Everyone's favorite time: A What-if update! About time... sorry for the delay. I have no actual excuse other than I suck and could NOT come up with a coherent story to do some of these requests justice. This is one I've tried to write several times, and could never figure out where I wanted to go with it. So I apogize to the user for posting this forever ago, and never getting it written.

Pedro_IS_Madi12: What if Cinderella never lost her shoe at the ball?

I haven't seen Cinderella in a LONG time, so I hope I'm sufficient at keeping people in character.

"Cinderella!" Ella heard the mock-version of her name called through the house. Her eyes opened and a harsh throb coursed through her head, settling behind her eyes and staying there. She had arrived home from the ball at half-past midnight, and it was at least another hour before she was able to cover her own tracks and sneak up into bed. Now it was hardly dawn and she was being roused to begin the morning chores.

She thought about how liberating it had been to defy her stepmother. To go to the ball despite being told not to. To run away from this prison. To, for once, make her own decision. The fierce headache she was enduring as a result her actions was worth it. She let her step-mother screech her name again, trying to relish in the memories of that magical night. But the sound of her step mother coming up the stair, stomping in an exaggerated manner to telegraph her rising anger, was enough to finally force her to face the day.

"Coming!" Ella shouted back reluctantly. She rolled out of bed and stretched, her body protesting getting up after so little sleep. This would be one long day of chores. But maybe it can be my last. A thought struck her. She shook her head, it was nonsense. What could a girl like her accomplish on her own? Running away for a night was one thing, trying to survive on her own was another. She got to the attic door just as her stepmother was about to tear it off the hinges and stared the elderly woman down. "Yes?" She asked,

"Drop that tone child before I slap it out of you," The woman snarled it reply. Ella nodded, dropping her gaze, remembering why she never defied the woman before.

"Sorry. What do you need?" She asked meekly, daring a glance at her stepmother, seeing a triumphant smile crossing the woman's features.

"Start the kettle, I wish to soak my feet. A night at the ball has left them swollen. And don't forget the epsom salts child. Then prepare some hot water for my daughters, they too need to soak their feet after a night at the ball," Ella nodded, and watched as her step mother moved down the stairs with such speed she wondered how she had never fallen down them. Ella quickly dressed, pulled her hair back into a loose ribbon, and made her own way down the steep stair. Walking past the bedrooms of her stepmother and sisters she bit her lip to keep from muttering under her breath.

While she waited for the kettle of water to heat she occupied her mind reflecting on the ball. The feel of a new, clean, silken dress upon her skin. The pain of the glass slippers on her feet. The smell of foods and wines, of a room full of people, of the perfumes of the rich and the sharp odor of the less fortunate who were still invited to the ball. How shiny the floor had looked, the elaborate marbling of the pillars holding up tapestries depicting various victorious battles of the kingdom. It was if she was there again, the memory so visit as to cause her pain with longing.

But most acutely, she remembered the prince. His skin was flawless, and she remembered the smooth skin of his hands. The boy had never worked a day in his life, but his muscles bragged of the fencing and sword training he had, though she knew the kingdom would never risk their prince in actual battle. She remembered how he smelled, and a smile pulled at her lips. She wondered how they felt, how his kiss would taste. She wondered what the full strength of his embrace would feel like. She remembered his voice, deep and smooth. She longed to hear it again, though she new it was a vain wish.

The sudden screeching of the kettle tore her from her reverie, and she cursed under her breath. She wasn't supposed to allow the water to come to a full boil. She pulled it off the hearth quickly, using her apron to protect her hands. But the damage had been done, and her step-mother's voice cut through the mostly empty house to curse her for being a 'foolish child'. Ella groaned under her breath, and once again allowed herself to contemplate giving in to impulse and leaving this place.

Ella added some cold water to the boiling kettle to cool it before fetching the epsom salts. Carrying those two items in one hand she gathered three basins with the other before steeling her courage to face what she viewed as her captors. The container of the epsom felt low, and wondered if she could convince her step-mother going to market was necessary to restock on certain necessities. This would at least allow her to pretend to live out her fantasy of escape.

"Took long enough," Her stepmother drawled. Ella fought the urge to roll her eyes and placed three basins on the floor before the seats of her step relatives pouring in what remained of the epsom, and filled the basins with hot water. A part of her hoped she hadn't cooled the water enough to prevent a burn. Since when have I even dared to think these things? Ella chided herself.

"Sorry," She apologized, dodging eye contact for fear the woman would be able to read her thoughts. Her step mother always seemed to have a supernatural ability to know what Ella was thinking.

"Cinderella," Anastasia snapped, "This is too cold," Ella bit her lip and nodded, trying to look cooperative.

"I'll put the kettle back on the fire,"

"Well mine is too cold," Drizella insisted.

"Then I shall fetch some cold water for you too,"

"Cinderlla," her stepmother snarled, and it took all of Ella's self control not to throw the kettle at the trio,

"Yes?"

"That tone, Cinderella. What have I told you about that tone?" Stepmother chided, and for a moment Ella feared the woman actually would live up to her threat to 'slap it out' of her.

"Sorry," She apologized, trying her best to sound genuine.

"Mine needs more salt Cinderella," The woman liked to throw the mock-name around. Knowing it was something Ella hated being called. You would think after five years of this I'd be used to the name. She thought to herself. But she took her step mother's complaint as her opportunity to suggest going to market.

"I used the last of it. Once I fetch more cool and hot water I can go to market to gather more," She tried to pose it as a statement not a question, hoping to make it sound more like her step mother's idea.

"Mmm... yes." came a mumbled reply. "After breakfast you will go to market. You will return before lunch. Understood?" Ella nodded, and excused herself to gather the water to adjust the basin temperatures for her picky step-sisters that she was convinced only complained to make her go do more work.

With water temperatures adjusted, breakfast made, and her spoiled step-family fed and seemingly content she was given a small amount of money to go to market to gather a list of necessities her step-mother provided. She left through the front door and sighed, leaning against the door whispering a small prayer for the strength to continue enduring. Perhaps one blissful night of freedom was the worst thing to ever happen to me. She felt a tickle on her feet and looked down to see her rodent friends emerging from their hiding places.

"Well hello friends," At least someone is listening, She thought to herself as she was reminded of what in her home was capable of giving her happiness and she felt much of her agitation beginning to ebb. "I'm off to market," She knelt down to them and put a finger to her lips, "I'll be sure to get you guys a nice treat, okay?" She smiled as they scurried off. She was the only one to ever go to market, so lying about the cost of various items was the only way Ella was able to get her hands on some spending cash for herself.

Ella sat on the edge of her bed at the end of the long emotionally taxing day. Her step-family had been so demanding of her she wasn't given a moment to herself. She pulled from her pocket a pair of scones she had purchased for her mouse friends while at the market,

"I'm sorry I took so long to give you guys your little gift," She said quietly, her voice drawing out the various mice. She broke the scones into various pieces and set them onto the floor. They all gathered around the scones and ate heartily. If I left, how would I bring all of them with me? What would they do without me? She thought to herself. Perhaps leaving this wretched place was not an actual option. She had nowhere to go, she couldn't abandon her little friends, nor could she take them with her.

Or could she? Who said she had to live in a large house with others. What if she found work and got a small cottage in the woods, a place where she could be utterly alone. She could take her little mice with her. She wouldn't have her abusive family to contend with. She didn't need to be a princess in a castle. She didn't need to woo a prince, a man she had met once. Yet I can't stop thinking about him... No. He's just a fantasy. Realistically she understood being the mysterious woman to show up at the ball, finally catching the heart of the prince who was known throughout the kingdom for rejecting every woman who came to call, was something left to fairty tales. But maybe it was the push she desperately needed.

"What would father think of me?" She sighed. "He married that woman because he thought her money would give us a better life. He never wanted this for me. He wanted me to be happy. He'd want me to leave this," She said aloud, her mice friends squeaking and gesturing in agreement. "But I'm a woman. How can I get a place of my own? Would someone hire a girl my age with no working experience?" She continued. She flopped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "What should I do? Father... send me a sign,"

A month had passed, Ella continuing to fight with herself. As she debated her actions she grew more bitter about her current situation. She stopped communicating with her step-family, enduring their orders and abuse in silence. She found herself withdrawing more and more often into the fantasies of her own mind. The idea of her own place, her only company her mice, was becoming an obsession. She had let go of her fantasies about a picky prince and giant palaces after the prince had announced his engagement to a name she couldn't recall. Probably a politically motivated arranged marriage forced upon the boy after taking too long to find his own bride.

"I need to leave," She has been fighting with herself since finishing her chores an after after sunset, a fight she had been having with herself over the passing month. But tensions with the women she refused to acknowledge as family had reached a peak. Stepmother had struck her, Anastasia and Drizella kicking her while she was down. "I want you to come with me," She said, looking down to her mice. "You can all fit in a wicker basked. I'll steal Anastasia's bike," She had recited this plan many times during the last several days, and recited it again to ensure she knew exactly what to do. "I've saved enough money," from lying about prices and simply stealing from stepmother, "to rent an inn for a while. Long enough to find a job. But I need you guys to behave. If they find my room filled with mice, they'll assume I'm messy and kick me out," She explained, getting a lot of crossed paws and narrowed brows. "Don't look at me like that. You know how other people look at mice," She defended. "I can cook, I can clean, I can sew. Someone is bound to hire me for that,"

Ella stood, her bag at the edge of her bed having been packed for a week. Her aforementioned wicker basket was there as well, lined with a thin sheet. She had set a bundle of food next to the basket, having raided the kitchen an hour prior. She glanced out the window, and saw the stars beginning to dim in the pre-dawn hours. She slid off the bed, placing the basket on it's side and urging her mice inside. They ran in, trusting in their human friend. She gathered her bag, the basket, and her small satchel of food and snuck out of the house.

Anastasia's bike was in the back of the home. The bike was tall enough for Ella to sit upon comfortably, The basket on the handlebars was large enough to put the wicker basket with the mice. She managed to stuff the satchel of food into her other bag, slinging it over to her back. The bike was difficult to move, the chain rusting from neglect. But after several minutes of forceful peddling, the ride became easier. Without a backwards glance Ella rode the bike towards town, having no intention of stopping there, but seeing what would await her in a town as far as her legs would carry her.