ella gave a broad smile to join her.
"Marriage, already?"
"Well, you know that Mother is grooming Ana and I for a proper match. Something to bring us fortune and favor in the court. I'm worried that I'll end up married off to some plump, old baron, or someone terrible." Her words trailed off, as did her eyes, staring off into an imagined fate.
"Ah, I see."
Another uncomfortably long pause. Ella seemed to be waiting patiently for Drizella to speak.
"Um…and you, Ella? What do you wish for?"
"I have you and Ana. I couldn't wish for better sisters, even if we were bonded by more than marriage. I am content to serve my family…but I should like to leave the estate someday, even if only for a night."
"You don't wish to marry?"
"I have no hopes to marry. I am no one of consequence, any more."
"But, Ella, you're so beautiful! I'm sure there's plenty of men who would fall over themselves to have you!"
"I can hardly meet any of them, if I must stay within the boundaries of my stepmother's estate."
Footsteps were heard by both girls, coming from the hall outside the room. Confident, steady, long strides that could only belong to one person.
"Goodbye, Izzy," Ella whispered, then exited.
Drizella heard a short exchange outside her door. Ella greeted Lady Tremaine, and the mistress of the house replied with a terse dismissal. The favored daughter cringed at the cruelty of her mother to her poor stepsister.
It came about, mere months later, that a letter of correspondence arrived at the Tremaine estate. When the messenger informed Ella that it came directly from the palace, the young woman realized that it was urgent enough to warrant disrupting her stepsisters' music lesson.
From the foyer, pitchy notes and uneven tempos could be heard ringing out from the music room. As Ella climbed the stairs, Drizella's shaky voice attempted to find the melody of the song all three collaborated on. Anastasia's flute hesitantly hit the correct notes, with the occasional miss, but sorely off-beat. The only component that sounded both purposeful and unerring was the piano. Played, of course, by Lady Tremaine. Occasionally, the piano keys repeated, loudly, to help the singer find the pitch. Occasionally, an older, elegant voice sang an instruction to one or both daughters.
Ella knocked boldly on the wooden door to the music room.
A crash of piano keys was heard on the other side, along with an exasperatedly shouted 'yes.'
When the door was opened, Lady Tremaine tore into the family servant.
"Ella! I've warned you NEVER to interrupt while-"
"But this just came from the palace!"
"The palace!" The two stepsisters repeated, both immediately flustered.
Lady Tremaine took the parchment from Ella's hand, then turned away from her. The stepdaughter was forgotten, in lieu of the exciting news.
"Well…there's to be a ball!"
"A ball?" the girls, again, repeated.
"In honor of His Highness, the prince!"
"Oh! The prince?!"
"And, by royal command, every eligible maiden is to attend!" Lady Tremaine's eyes lit up, at this last line, clearly understanding its hidden meaning.
"Why, that's us!" Drizella exclaimed.
"And I'm so eligible!" Anastasia added.
"Why, that means I can go, too!" Ella said.
All three Tremaine ladies turned slowly to face the young woman who had been dressed in servant clothes for years, now. Anastasia and Drizella were a bit nervous, watching their mother's expression go from shock to displeasure.
"Well?" Ella stared down her stepmother with the first sign of defiance that she'd shown in years. "Why not? After all, I'm still a member of the family and it says 'by royal command, every eligible maiden is to attend'."
The matriarch's eyes went to shrewd slits, as she reread the decree. "Yes," she drew the word out with reluctance. "So it does." Her demeanor and cadence shifted dramatically, and she perked up considerably. "Well, I see no reason why you can't go, if you get all your work done-"
"Oh, I will. I promise!" the blonde chirped back, and turned to leave.
"AND," Lady Tremaine called out, making Ella spin back around, "if you can find something suitable to wear."
"I'm sure I can. Oh, thank you, stepmother!" She turned on her heel, once more, and was not stopped from departing.
"Mother?" Drizella timidly spoke. "Do you realize what you just said?"
"Of course," the lordly woman replied. "I said if. And, please take note that your stepsister must do everything ON HER OWN." The tone was unmistakable. Not a threat, but a rule. "If you help her, in any way, it will result in your ruin. Mark my words, you foolish girls! Ella cares only for herself."
There was a week until the ball, which was met with a flurry of activity in the Tremaine household. Money was spent as if it was readily available. New dresses for the girls, excluding Ella, with jewels, stockings, boots, and other finery. For herself, Lady Tremaine chose her most regal gown, one leftover from her years as the prestigious wife of a wealthy baron.
Throughout the preparations, the only one who spoke a word to Ella was the stepmother. There were times that Ella would linger in the hall outside the bedrooms. Drizella would emerge, see her stepsister, and give a saddened look, while hurrying either away or back inside. Anastasia would head to her room, find Ella waiting for her, and hide in the nearest alcove. Eventually, Ella's waiting would prove in vain, as Lady Tremaine's voice would ring through the estate, calling the servant away and onto other duties.
The day of the ball, the ladies all stayed in their rooms, as Ella rushed to complete all of her chores in a timely manner. Trays of food and tea were placed on the floor outside each bedroom, taken inside, then placed back on the floor to be collected. Rustling could be heard, as Ella placed her ear on each door.
That evening, Lady Tremaine, Drizella, and Anastasia all met in the foyer. For the first time, it was Ella that was nowhere to be found.
The three ladies walked proudly in their elegant garments. Drizella was happy to be wearing anything new, although the color was not especially flattering to her complexion. Her gown was a sickly cross between a pear green and chartreuse. The accents were either light turquoise or a poor imitation of the verdant lawns of the estate. She'd begged Anastasia to switch dresses, but the youngest sister refused. Ana had always preferred pink, although it hardly suited her. The bright, peony-colored gown with fuscia and plum wine adornments contrasted horribly with Anastasia's auburn curls.
When they reached the front door, their mother turned to address them.
"Now remember, when you're presented to His Highness, be sure-"
"Wait!"
Down the same grand staircase, a desperate Ella ran.
"Please! Wait for me!"
Anastasia bit her lip, watching the scene unfold. Drizella clenched her teeth and tried to look excited for her stepsister. Ella reached the bottom and twirled in the plainly-constructed dress.
"Isn't it lovely? Do you like it?"
The two younger ladies turned to their mother. Permission for Ella to attend the ball was the decision of one woman…who looked thoroughly disgusted.
"I believe I told you to wear something suitable, Ella, did I not?"
Lady Tremaine sauntered over to her stepdaughter, whose face was now crestfallen and wary.
"How very clever," the grey-haired woman started. "I see that you did make an attempt to elevate this…dress. These beads," a finger went to hook her finger beneath the necklace Ella wore. "They give it a nice touch. Don't you think, Drizella?"
"Yes," the daughter obediently responded.
"And to whom do they actually belong?"
"Me," Drizella confirmed with a whisper.
"Did you help your stepsister, then, after I ordered you not to?"
"No."
"Ah," Lady Tremaine let the beads fall back to the lovely girl's neck. "So, she stole them from your room."
Drizella twitched at the accusation. She wasn't happy about Ella taking something from her, but she felt guiltier about the confrontation they now found themselves taking part in.
"Give them back, Ella." The stepmother's voice was laden with icy anger.
Ella shot a hateful look to her stepsister, then took the necklace off and handed it to the brunette.
"And that sash," the stepmother continued, "it, too, looks familiar. Does it belong to you, Ella?"
"No," the stepdaughter grit out through her teeth.
"Who does it belong to?"
None of the four ladies spoke, and the tension grew to an unbearable degree. Finally, needing to breathe, Anastasia admitted ownership.
"It's mine, mother."
"Did you help your stepsister, after I told you not to?"
"No."
"So, our cunning little Ella stole it, too?" Lady Tremaine had a catty smile, allowing Ella to glare at Anastasia. "Give it back, as well," she ordered.
"I will NOT," the beauty scoffed. "I may as well take shears to my gown. It holds everything together!"
"You will remove it, or I will do so. Perhaps I shall take your advice and go find some shears?"
Ella stared into the unrelenting eyes of her stepmother. There would be no moving the woman who had, for years, watched the baron's daughter weasel her way out of every predicament. She tore the sash, herself, ripping both the fabric and her dress, ruining both materials. Instead of handing the ragged cloth to her stepsister, she let it fall to the ground beside her. Angry tears poured from her eyes.
Anastasia moved to run to Ella's side, but her mother spoke to stop her.
"That's quite enough!" Anastasia froze, her arm reaching out for her stepsister. "Hurry along, now, both of you. I won't have you upsetting yourselves." She snapped her fingers at her youngest and motioned for her daughters to exit.
They obeyed, leaving out the door, which their mother held open. Before Lady Tremaine pulled it shut, she turned to her sole stepchild.
"Good night," she said, with finality, but not with express distaste. It was a knowing look and farewell. She'd waited for this moment from the time the first poorly-explained bruise had appeared on Anastasia. Since the cut on Drizella's cheek that healed into a thin scar. Since the branch, on the very same daughter, had deformed little Drizella's nose.
Meanwhile, the two girls, outside and away from their mother's sight, looked to each other. It was an agreement. A nod. A resolve to not let the night end like this. Ella deserved better than what their mother would allow. It was up to them. They wouldn't outwardly defy their mother, but they could…help. In some small way.
Drizella clenched the necklace in her fisted hand. When her mother was outside, she strode past her.
"That little thief! My beads! How could she, Mother?! That ungrateful, wicked girl! I'm putting these back in my jewelry chest, and then I'll be back."
"Drizella," her mother warned.
"I can't leave them in the carriage, Mother! And I have nowhere to put them!"
Her mother narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious.
"I can't believe I actually felt sorry for her," Drizella hissed.
Lady Tremaine's countenance softened, then. She gave her daughter a sympathetic look.
"You see her, now, as I always have. You didn't know any better." The weary woman sighed. "Take the beads directly to your room, come straight back down, and DO NOT speak to your stepsister. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mother," she gave a single nod and set her expression to one of disgust.
As soon as she was inside, she ran to Ella, who had collapsed to the floor. There were tears on the blonde's cheeks, but she was strangely solemn. Apathetic, almost.
"Ella? Ella!" Drizella yelled, to snap the dazed woman out of her trance. "Ella, listen to me. Do you remember the stories the cooks and housekeepers used to tell about the pond at the end of the property?"
When she looked up, Drizella continued.
"Here, take my beads," she said, thrusting the necklace back into Ella's hands. "Throw them in the pond, petition the fairies, pray to your mother, implore whatever spirits you can to help you, in this hour of need." The brunette gave her stepsister's hands a squeeze, then a sad smile. "I'm sorry that I cannot do more for you Ella. I wish I was stronger, braver…like you."
Ella bumbled a little, as she stood, precarious on her feet and swaying with the necklace dangling from her fingers. Even in rags, she was unmistakably beautiful.
"Thank you, Izzy," the blonde said in a flat, low voice. Disbelieving, perhaps.
Enough time passed that Drizella was sure her absence would be irritating her mother. She rushed out, and the carriage took off for the palace.
And now, dear reader, we leave the ugly stepsisters to see the lovely Ella become the vision that would inspire countless versions of her story.
But, I'll admit, I am speculating as to how all this happened. No one was there, except for Ella herself, and whomever the mysterious agent was that sent her to the ball. It might have been a beggar who was secretly a master seamstress. Maybe it was the ghost of her dead mother, throwing down a frock and accessories from the heavens. Or maybe Ella looted another home and procured her own vestments.
I prefer the most fantastical, magical story of them all. You can't, in my opinion, have a fairy tale without a fairy.
Ella runs out of the house, through the garden, past the orchard, over the grassy hill, and to the pond that sits at the edge of the estate's boundary. It's not a large enough body of water to be called a lake, but many claim that it is quite deep at its center. Most of it is covered, hooded by willow trees that shield outside light from illuminating what is within. It is rumored to be a safe haven for fairy folk. Ella visited it a few times, but she never found anything more than tadpoles and fireflies.
Now, she sits, crying by the water and watching the fireflies dance about the air around her.
Offer a gift. Something precious to receive your heart's desire.
That's what the servants would murmur amongst themselves. But people believe a lot of stupid, stupid things, Ella thinks.
Still. Hour of need. She follows Drizella's advice and tosses the necklace into the center of the pond. It barely creates a splash, in the dim light, and it disappears within seconds. Ella prays. She begs. She cries harder.
One tiny ball of light floats closer to her. And, as it nears, it grows. The light becomes too intense for Ella to look at. She stumbles back, away from the pond, just as the growing, beaming light lands on the grass beside her.
The light dissipates, and Ella sees a…a woman, of sorts. She is shorter, in stature, than Ella, but not by much. Her hair is dark, black as night. It catches the light given by the moon and fireflies, changing color unnaturally. Her hair also…floats. It makes her look like she is underwater. Her features are sharp, with a pointed nose, high cheekbones, and angled eyes. Her skin is waxy and pale. The eyes, keen as they appraise Ella, glow eerily in a lilac hue. She is stunning, terrifying, and wild. The clothing she wears is the least impressive thing about her. Like Ella, she looks to be dressed in rags. Rags of dark materials. When Ella stares at the long dress, she sees that the rags are not fabric at all. There's moss, algae, bark, leaves, and other indiscernible foliage that cling to her skin. It covers most of her body, including her legs, but her arms are missing chunks here and there, as if they have been brushed or fallen off.
Ella sees no wings or wand.
"Are you certain what you wish is what you want?" the creature asks, and the voice is ancient and raspy. Her voice most certainly does not match her mystical appearance.
"Yes," Ella confirms, standing a little straighter.
"Fine," the firefly woman responds with frustration. "Because of the sacrifice made, because of the love shown, I will give you what you ask for."
She beckons for Ella to follow. That's when Ella notices the hands. Not hands, claws. No, more like…talons. They look like they could slice through iron.
The fairy leads the maiden back toward the great house. They pass the garden.
At the circular path in front of the estate, they stop. The wild creature magics a carriage, horses, and a driver out of thin air. The carriage is made of expensive wood, with gemstones and gold nuggets inlaid amongst odd runes and carvings. The horses, four of them, are white, but, when staring at them, the color of their fur and hair shines with an iridescence. They do not whinny or neigh. They don't act like horses. They're still as statues. Waiting.
The driver, too, is other-worldly. His hair is black, like the fairies, but it doesn't change in the light. His eyes are dark, his skin is both patchy, with different shades overlapping each other like paint, and also translucent. He wears appropriate attire, but he doesn't look completely human. It looks like he was pulled from a painting. He remains atop the carriage, staring into the night. Frozen. Waiting. Like the horses. The door opens of its own accord. Inside, Ella sees plush red fabric.
With everything prepared but her dress, Ella looks to her fairy godmother. She doesn't say thank you. She feels that this all belonged to her, to begin with. The fairies have their haven on her father's estate. The fairy stares back, waiting for something.
"Well?" Ella boldly motions to her tattered dress.
"Do you know what you're running from? Do you know what you're running to?"
Ella stomps her foot and huffs impatiently. "What are you speaking of?"
"Do you want to know?"
"What I want, what I wish, is to go to the royal ball!"
"Very well. But know this: your wish is granted because of the love your parents had for you, the sacrifice your sisters make for you, and NOT because of your own doing. If you had brought any other gift, tonight, I would not have appeared." The beads materialize then, as a necklace in the fairy's hand. With a roll of her wrist, the beads scatter and imbed themselves in her muted outfit. The lurid dots of bright blue stand out and fail to blend the natural to the artificial. "You shall have your wish, but you will not find happiness from it."
Before Ella can object, the light once more beams from the fairy. The young woman holds up a forearm, to shield her eyes. She clenches both fists, and then the light is gone in a flash. Ella sees a lone firefly in front of her, hovering.
Looking down, Ella gasps. Her pink rags are gone, replaced with an icy bluish-silver gown that glistens. The material is weighty. Expensive. The silk gloves match the dress perfectly, extending over her elbows and showing off her thin figure. Her blonde hair no longer hangs by her shoulders. It's fastened in a twist high upon her head. She looks at her reflection in the glass of the carriage, and she is pleased with what she sees.
Although she is a bit upset to have no help into her seat, Ella manages it alone. The door immediately shuts behind her, and then…
…there is nothing. No movement. No crack of a whip, or horses' hooves. Nothing from the driver to let her know they are leaving. They're still waiting.
"My magic lasts until midnight," the disembodied voice of the fairy rings out. Ella quickly turns her head to look out the window, where the sole firefly still floats. "You have until then to change your fate. Careful the path you take, or your wish may turn against you…"
The carriage bolts out into the night. The driver still makes no sound, but the horses' hooves fall with abnormal speed. They pass no one, and the landscape is a blur. Transportation to the ball should take at least an hour, but they arrive in minutes.
Ella anticipates the door of the carriage swinging open, and she anxiously exits. She wants to miss as little as possible. As she runs up the stairs of the castle, she feels the weight of her shoes and stops to view them properly. They're clear, faceted, and made from something incredibly strong. Strong enough to withstand the force of her weight and being struck against the marble steps. Not glass…crystal, perhaps? Far from comfortable, she wants to grit her teeth with every step. It is the plight of a woman to endure the tortures that lead to beauty.
She notices the muffled sounds of horns and the echoing of voices. There's nothing from the carriage. Ella assumes it will simply wait, still as a statue, until she leaves before midnight. But, upon glancing in that direction, there's nothing there. The entirety of the carriage, horses, and driver have vanished. It's nothing to dwell on, though. She has more important things to worry over.
It is when she arrives inside the palace that the story picks back up with more a grounded perspective. Multiple witnesses see the enchanting woman enter: guards, servants, attendees, and the like.
I will be a more reliable narrator for you, now. For a time, anyway.
Ella could hear the booming voice of a royal crier announcing the guests arriving to the main hall. The echoes led her to the ballroom, where she gracefully wandered in the shadows, far enough from the crowds, but within the prince's line of sight.
On the edge of the ballroom, against one of the walls, Anastasia and Drizella excitedly twitted about the finery that surrounded them. They were introduced to the prince, and neither seemed to gain his favor. Drizella swore that she thought she heard him yawn, as they curtseyed.
Anastasia spotted Ella first. She always appreciated fashion more than her blood sister. When her jaw went slack, Drizella followed her gaze to find their stepsister, wandering coquettishly on the other side of the room.
"Is that-?" Ana asked, suddenly tongue-tied.
"It must be!" Izzy answered.
"What do we do?" the redhead worried, as she scanned the area for their mother.
"Keep Mother from seeing her, of course!"
Lady Tremaine, resigned to the fact that her daughters had failed to enchant the prince, was greeting various noblemen that she knew were in want of a wife. Occasionally, she glanced over to the sisters, to be ready to point them out to any potential suitors. When she saw the prince striding with purpose to the balcony, she couldn't help but follow in awe. Her daughters were woefully ill-bred, in terms of charm and beauty, she could admit to herself, but none of the young ladies that had been introduced had created the slightest spark of interest in the prince.
She saw an attractive woman, young and blonde, gliding as if she floated underneath the layers of silk and chiffon she wore. The prince went to grab her hand, but she pulled it away as if she had been bitten. Unruffled, the prince tried again, bowing low and asking her to dance. He began to pull her toward the center of the ballroom. The girl looked familiar, but the sound of the orchestra loudly beginning a waltz pulled her attention.
The king, sitting high above the masses, was wildly gesturing to various servants at the lower level. A flustered duke sat beside him.
No ordinary duke, she realized, but the grand duke. A younger cousin of His Majesty. Unmarried. Awkward and not exactly attractive, except for his relation to the crown.
All eyes were on the prince and his mysterious partner. Lady Tremaine abandoned her thoughts on the older royals and set about seeing the bewitching woman more closely.
"Mother!" Anastasia called out. "Did you see my hem? I think it might be stained! Some clumsy person must've spilled their wine!"
Lady Tremaine looked down.
"I see nothing, Anastasia, stop your sputtering!"
The mother walked around her daughter and sought to push through the horde of people blocking her view. She could only barely make out the top of the prince's head spinning in time to the music.
"Oh, Mother!"
Lady Tremaine spun around and saw Drizella attempting to halt her.
"What is it?"
"When shall you introduce us to some of the men you've spoken to? Anastasia and I want to dance!"
"No one is dancing, aside from the prince and his partner, at the moment. Stop your whining and exercise some patience!"
"But, Mother, this is a ball! We came to dance! When will this night become entertaining?"
"This night is not for your entertainment, you dolt! You are here as an ornament, for me to find you a suitor!" she hissed in a dangerously low tone.
She spun back on her heel and strode through the throng of people. As she did so, the prince danced the young woman back toward the moonlit balcony. Lady Tremaine treaded along the outskirts of the floor, trying to steal a better look at the dancing couple, as they headed out into the privacy of the night. But, just as she began to connect the woman's figure and mannerisms to a similarly-graced girl she knew, the curtain dropped to block her examination. She looked to where the curtain had swung from, to find the culprit who halted her progress.
It was the grand duke. And he cleared his throat loudly, sending her a face full of disapproval.
From here, the story splits off into two directions, once more. We followed Ella, last time, and her glamourous transformation. Truth be told, there's not much to say about her night with the prince. There was dancing, strolling, and star-gazing. Little talking, though, as neither cared to share much about themselves to the stranger with them. That would prove to be problematic in the hours and days ahead. Let's just assume they had a romantic evening. That's all that needs to be known, for the story to progress.
Lady Tremaine and her daughters, however…they had a slightly more-interesting night.
Knowing that she had reached a dead end, the sour mother moved away from the curtain and grand duke, attempting to find her daughters. Drizella and Anastasia were easy to locate. Each of their movements were exaggerated and dramatic, compared to the stillness of the people around them.
With the prince and his prize skirted away from the eyes of the populace, the rest of the partygoers simply milled about. Eventually, pairs were formed on the dance floor, and the ball commenced like a typical one, where the extra guidelines for keeping decorum with royalty present were not a hindrance on the activities.
Anastasia danced with a couple of the men. Drizella was approached, but every potential suitor excused himself before a dance could be initiated. Lady Tremaine was back to her agenda of arranging introductions for her daughters.
Their mother returned to Drizella's side, as she watched Anastasia attempt to follow her dance partner. Neither girl was blessed with graceful movement. Drizella noticed that her mother was not alone.
"My dear," an older man greeted the brunette, "allow me to introduce myself."
He was a portly man, well-dressed, balding with uneven streaks of gray, and shorter than the women with whom he was conversing. His face was round and rather splotchy, either from a skin condition or from nerves. When he spoke, his teeth were difficult to look away from. They were yellowed, malformed, and at least two were missing, from the front. The candlelight highlighted beads of saliva that spilled from the sides of his mouth.
"I am Lord Sacha de Tott," he bowed humbly.
Drizella curtseyed, an automatic response that displayed her genteel manners. He held out a hand to her, and she nervously placed hers in his. He then brought her hand to his lips and bestowed a kiss upon her knuckles. She reined in her disgust.
Thankfully, he, too, did not wish to dance. He spoke with her at length, gave Lady Tremaine a suspiciously fixed look, then excused himself. When he was gone, the mother addressed her daughter.
"I believe he will be inclined to make you an offer of marriage," she said with pleasure. "He's a widower. No children. He's anxious to find another wife, someone young and able to bear him an heir."
"Mother!" Drizella hissed. She didn't want to create a scene, but she couldn't bear to be spoken of in such a way. "You can't be serious! Him? He's so…old! And ugly!"
"He'll make you respectable!" she hissed back. "I have done my best to mold you, to help you reach your potential!" Her mother narrowed her eyes, seething. "Clearly I failed. I failed you even more egregiously than your sister, it seems." She swept her hand toward Anastasia, being twirled by her dance partner.
Drizella cringed, at her mother's harsh assessment.
"You will take whatever you are given, or you will fall from all good society."
The night went on, with most in the audience of the king eager to make their way to their homes and rest.
At midnight, there was a strange event. The prince's partner was running through the ballroom, toward the exit. The beautiful woman appeared to be in a mild panic, trying to leave the castle. The prince tried to pursue her, but he was held up momentarily by the female guests his father had invited. When he was able to pass, he continued his search for the maiden that had deserted him.
Servants in the palace noted her retreat, running from room to room, down the carpeted grand staircase in the foyer. Guards stood frozen in their positions, unaware that they allowed her to escape, until the prince commanded them to join in the pursuit.
She was seen by some grooms in the courtyard, quickly traversing the marble staircase. She lost one of her shoes, which gleamed in the moonlight. The prince appeared at the top, then, and she was forced to abandon the footwear to stay ahead of him. She ran straight to a most peculiar coach, which the grooms could neither remember seeing nor hearing before they saw her run to it. The door opened by itself, which spooked them, and they ran from the unnatural sight.
The prince was forced to watch helplessly, as the carriage took off into the night. No one that attempted to pursue, not even the royal cavalry, was able to overtake or catch up to the mystery woman.
His Royal Highness picked up the shoe, mistaking it for a glass slipper, and held it tightly. It was not a name, nor an address, but it was a start. He did not return to his extravaganza.
People in the ballroom were all chatting about what had happened. The king, grand duke, and prince were nowhere to be seen. The orchestra started back up, most likely because the conductor felt the atmosphere to be too uncomfortable. Couples took to the floor, again.
Anastasia and Drizella were finished with the display. The night had, all in all, been disappointing. But, when they asked their mother to leave, she refused. Drizella, especially, had enough. She was willing to do whatever it took to return home, where she would no longer be paraded like livestock.
"Mother!" she whined. "I've turned my ankle! I cannot stand any longer! We must return home!"
Her voice carried to nearby company, and everyone around them stared, while Lady Tremaine tried to take control of the situation.
"Keep your voice down! We are NOT-"
"Pleeeeeeeeease, Mother! I can barely walk!"
"Yes, Mother," Anastasia contributed. "I feel faint! It's too hot in here! Let's go home!"
With both girls creating a ruckus, Lady Tremaine had little choice but to give in to their demands. Drizella convincingly limped to the courtyard, assisted by her sister. It took a while for their carriage to arrive from the waiting area, but eventually they started the long journey back to the estate. It was the middle of the night, about two hours after the mysterious beauty disappeared into the darkness, when the Tremaine ladies walked through their front door.
The mother retired to her room, without so much as a word or a look to her daughters. The girls, understanding that the ball was equally disappointing for her, left their mother in peace. They hoped tomorrow would bring normalcy back to their home. Both girls feigned going to bed, but both stole out of their rooms to meet with their stepsister.
They snuck through the hall, down the stairs to the first floor, across the foyer and through the kitchen, to the door that led to the drafty tower. They knew where she resided, but neither sister had ever ventured to her living quarters. Drizella scrunched her nose at the stale smell coming from the stables and barnyard. Anastasia's eyes flew to the top of the endless stairs, noting the narrow and dilapidated steps.
Traipsing nimbly up the creaky stairs, they steadily made their way to the only door. At the top, they knocked repeatedly and called Ella's name. It took a little while. Ella could be heard on the other side, getting out of bed, walking to one end of the room, then coming to open the door. When she opened it, the sisters could see that she was still in the process of tying her robe.
"Ana? Izzy?" she asked in a hushed, sleepy voice. "What's the matter?"
Drizella was quick to speak. "Ella, come, now! You cannot be surprised to see us here. Not as surprised as we were to see you at the ball!"
Ella's eyes flew open, and she opened up the door a little wider to see if they were accompanied by their mother. Relieved that it was only the girls, she stepped out of the way and allowed them entry.
Anastasia and Drizella looked around the dismal bedroom. Storage room, more like. Ella had certainly done her best, perhaps even helped by the other servants, before they were dismissed, but it remained unfathomable for her to actually sleep there.
"Did my stepmother see me?"
"No," Drizella shook her head, emphatically. "Ana and I kept her from seeing you. We distracted her, but she had her suspicions."
"I think she thought you looked familiar," Anastasia added.
"Will I be in trouble?" Ella asked.
Drizella sighed. "Not in as much trouble as us. It wasn't a good night. But how was it for you?"
"Yes!" Anastasia piped up. "Tell us everything! How was the prince? Was he charming? I'll bet he was charming!"
"He was…very nice," the blonde blushed. "We danced, walked through the gardens, sat by a fountain…" Her countenance changed, as she wistfully relived the moment in her memory. "It was more than I could've wished for." She came back to her senses and took one of each girl's hands in her own. "Thank you, Ana, Izzy. I know that I can't hope for more than that. I know it's over, now, and I'll never have happiness or freedom like that, again, but I so enjoyed this night!"
The brunette and redhead gave tight smiles. Within, they felt the jab of her double-sided compliment. It settled in their hearts as guilt, for their stepsister being imprisoned in a life that unsettled them both. They each said their goodnights, and Drizella and Anastasia left the dreary tower for their own, warm, lush beds. Neither slept through the night, finally given keen insight into what their sister had endured once she'd fallen from their mother's grace.
Because of their poor sleep, both slept through the morning. Their mother burst through one door, then the adjoining one, calling out to both ladies.
"Wake up! WAKE UP! How can you be asleep at this hour? The prince is searching for the woman he danced with last night!"
Drizella sat up first, rubbing her eyes and letting out a loud yawn.
"Well, that's fine and dandy for her, whomever she is."
Lady Tremaine stormed into the other bedroom and pulled the drapes to shine light upon Anastasia.
"OW!" the girl cried out, squinting her eyes. "What does his search have to do with us?"
"Don't be simpletons!" their mother spoke sternly. "He doesn't know a name, residence, or anything else about her. All he has is her shoe! One shoe from last night! And he's sworn to marry whomever it fits!"
"Are you telling us that he'll marry a woman, regardless of her face and figure, as long as her foot can fit in a shoe that he has?"
"One can only hope, Anastasia, especially in your case," she dryly insulted her daughter. "So get up, get dressed in your finest, and prepare to be seen by the His Majesty's page!"
The girls clumsily obeyed, stepping on hems, getting stuck in fasteners, twisting fabric. Their mother helped, as much as she could, and she didn't leave their sides.
"Where is Ella? We could use her help, too!" Drizella whined. It was an excellent way to inquire of her stepsister's whereabouts, without arousing suspicion. In her mind, however, she was excited to find her friend and relay the news.
"I've ordered her to harvest as much as she can from the orchards. I will keep watch, until the page leaves, so that she does not disturb us."
"Is that necessary? We'll look even more like paupers, without a single servant to wait on the royal staff."
"Ella is a conniving thief, and I don't trust her. I never have. This is our one chance to seize our dreams, Drizella! Do NOT disappoint me."
And, for a moment, Drizella and Anastasia each imagined Fate being kind and allowing them to ascend to the title of princess. But the dream died, with the very obvious problem of them looking nothing like their stepsister, whom the prince had fallen in love with. Fitting a shoe wouldn't change their fate. They would be brought to the castle and subsequently, embarrassingly, turned away by His Royal Highness. Both realized, in their pondering, that there was one thing they could do: allow Ella the chance to try on the slipper.
The day frittered by, and the stepmother became more and more nervous, watching the tree line that led to the orchard on the grounds of the estate. By early afternoon, Lady Tremaine was already trying to think of other means to occupy Ella's time. Yet, the girl had not once emerged from the trees.
Finally, the sound of horses and wheels were heard in the front courtyard. There were no trumpets, nor horns of any kind to announce their arrival. This was, apparently, an urgent and quiet matter. The small carriage came to a halt, and the coachman hopped off his post to open the door. The grand duke himself emerged, looking rather haggard. He held a red, velvety sack tied with a gold rope, and slowly made his way to the main entrance of the chateau.
Lady Tremaine was waiting for him, posed at the door, which she held open.
"Good afternoon, your grace," she welcomed, giving a small curtsy and nod.
The gentleman stopped a few feet from her.
"Good day, madam," he started, in a rather snively voice. "I am here on His Majesty's business. Have you any young ladies, in this household?"
"I do, indeed, sir. Two beautiful daughters, who were both in attendance at His Majesty's ball last night," she smirked.
The duke looked mildly more animated, as he nodded and moved to enter. The mistress of the house widened the opening and allowed him to pass her. He adjusted his monocle.
"Very good, very good. I'll see both of your daughters, then. Have you a parlor where we can conduct this meeting?"
"Of course."
"And are there any other young ladies, servants even, who are on the estate? I should like to conduct this errand once, at your residence, so I can move on in my search."
"Your search?" Lady Tremaine innocently inquired.
The duke sat in one of the embroidered armchairs and arched his back.
"Fetch your daughters, madam. I will only explain this once."
The mistress of the house nodded demurely and obeyed the command. Anastasia and Drizella were brought to the duke; both sat as primly as they could. The grand duke stood and motioned for the ladies to remain seated. He cleared his throat loudly.
"On behalf of His Majesty and His Royal Highness, the prince, I am tasked with finding the fair maiden whom the prince spent most of the ball entertaining. She left without revealing anything about herself, leaving our prince distraught and determined to find her. We have but one clue, as to her identity." At this, the grand duke paused and carefully opened the velvet purse to reveal a sparkling shoe. "This," he held up the crystal slipper, "is the only remnant of the bewitching maid who stole the prince's heart. It is small, smaller, in fact than the feet any of the young ladies who have tried it on, thus far. And so, the search continues."
He placed the emptied sack onto the chair he'd occupied, then walked closer to Anastasia and knelt down.
"If you'll allow me, miss, I shall quickly try the slipper on your foot. I know this is all very untoward, but I am the only one permitted to handle the shoe, as we do not have its pair." He finished with a sigh, clearly unhappy to be the sole person responsible for carrying out the royal errand.
Anastasia blushed, and she nodded as a means to give her consent. After removing her own shoe, she carefully lifted her skirt to the point that her foot was barely exposed to view. The grand duke gently placed the slipper on the exposed appendage.
"There!" exclaimed the redhead. "I knew it was my slipper! It's exactly my size. I always wear the same size, and as soon as I saw it I said…"
Her words caught in her throat, as the skeptical duke reached to see the back of the shoe and found a bare heel. A heel that stuck a good deal of the way out from the encasement of the crystal slipper. The duke gave the blushing girl an unimpressed sneer.
"Well…" she forced a smile. "It may be a tad snug today. You know how it is, dancing all night. I can't understand why – it's always fit perfectly before!" She became louder and louder, her voice carrying out of the parlor and through the rest of the house. His brow arched and he went to take the shoe off, but Anastasia moved her foot away. "I don't think you're half trying!" she accused. "Mother! Can you – "
"Shhh!" the matron scolded. Lady Tremaine kept a calm front, but, inside, her mind was racing. "Now, then, sir, are you sure you're trying it on the right foot?"
Drizella gave her mother a side eye, curious as to what her mother antagonizing the duke would lead to.
"I am quite sure, madam."
"Well, now, hold on and let me place it, myself!" Anastasia whined.
"That's quite enough, young lady," the duke admonished. "Keep your composure, please, and I shall retrieve the slipper!"
"Good duke," Lady Tremaine spoke up. "This is all so distressing. Pardon me and my other daughter, for a moment, while we bring some tea to my youngest."
"No! Madam, please! Let me just-" the duke growled to no avail. The two women were already out of sight, and Anastasia immediately stuck her failed foot out to the gentleman. Clearly, he was not to be trifled with. He grabbed the shoe and glared at the girl, standing and walking to the other end of the room.
Anastasia excused herself, appearing to be distraught over the unsuccessful fit. Truly, she needed to run to Ella, and this was the only opportunity to do so. As she passed the kitchen, she saw her sister and mother arguing about something. Something that her mother wanted Drizella to consider, but Drizella seemed horrified at the idea. Lady Tremaine also held a knife, oddly enough.
The youngest family member ran to the side door, then fled to the edge of the property to find her stepsister. Ella was walking amongst the trees in the orchard, holding out her apron that was laden with apples. She dropped them into a nearby basket, and then froze to receive the frantic young woman.
"Ella!" Anastasia called out. "Ella! Come quickly!" The redhead came to a stop near the blonde and struggled to speak without breath. "The grand duke is here! The prince is searching for you!"
"Searching for me?" the shocked girl responded in disbelief.
Without another word, both girls ran back across the grounds to the kitchen. Inside, they heard the cries of Drizella.
"STOP! STOP, PLEASE, SIR! PLEASE LET ME DO IT MYSELF!"
Ella stopped in the middle of the kitchen and ran toward her room in the tower.
"Ella!" Anastasia hissed. "Where are you going?"
Forced to abandon her, the homely sister made her way back to the trio in the parlor. Her mother held a handkerchief to her mouth, as if holding back a wave of sickness. Drizella was pale and dangerously close to fainting. Her eyes rolled to the top of her head, and she closed them momentarily. The duke, baffled by the brunette's odd behavior, acquiesced and allowed the girl to adjust the slipper on her foot.
Drizella did so, agonizing over every movement and gingerly attempting to push her foot into the small shoe.
"And where have you been, darling?" Lady Tremaine's voice pulled Anastasia's focus.
"I…um…I needed rest," the timid girl murmured.
"You look rather flushed, dear. Perhaps you'd like the tea I made for you? It's in the kitchen. Follow me."
The final words were a direct order. Anastasia had been in the kitchen. There was no tea. But making a scene in front of the duke would not help anyone's circumstances. She obeyed, and she let out a small gasp when her mother rounded on her.
"What are you up to? Where did you go, when you disappeared? Your sister is sacrificing for her family! What are YOU doing?"
A scream let out, echoing through the estate, and both women rushed back to Drizella. She was collapsed on the chair, finally fainting, leaving a flummoxed royal to try to revive her.
"What happened?" the lady called out sharply.
"I hardly know, madam," the duke shrugged. "She passed out, while she tried on the slipper!"
On Drizella's foot, the slipper was fixed into place.
"It fits!" the mother cried out in triumph. "It fits!"
The duke leaned down, ready to remove the shoe, but he found that the lady's foot was wedged too tightly for it to be a natural fit. He pulled and pulled. The shoe went from being suctioned to slipping off as though wet.
And the blood was hard to miss.
He let out a surprised yelp and proved unable to hold onto the blood-filled slipper in the jolt of trauma he was experiencing. The crystal, tainted with red, flew up into the air and came crashing back to the marble floor. It shattered, scattering the stained reflective pieces across the room.
"Oh no!" the duke exclaimed, remorseful and panicking. He fell to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no! Oh, this is terrible! The king! What will he say? What will he do?"
Ella ran into the room at that moment of despair, her appearance humble but made more beautiful from the time she'd used to refresh herself in her quarters. She wore a modest ivory gown. A dress unknown to the two women who stared at her. Drizella stirred, waking from the commotion. She, too, witnessed the spectacle unfold.
"Your grace!" she called to the distraught man. "Perhaps I could be of help?"
"Ella!" the stepmother scolded. "Get out of here this instant! How dare you – "
"Excuse me, miss," the duke spoke over the matron, standing to his feet. "But who are you?"
"She's a servant! She's no one! She wasn't in attendance at the ball last night!" Lady Tremaine insisted, unwilling to be silenced.
"I am Ella Tremaine, sole child of the late Lord Tremaine, stepdaughter to this cruel woman who seeks, at every turn, to rob me of my birthright." Ella's voice was proud and direct, leaving no uncertainty that what she was revealing was anything less than wholly truthful.
The duke marveled at her natural beauty, but he quickly remembered why he'd been crestfallen.
"Alas, even if you were at His Majesty's ball last night, I have no way of proving that you were the owner of the glass slipper," he gestured to the sharp bits of crystal around them.
Ella lifted her skirts, ever so slowly.
"I have its pair," she smiled like the cat that got the cream.
Her feet were encased in two different shoes. One a plain black boot, the other a remarkably-unique crystal heel.
The stepsisters were moderately surprised, to see Ella in possession of the other slipper. The stepmother was horrified and helpless. The duke wore a relieved grin that soon widened to a victorious expression. Ella, too, looked victorious.
"Will you take me to my prince?" she asked, politely but firmly.
The grand duke held out his arm and escorted the young woman out the door and to the royal carriage. She didn't look back. Her sisters watched with teary eyes, happy for their sister and simultaneously sad to be separated from her. When they finally looked to their mother, they were frightened by what they saw. Their mother was less grand, less superior. She looked beleaguered. Defeated.
"You stupid, foolish girls," she whispered, sitting in the nearest seat. "I did everything for you. I warned you. I protected you from her… And you both have ruined everything."
Lady Tremaine was forever changed, from that day forward.
When Ella married the prince, he granted her fondest desire, as a wedding present to his beloved bride. She asked for her father's estate to be placed under her complete control. She restored it to its former glory, making sure it was richly-furnished and profitable. Drizella and Anastasia were allowed to live there as servants, but Lady Tremaine, stripped of her title and livelihood, chose to retire to a small cottage in the country. The forlorn woman died less than a year after leaving the Tremaine estate.
That could be the end of the story. Comeuppance for the stepsisters who, although not necessarily evil, were certainly culpable for the misery poor Ella endured under the control of her stepmother. The beautiful maiden married the prince. Her family's home was restored.
I can see why most versions of Ella's story end on that happy note. But perhaps you'd like to know a little more? Then again, my version is not as satisfying as what you've already heard. I'm not sure you'll be pleased with what happens after. It's not an unhappy ending, necessarily, but it is quite messy.
It starts with introducing myself…as someone who was there.
Did you already suspect that?
Who would you guess that I am?
Will it make a difference, in what you've already read? I won't be repeating myself, nor will I recount anything in the first person. But, from here on out, I will let you see things directly through my eyes.
So that you can see my…ending. Happy or not.
I'm Ella.
Princess Ella.
I have to admit, I was flattered to have the prince's love. I was silly, though, to think that it was love. It was merely infatuation. My beauty served me well; I wed a prince. But then our love waned, and, as it died, my role changed. I needed to bear a male descendant for the kingdom. As it turned out, I'd escaped one life of servitude and found myself in another.
Honestly, I didn't want a child. I wonder if that was partly to blame for why I was unable to conceive.
Out of sheer desperation, I found myself back at the fairy pond.
Yes, she was real.
I went late at night, escorted by royal guard. The prince didn't care about my comings and goings, as long as I was mindful of the reputation of the crown. The two soldiers stood a measured distance away, at my order, and I brushed away the long tentacles of the willow. I stepped inside without hesitation. This was my land after all, though I hadn't set foot on the grounds of my father's estate since I'd left. I threw my necklace into the center of the deep, dark waters. A token of the prince's love for me, back when his affection was sincere. Rubies of varying sizes encased in gold. Beautiful, like me.
Then, I waited for the firefly woman to appear. There were plenty of the insects, erratically flying to and fro. None of them descended. No disembodied voice.
I waited for hours. The small space lightened considerably, and I could glimpse that it was approaching dawn, through the leaves. I let out a frustrated growl and return to my escort. When we reached the castle, I slept for most of the day.
A week later, I went back. I took a bracelet that contained pearls, sapphires, and emeralds. It was worth more than the ruby necklace. I couldn't remember who'd given it to me. A royal from a visiting nation, most likely. I was loathe to part with it, but, if it was in exchange for a child, I supposed it was fair. I wanted a boy, to be done with the business of being a brood mare for the kingdom. The bracelet was worth ten sons, as far as I was concerned. I asked so little.
The bracelet thrown, I wished hard for a son. I waited.
Did I even need to be visited by the otherworldly creature to be granted my wish? Perhaps not. My gifts were received, and perhaps my wish would come with the passing of time.
I returned to the castle without having seen her, again, but I was more optimistic.
The prince and I tried to conceive. He was always willing to perform the act, although his days of wooing me were over. Every time we lay together, he bedded me with enthusiasm, if not genuine adoration. He was quite good, but, I confess, I considered it to be dull chore.
His eyes began to stray. How charming. I saw maids, courtesans, and then the occasional noblewoman who all sought to be his consort. Stupid women. Stupider than me, because at least I knew that our prince knew nothing of fidelity.
But, as the pregnancies surfaced, I grew more desperate. His illegitimate children were a threat to me and my place at the prince's side. Even the king began to demand for the prince to shuffle me off to the country and elevate one of the bastards to become the rightful heir. That would never sit well with me.
Once again, I found myself fleeing the castle at the middle of the night, riding back to that cursed pond.
I threw in a royal heirloom. Priceless. Diamonds dripping from every tier of the specially-commissioned necklace to the late queen. I was permitted to wear it, but it was not mine. This, truly, was desperation.
When no murky fairy appeared, I screamed. The guards quickly came to find me, and I yelled at them to leave me alone. They retreated obediently, and I have to wonder what they were thinking. She's mad… she's deranged…
I didn't care. I never care what people think of me. Not even you, reader.
"COME OUT!" I yelled into the dark. I growled at each and every twinkling light that dared to ignore me. "WHY DON'T YOU FACE ME? WHO ARE YOU, NOW, THAT YOU WOULD SHOW SUCH DISRESPECT TO YOUR PRINCESS?!" Yes, I said the inflammatory words on purpose. I already told you I was desperate.
Still, the lights twinkled and floated above me. I set out to murder them all. I clapped my hands together, found one, then two, then three. My wish would be granted, or I would see them all fade from this world.
One burned brighter than the rest. It flashed angrily, bright red and blinding. Shielding my eyes, I knew that I would remove my hand and see that same wild creature from years before.
She looked exactly as I had last seen her. The patchy pieces of earthy materials clung to her translucent skin. Her black hair floated in the darkness that surrounded us. Those ugly, tacky beads from Drizella's necklace spotted in-between pieces of bark and moss. Her glowing eyes attempted to intimidate me, but I was not to be trifled with.
"I have given you many gifts," I slowly hissed. "I demand my wish!"
One of her dainty arms moved behind her back. When it was brought back into view, I saw that she held the ruby and diamond necklaces and the pearl bracelet. She held them in front of her, handing them to me. I glared and refused to take them; her response to my defiance was to drop them, unceremoniously, onto the grass at our feet. I stood a little straighter.
"I don't want your worthless trinkets, Princess," she rasped.
"Worthless? WORTHLESS?! You accepted the pathetic beads of my stepsister's necklace to adorn your dress, but you won't receive royal jewels?"
"I've already told you why. It is not the rarity of the gems that dictate worth. It is the sacrifice…the love they are imbued with that makes them valuable. Your royal jewels mean nothing. There is no love. No sacrifice. And no wish to be granted."
"GIVE ME A SON! I BEG you! One last wish," I pleaded and ordered simultaneously.
"You cannot be trusted with a child of your own. I let you choose your fate. You chose poorly. You abandoned two who loved you dearly and you shall do the same with a child. Leave now, with your swindled life," she spoke lower than before. A warning. With a wave of her hand, she resurrected the flying bugs I'd killed. "If you trespass again, I will grant all the wishes of everyone whom has ever desired ill upon you. And there are many."
I started to speak, to refute her claims. She disappeared and a firefly floated in her place. It flew back to its kin, and I was tempted to crush her small body within my hands. Then I remembered something important: she was in no hurry to meet me, because she easily brought the other fireflies back to life.
Perhaps she's more formidable than I'd assumed. I had enough self-preservation instincts within me to walk away from another confrontation with the mythical beast.
The ride back to the palace was a blur. Walking to my quarters, having my handmaidens help me to bed…everything was barely noted within my mind. My head was hazy, coated with a thick fog. I wasn't lost in thought; I was lost in feeling. And it wasn't altogether unpleasant.
I felt…lighter. Free. I had done what I could, I could do no more, and I now knew that I would never carry a child. I stayed up most of the night, contemplating what all of that meant. I recalled the conversation with my fairy "godmother" and realized that she had done me a favor.
In the morning, I met with the prince. Our business was settled amicably enough. I think he was rather relieved that I was at peace with his father's idea of my leaving. I knew he was eager to replace me.
Our marriage was annulled, with myself to blame for there being no intimacy within the brevity of our union. I was a frigid wife. Fine. If that's what the kingdom and the church needed to believe to sanction our divorce, I could not care less. I would, henceforth, live a life of chastity at my private home. Granted, I would also have a handsome allowance of royal funds to keep me within the lifestyle I had become accustomed to living. Finally, I would be left alone.
Arriving at my father's chateau, my home, I took deep breaths of freedom. The servants outnumbered the staff that had been present even in the most lucrative years of the estate. I did not notice my stepsisters. Well, they were hardly my stepsisters, any more, after I'd successfully married out of that wretched family.
My first order of business was to rip out all of the furnishings and décor in my stepmother's room. It was mine, now, and I wanted there to be no trace of the vile woman. I only slept in the room after everything had been replaced with items aligning with my own tastes.
Not too long after that, I did see Anastasia. Ana. She exited her old room, now empty and unused, and stopped when she saw me watching her in the hallway. When she burst into tears, I felt…something. She probably ran off to her new accommodations, in the servants' wing.
Drizella developed a limp, as the result of her mother cutting off a portion of her heel to help her foot fit the slipper. She was lucky that I kept her. I could've replaced her, but I showed her mercy. Well, as much mercy as I was shown, anyway.
And the years passed.
I thought I didn't need anyone. I spent my days doing whatever I wished. Needlepoint, singing, riding, reading, ordering the servants about… but it all grew to be quite dull.
One day, I found myself staring out a window, looking at the trees that Ana, Izzy, and I used to wander and play amongst. Tagging each other in the fields. Gathering daisies and making crowns. Picking apples and ruining our supper.
I remembered the things I'd done to them, too. Things that I had been punished for, later in life than when they had transpired. It made me think of my stepmother. I wondered if, had I been a gracious stepdaughter, she would've loved me. I missed her. Not because I loved her, but because I wanted her to tell me what I was missing. Why did I feel incomplete? I was mistress of my estate, as she had been.
She and I were more alike than either of us would've liked to admit. Resourceful. Shrewd. Manipulative. Beautiful. Determined. Cunning. The only thing she lacked that I possessed was an acumen for running the estate. With or without the royal allowance, my home would never again be subject to financial ruin. The only thing I lacked that she possessed was love. Real love. Love for and from her daughters.
It took longer than it should have for me to realize all of this. Perhaps you knew it from the start, but you didn't live it. Had you been me, I am willing to wager you would've made all the same choices.
I sought out Ana and Izzy. They were…reluctant, at first. Mistrusting. Hardly a surprise, but their suspicious looks damned me to my very core. The more they resisted, the more I tried to be the Ella they had known and loved as little girls. The harder I tried to rekindle their faith in me, the more desperate I became to gain back their love. I craved it. I needed it more than any wish I'd ever wished for.
I restored their places in our home. They were no longer servants. They no longer lived or dressed humbly. I couldn't understand why they didn't joyful accept my generosity. They moved back into their rooms as if ordered to do so. I found out later that Drizella was already in love with one of the groomsmen. They wanted to marry. I made it possible for them to be joined in matrimony. I paid for a more lavish wedding than they could've ever imagined.
When Drizella and her husband moved to a small cottage, Ana finally began to open up to me.
I heard her version of my story. I heard the heartbreak and disappointment, the guilt and shame that she had endured at both my hands and her mother's. She shared how she treasured the time we'd spent as youngsters, despite never knowing when I would show her cruelty. She shared how hopeful she had been, when I'd finally begun to speak with her, before the events of the ball. And then, how devastated she felt when I'd left our home on the arm of the grand duke and abandoned her without a care in the world. She and Drizella watched their mother fade, day by day, and then the news came from the palace that their beloved Ella had taken ownership of their home. They had two choices: exile or servitude. Their mother chose the former and the daughters couldn't fathom leaving their home. Lady Tremaine died alone.
And that insight terrified me. Because I understood that fear: being alone. The only thing that had ever truly motivated my actions was loneliness.
Of course, things between the three of us, Izzy, Ana, and I, did not improve within a fortnight. There were months that went by with little said between all of us. It took a couple of years until one of us laughed at an innocent comment made by another.
Drizella had a baby boy. The wish that I wasn't granted. She brought the baby over regularly, for her sister to visit. Anastasia was a doting, loving aunt. I was not. I watched him grow with amusement and occasional annoyance. He sought my affection, at first, but, when I was unwilling to lavish him with the attention he craved, he simply treated me like a fixture within the room. The more I was around him, the more I understood why the fairy had refused my wish.
Still, the relationships I had with my stepsisters were all I truly wanted. Their love was the only thing that sustained me. And, for Drizella's sake, I wanted for her son to be granted certain privileges that his rank would normally have forbidden. I hired him the best tutors, paid for him to travel and for the finest tailors in the land to outfit him in the grandest vestments. I even managed to purchase him a title of nobility and secure for him the inheritance of my estate. Provided, of course, that he would allow for his aunt to live within the Tremaine home for the rest of her days.
He's a good lad. Strong and quiet, like his father. Eager to please and help, like his mother. Sweet and considerate, like his aunt. Shrewd and capable, like his late grandmother. I love him, I suppose, in my own way. As best as I can. He knows that. I'm no longer a fixture in the room, but he takes great care to ascertain my mood, so that he knows how to interact with me. I like to think that he gets that from me, although there is not a drop of my blood in his.
Ana and I spend our days together, growing as two old maids on a grand estate. I've asked her countless times if she regrets not marrying, but she insists that she's happy. Izzy still visits frequently, although now her limp and age have her dependent upon a cane to help her walk.
The prince remarried, has five children with his wife, countless bastards with mistresses galore, and ascended the throne nearly a decade ago. He is a decent king for the kingdom, if not particularly memorable or magnanimous.
When I spoke to him, all of those years ago, the morning after meeting with the fairy, I asked him for my crystal slipper. He motioned for one of the guards to fetch it from the vault. We waited in awkward silence, having already discussed my departure and terms at length. The magical shoe was the last thing I wanted, before leaving.
"My stepsister asked me if you were charming," I said, without knowing why. Maybe I was just too bored to wait out the silence. "I should've told her that you were nothing but charming, that night at the ball. It's a pity we couldn't live in that moment for the rest of our lives. You aren't as sincere, in the harsh light of day."
He shrugged, not interested in rising to my baited words and too relieved to see me go.
"I am as I was raised to be," he replied without emotion.
When he married, again, I thought about throwing the slipper off the balcony and screaming in anger. But I wasn't angry. I didn't care. I hid the shoe in my old room, at the top of the drafty tower above the kitchen. That part of the house was unused and would eventually be torn down.
I didn't think about it, again, until years later. Drizella was married, living in her cottage, and Ana and I were finally on better terms. It was after she had told me how much I'd hurt her. She told me that, when the grand duke had placed the shoe on her foot, it seemed to fit, at first. Of course, she knew, in that instant, that it was not actually on her larger foot. But the duke didn't know, and, with her heel hidden under her skirt, his eyes lit up momentarily. She said that she imagined, in that blink of time, what it would've been like to be me. I reassured her that the prince wasn't as endearing as she'd imagined him to be.
That night, I crept up the rickety stairs to my old room. I shivered, once inside, and lifted the floorboard that concealed the shoe. When I tried it on, it no longer fit. I wondered why, at first, sitting on that hard, cold floor. I took the shoe with me, back down the stairs, across the kitchen, through the foyer, up the main staircase, through the hall, past Ana's room, and to my own bedroom. I grabbed a warm shawl and boots that would fare well in the dewy grass.
I took a lantern and the shoe to the fairy pond, holding the shawl and slipper with one hand at my chest. Before entering the hallowed area, I placed the lantern on the ground and swept the branches aside with my freed hand. Inside, as usual, the only light emanated from the numerous fireflies. I moved the shoe to my empty hand and grasped my source of warmth tighter around my body.
The crystal slipper made a louder splash than any of the jewelry had, as it struck the calm water.
I wondered if I could make a wish. The shoe wasn't really mine, after all. I wished anyway, without any expectation of seeing it come true.
I wished for a happy ending. Not just for me, but for my sisters, as well.
No growing light. No ethereal being. No wizened voice. No acknowledgement whatsoever.
I left, satisfied to be rid of the last remnant of the ball. I imagined how life might have been, if I had never returned with Ana from the orchard. I imagined turning things around on my own, being a better sister, a better stepdaughter. Helping the estate to regain what had been lost, instead of watching my stepmother struggle to keep us above water.
The next morning, Izzy visited to tell us her news. She was pregnant. She was delighted. Ana was thrilled. I was happy for them both. I was happy for me.
To this day, I don't know if my wish was granted. I never returned to the fairy pond, and I never shall.
I like to believe that my wish was not granted so much as it was achieved. I wanted happiness for myself and my sisters. I think we've found our own happy endings, through the love we have for each other.
That's better than what any royal ball has to offer.
