To: Ella

From: Drizella

Dear Princess Ella

And so, our story begins.

Once upon a time, there was a tiny village in the northern hills, that you can just see from your old home by staring out your attic window and squinting. And in that village lived a poor farmer, his lovely wife, and his beloved daughters. The elder was Dilly, and the younger, Annie.

Annie and Dilly had a wonderful life on the tiny farm. Although they were quite poor, they never realized that they were, since everybody else in the village was as poor as they were, or even poorer. Dilly and Annie had never been to the capital city, so they didn't know about the riches there. They were very, very happy. But then sadness struck like a snake, and nothing would ever be the same.

Dilly was a mere four years old when their mother died, Annie only two. And for a while, the happiness ceased to be. But life went on, and with each successive sunrise, the children found themselves less sorrowful. And even though life on the little farm would never be without sorrow again, soon life resumed its patterns and Dilly and Annie found reasons to smile again-at first, only crude excuses to giggle, and later, real reasons that they should be happy.

It was harder for their father, of course. His children-Annie especially-couldn't remember every detail like he could yet, and within a few years, it was sadly apparent that they had forgotten a great deal about their mother. But it took years for their father to recover, so he poured himself into his work, his farming. Good weather and hard work combined to bring in the best harvest and more money then the little family had ever known, but none of it was spent, but rather, all saved so that Dilly and Annie could have good future education.

It was the year Dilly was seven and Annie five when their father remarried; a young woman who worked as a seamstress in the village. She had appeared two years ago, and nobody knew where she had come from or why she had come to that little village, but the gossip surrounding her settled like dust after a few months, and she had long since become an accepted resident of the village.

The new stepmother expected the sisters to call her "Stepmother." She had rules about this and that, little things that didn't seem to matter and big things that they couldn't see a reason for. She did less then her fair share of farm work, adding onto Dilly's workload especially. She was a good seamstress, though, and new dresses were promptly made for the little girls. For a while, it looked like Stepmother was just another thing one needed time to appreciate, especially after Stepmother started taking the sisters on trips to the capital.

The trips were a big excitement for the little girls-starting the night before, when they were bathed and their hair french-braided so it would be curly the next day. The following morning they would put on their best dresses, which they never wore elsewhere-Dilly's was yellow and Annie's, pink, so very different then the rough brown material they wore every day. Then they would get into the wagon and huddle under a tarp so as not to get dusty during the three hour long ride.

In the capital, the girls saw riches like never before-dolls that were not made of rags or corncobs, dresses much richer and finer then they had ever seen before-things that their stepmother stared at with a gleam in her eye, knowing she would never have all of this even if the good harvests continued for another decade. For the first time, Dilly understood that they were poor, and realized that Stepmother was unhappy-that she wanted to be rich. Seeing those things didn't effect the sisters much though-they did want the lovely dolls and the pretty dresses, but they saw no reason for silver candlesticks that had to be polished every day rather than simpler ones made out of wood, for cut-glass drinking glasses that could break rather than tarnished tin cups. Although just as attracted as their stepmother by glittering and shiny things, Dilly and Annie were practical farm girls at heart, who understood that things that glittered also broke, and things that broke had no place on the farm. One day, coming home from the capital, Annie saw that stepmother had purchased some china crockery.

Annie pulled her head out from under the tarp.

"Stepmother! Stepmother!"

The stepmother glanced back from the seat of the wagon.

"What is it, child?

"We can't have these plates. They'll break."

Dilly glared at Annie, trying to silence her; Dilly knew Stepmother craved pretty things and needed them to feel happy.

The stepmother glowered back at Annie

"Only because you break them, you careless fool!" She shouted back. "I never want to see you even looking at those plates again! Ever!"

Annie curled up in a corner of the wagon and began to sob.

"Quiet!" Stepmother demanded. And so Annie's tears were silenced. They got home late at night, and Dilly and Annie's father wasn't awake to see the plates or Stepmother's nasty mood or Annie's silent weeping. The next morning, there was no sign of any of those things, but the girls remembered. Seven year old Annie only remembered it as Stepmother being mean, but Dilly, who was nine, recognized the significance.

Anastasia wants to write the next installment, Cinderella. She can remember it better than I.

Your stepsister,

Drizella