AN: Thanks to those of you who shared your favorite Cinderella versions! I have to agree with Guest, my favorite is the 2011 Italian miniseries Cenerentola (subbed not dubbed if, like me, you don't speak Italian). The plot additions really flesh out the traditional story really well, and besides, I'm partial to pianos (and the sound of Italian, even if I can't understand it).

Enjoy, and don't forget to review if you like it! (or if you don't like, I'm not picky...)

Ella smiled and closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of warm sun on her face and cool water on her bare feet. She sat on the edge of the bubbling fountain in the center of the town square, her shoes discarded on the ground behind her, listening to the people passing by as she waited for Lady Tremaine and her daughters to finish shopping. Children splashed and played around her, and though once Ella would have joined them, she now made an effort to keep herself clean and dry.

But she hadn't been able to resist dipping her feet. After all, she reasoned, she had hit a growth spurt and the hem of her dress now barely reached her knees, keeping it clear of the shallow water. There was no reason Lady Tremaine should ever find out.

It wasn't like Silas would tell. The new gardener had driven them all into town that morning, dropping them off at the hatter's shop. When Ella had been sent back to the coach with the first wave of purchases, she'd found him snoring in the driver's seat, his wide-brimmed hat pulled down low over his face.

So she'd left the packages without disturbing him, and now dallied at the fountain, knowing that it could be hours before her sisters were ready to leave the dressmaker's. Why shouldn't she seize the chance to relax for a minute?

And the water was so relaxing. She kicked gently with her feet, letting the water slide and ripple between her splayed toes, smooth as silk and clear as glass. Her feet had grown along with her legs in the growth spurt, and were happy to be free of the shoes that had begun to pinch her toes. She had been meaning to ask Lady Tremaine to stop by the cobbler's later. Mustn't forget.

But she knew she wouldn't forget. She hadn't forgotten in the week leading up to this trip, and she wouldn't forget today. No, it was something else which kept her from broaching the subject every time a chance arose. A desire not to stir the pot and disrupt the uneasy peace, a desire to prove that she was not a burden to the household. A desire for a smile, or a nod, some sign of approval. Lately there had been days where it seemed she could do nothing right.

Today would become one of those days if she tarried much longer. Sighing, she swung her legs out of the fountain and reached for her shoes.

To her surprise, her hand met flesh. She looked down and caught a glimpse of big brown eyes wide with fright before the small figure sprang up and started running through the crowd, each hand clutching one of Ella's shoes.

"Hey!" she shouted, taking off after the figure.

It didn't stop, not that she had really expected that it would. The townspeople milling around the square were no help; it was a sparse crowd and running children were not worth notice. She was on her own. So she ran, her bare feet pounding against pebbled cobblestones, her eyes fixed on the figure as it led her through winding streets and narrow alleys.

It wasn't long before she found herself in a part of town she didn't recognize. Here the streets were dirt and the buildings wood. Craftsmen watched the road from the shadowy depths of their workshops, but no children played in the street. The sound of dogs fighting floated out from one alley entrance, thankfully one the figure ignored.

Finally the figure darted down a short side street and Ella saw their destination. The side street ran out of town, but in the several hundred yards between the last buildings of town and the woods beyond sat a small chapel. St. Michael's, according to the peeling paint of the wooden sign at the entrance. Ella slowed as she approached, wary of rushing headlong into unfamiliar territory.

She could tell that the chapel had once been white, but rain and exposure had long since stripped most of the paint from the wood. There was neither glass nor parchment paper in any of the windows, and the door remained open where the figure had left it.

Cautiously, she stepped inside.

It was a single room. At the entrance was a row of tarnished coat hooks, with several gaps in the line. Past a low divider were several rows of pews. In front of the pews was a rough-hewn alter table. And standing behind the alter table was a small boy, younger than Ella, with a tangled mop of curly brown hair and big brown eyes.

"I claim sanctuary, in the name of Saint Michael!" he cried as Ella entered.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Ella.

"You were chasing me," said the boy. "You chased me all the way here."

"You took my shoes."

"You weren't using them. They were just lying there. Finders keepers."

"I just took them off so I could dip in the fountain."

"Finders keepers," he said again.

"That's stealing," she said.

He shrugged.

"I'll get in trouble if I go back without my shoes."

He shrugged again.

Ella sighed. She took in his tangled hair, the smudge of dirt on his nose, his too-large shirt, torn at the sleeves and belted with a length of rope. The cuffs of his pants ended in frayed tatters several inches above his ankles and his bare feet were coated with dust, though to be fair, her feet were not in any better shape at the moment.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"What's yours?" he countered.

"Ella Tremaine."

"Tremaine? Isn't that the lord in the big house down the way?"

"Yes, Lord Tremaine is my father."

He scoffed.

"Liar. You're not a lord's daughter."

"I am so."

"Prove it."

"What? How am I supposed to prove it? I just am."

"Well in that case, I'm the Duke of Buckingham."

"Now you're the liar."

He grinned and gave a flourishing bow.

"At your service, milady."

Ella laughed in spite of herself.

"What is this place?" she asked, looking around.

"St. Michael's chapel."

"Is it still open? In use, I mean? Seems rather abandoned."

"It's open when it needs to be."

"What does that mean?"

"People keep dying, they'll keep burying them. And if they can't afford a plot at St. John's or St. Mary's, they end up here. But there's no Sunday morning weekly or nothing."

Ella moved to the row of windows and looked out towards the woods. If she hadn't been told it was a graveyard, she wouldn't have guessed. There were rises and falls in the land, but not in any regular pattern, and tall grass grew thickly all around.

"There aren't any markers," she said, as the boy joined her at the window.

"Markers for who? These folks either don't have anyone to come lay flowers or those who would come lay flowers have got more pressing calls on their coin than fancy rocks."

"That's sad," said Ella.

The boy shrugged.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the sharpest iron will someday rust."

"I mean, the money's one thing, but to think that you could live your whole life, and then leave this world, and have no one but God care when you're gone? How do you end up with no people at all?"

"Different reasons. People don't notice beggars, or orphans, not when they come, and not when they go. I saw a gypsy buried here once, died on her way through town. And then there's criminals, every once in a while there'll be an execution, and then the courts send the bodies here."

"The courts? Including the royal courts you mean?"

"What other kind is there?"

"Were there any from the courts buried here recently? About three or four months ago?" Ella's heart was suddenly pounding in her chest.

The boy's face scrunched up as he thought.

"Yeah, there were actually. A whole big group, maybe half a dozen. It was still cold, they had to build a huge bonfire to get the ground soft enough to dig. There aren't usually executions in winter, but people said that lot had something to do with the Queen's death, was why they hurried it along, hadn't just waited till spring."

"Do you know where exactly? Could you show me?" She turned to the boy and reached out to grasp his shoulder, noticing that her hand was shaking.

"Yeah, sure," he said, glancing at her hand uncertainly. "I know the place. Are you all right? You've gone all white."

"Yes, I'm fine," she said. "Thank you. It's just- I think my father was buried here in that group."

Ella's eyes were closed as she knelt in the tall grass, but she felt the shadow fall across her face.

"What are you doing?" asked a voice above her head. Not the boy's voice, he had returned to the chapel after showing her the spot, but a new voice. It was also a boy's voice, but this one was older and more cultured, with crisp consonants and arching vowels.

Half a dozen answers sprang to mind. Thinking. Feeling. Remembering. Wishing.

"Not crying," she said, keeping her eyes closed.

"Do you want to cry?"

"I haven't decided."

"Do you know what this place is?"

"It's a graveyard."

"Yes. It's okay to cry in a graveyard. Or so I'm told."

She felt a puff of wind as the voice sat down next to her, stretching out to lie flat.

"Have you cried in a graveyard?" she asked.

"Yes. More than once."

"Do you spend much time in graveyards?"

"It's my latest bad habit."

"This is my first time in a graveyard."

"Ah. That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"What you're doing here. Why your eyes are still closed."

She opened her eyes, but stared straight ahead, ignoring the trousered legs next to her as he continued.

"The first time I was in a graveyard was when we buried my mother. They told me it was okay to cry there, at the ceremony, but I didn't. I couldn't. I tried, but I couldn't. I mean, I loved my mother, but her death was so sudden, and there was so much going on, I just didn't feel like any of it was real. I mean, I knew it was real, but I couldn't feel it, you know? Like how you know God's there, because you know he's everywhere, right, but you don't actually feel him there, even when you try really hard?"

"That's not why I'm not crying," said Ella.

"I'm not finished. So I didn't cry that first day. We buried her, and then we went home, and we were still in mourning officially, but life went on, little by little we did normal things again. And that's when I started crying, because then we were doing normal things again, but it wasn't quite right, because my mother wasn't there. But it was so close to normal that I would forget to notice until it snuck up on me all of a sudden and then I couldn't help it. My father didn't like that. Doesn't like that. So I started going to graveyards, because it's okay to cry in graveyards."

"You're not crying now."

"Oh I don't always, not just because I'm in a graveyard. It comes and goes, you know? And besides, I like the quiet. They're good places to sit and be quiet. And it's not like you can talk to anyone who's died there, but somehow in a graveyard they're a little bit closer, no matter the graveyard. And it feels better in a graveyard because just by being there you know you haven't forgotten them, and as long as you haven't forgotten them, then that makes it okay to do normal things again."

"You're half right," said Ella, squeezing her toes through loose soil. "I was listening to the quiet, and they do feel closer here. But there's no normal again, and I don't think there ever will be. Not for me."

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's still recent, of course. May I ask who it was?"

"My father. But it's not that it's recent. Or at least, not just that it's recent. Everything else has changed too. Mrs. Wollens left, and my stepmother, if I can still call her that, I was never quite sure what to make of her even while Papa was around, and now that he's gone, she's different, and not in a way that he'd like, I don't think. Everything's different."

"My father changed, after my mother died. I hardly see him at all anymore, and when I do he's always busy. Which is fair, I suppose, for what he does, but it was never so bad before."

"What does your father do?" asked Ella.

He laughed.

"My father's the king."

Ella gasped, and finally turned round to look at her companion properly. Sure enough, it was His Royal Highness Prince Christopher sprawled out on the grass next to her.

"Your Highness!" she exclaimed.

"Please," he said, sitting up, "we've gotten off to such a good start, don't ruin it now. Call me Topher."

"Topher then," she conceded. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you sooner."

"Don't be sorry, I enjoyed the reprieve. But now that you know who I am, I find myself at a disadvantage."

Ella felt a pang of fear. Did he know her father was among the convicted for his mother's death?

"I'm Ella," she said carefully.

"Just Ella?"

She sighed.

"Ella Tremaine."

She saw recognition flicker across his face.

"Daughter of the late Lord Tremaine?"

"Yes," she said, holding his gaze defiantly.

But after a moment, all he said was, "Shouldn't you be wearing shoes?"

"Perhaps, but it's a hot day, and I like feeling the grass. Shouldn't you have a guard or something?"

He grimaced.

"Perhaps, but it's a hot day, and I like getting away from everyone at the palace."

She laughed, the tension gone, and he smiled back.

"Thank you, Prince Topher," she said. "For sharing your expertise on graveyards."

"Just Topher," he said. "And you're welcome. Thank you for letting me impose on your solitude."

"It was my pleasure."

They rose from the grass, and he gave Ella a short bow before making his way out of the graveyard.

Once he was out of sight, her guide, the Duke of Buckingham, reappeared, carrying her shoes.

"Here," he said, holding them out to her. "I saw you talking with his Royal Highness. You weren't lying before, you are Miss Lady Tremaine."

"Thanks, but that was before," she said. "It's just Ella now. And keep the shoes. They're too small for me, and I'm sure Your Grace can put them to better use."

He grinned a grin from ear to ear.

"It's Gavrosh," he said. "Or Rosha, if you prefer, since we're friends now. If you can deign to befriend the common folk as well as princes, that is."

She laughed. "We're both of us common folk, Rosha. And I do hope you're my friend, because I'll need your help to find my way back to the town square."

He sprang to attention and saluted.

"At your service!"

They were all waiting for her when she arrived. Lady Tremaine stood by the carriage with her arms crossed, narrowed eyes scanning the square. Silas had awakened, and sat hunched over in the driver's seat, whip in hand, and Drizella and Anastasia sulked together in the back. Even the horses had been harnessed to the carriage. All that was missing was Ella.

"I'm sorry!" she cried as she ran across the square.

"You will be," said Lady Tremaine. "Where have you been? And where are your shoes?"

"I lost the shoes, I was trying to the find them," said Ella. "They were getting too small anyway though. They wouldn't have lasted much longer. I've been meaning to ask you for a new pair."

"Idiot child, did your shoes get up and walk away while you wore them? We feed you and clothe you, and this is how you care for your things? No," she said, grabbing Ella's arm and pulling her away from the carriage, "this is not how we do things. You lost your shoes; you are responsible for their replacement. And since you seem to take such enjoyment in vagrancy, you may walk home."

She swept past Ella and entered the carriage, closing the door after her. Ella thought to appeal to Silas, but he flicked his whip and trotted the horses away without a backward glance in her direction.

For a moment, she stood in disbelief.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she clenched her fists.

She bit her tongue to keep from screaming.

Then she closed her eyes and tenderly examined the wound in her heart, slowly bandaging each jagged edge. When she felt the bleeding begin to clot, she carefully let out the breath she was holding and relaxed her hands, still feeling for any leaks in the bandage.

It held.

She opened her eyes, wiped away her tears, and began the long walk home.