CHAPTER SEVEN

A/N: At long last, Cinderella and her fairy meet! Thanks to those who alerted me or said my story was their favorite!

Reviews are welcome.

This chapter is unedited.

The next three weeks passed without incident. The kingdom buzzed with all of the latest news about the upcoming ball; dresses were sold out as soon as the dressmakers could create or import them. The beauty parchments and scrolls all proclaimed that subtlety was all the rage, and classes for the latest dance styles from Madea, Casteroborus and Pulmonya were sold out. Griselda went on diets and lessons in diction and singing; Magdalena learned to assert herself; she used every beauty trick in the parchments to enhance her willowy frame. Dalena even got Cinderella to help her, though she rarely paid complements to her.

The step mother was the only one who never changed dramatically throughout the proceedings. The once harsh taskmistress got even more stringent in the regimen she provided for her daughters. She also took great care to impose more duties on Cinderella so that every evening, instead of singing softly or staring out at the stars, the girl would fall into bed, totally exhausted. It was during the times she fell asleep that she would dream of a man whose face she could not see, but whose voice made her heart sing. He would touch her tenderly, stroking her hair. When he did, she would close her eyes, perfectly content to have him touch her forever.

The dream always ended the same way, however, and she'd wake up annoyed, confused, and frustrated that she didn't know more about him. Cinderella wondered if she would ever find her dream man. She vowed that if an opportunity presented itself, she would not waste it; she would do whatever it took to make him hers and hers alone. The girl sighed as she noted that it was only a week before the ball.

She had been so busy in her extra chores that she had no time for learning how to do anything that was even remotely socially acceptable. She also lacked the necessary funds to buy a suitable dress and shoes. Her manners were okay, as far as they went, but she had not the refined social skills one would need for such a gathering. Oh, she had practiced little snippets of dances and manners on her broom and mop, pretending they were courtiers, but she knew that would not be sufficient. Still, she believed in miracles. If he or she were determined enough, a man or woman could change an entire world in a fortnight, let alone a week, she reasoned. She offered a silent prayer in her heart that her wish to go to the ball would come true.

Suddenly, there was a knock at her door. Cinderella walked to it, whispering, "Yes?"

"I do not mean to bother you," an old, weathered voice said, "but could I trouble you for a drink of water? I have been walking and I still have a long way to travel."

"Well, I am not supposed to talk to, or see, any strangers, but…" Cinderella stopped whispering as she considered either admitting the old man or sending him on his way. She chose the former. "…come in. I will get you water." She opened the door to admit the old man. Cinderella recognized him as the man she'd seen in the forest the other day.

"Hello, again," he greeted. "I'm not sure you remember me."

"You are the old man I gave an apple to in the forest," Cinderella replied. She went to the sink and pumped some water into a small wooden cup.

The man nodded, saying, "I am he." He sat down on a stool by the door. "I do not mean to trouble you for anything, but…"

"It is no trouble, really, but I'd be obliged if you did not stay too long," Cinderella told the man, handing him some water.

"Why is that?" the man asked suddenly.

"It is my family," Cinderella answered, going to the fire to stoke the dying embers. The man softly blew; the flame sparked to life. Cinderella's brows drew together with confusion. She wondered how the flame recovered so quickly.

"Yes…" the old man said. His voice grew sarcastic as he spoke his next words. "I remember now…your family is the one that has taken you under its wing, but will not give you the wings to fly!"

Cinderella spun around to the man, responding, "Oh! You have no right to say that! You don't even know about me!"

The old man said shrewdly, "There is an old saying that states 'not to know someone is to know them well.'" He sighed. "Again," he noted, "as I did the last time, I have made you angry." The old man removed his hood to drink the water she'd offered. As he did so, Cinderella saw that he was not old, as his voice had sounded, but in fact a young man.

He stood up, facing her, finishing his water. Before Cinderella could take the wooden cup away to refill it, the cup disappeared from her hand and materialized in the sink. The girl's eyes widened with fear. She backed away from the young man, never taking her eyes off of him.

"You need not be frightened," he said in a voice that sounded like it came from the Americas. "I mean you no harm."

"Who…who…" Cinderella gasped. Then, in a more forceful voice, she asked, "who are you?"

"I am a fae. I was sent here to help you," the man told her. The cloak he was wearing disappeared, leaving the apparel beneath. It was then that she got a good look at the young man. He looked slightly younger than she was, with slightly curly, unruly red hair. His face was almost elfin, although his ears were round rather than pointed. His height was also taller than most faeries and elves (not that she knew any personally, but she had heard about them). He wore a simple linen shirt beneath his cloak, and burgundy tights. The girl peered at the fae suspiciously.

"You truly are a faerie?" Cinderella asked.

"Of course," the faerie man said proudly. Cinderella was not afraid anymore, but she still kept her distance.

"You still don't believe me," the male fey pronounced.

"I cannot say that I do," Cinderella replied truthfully. "If you truly are a faerie, then why are you not dressed in sparkly raiment? And, how come you aren't a faerie Godmother? Aren't they usually the ones who turn up?"

The man snorted and said, "Here we go again! I have heard that humans always ask those questions! Listen, the reason there aren't Fairy Godfathers is because some old stuffed shirt writers, with puerile, Puritan brains who worked for the FCB decided that children and their parents would never understand the concept of a man helping out a woman without any romantic attachments. 'Bad for kids to read about that', they said. As for the costumes, those same narrow-minded, pebble-brained jokers decided that kids like flashy clothes; hence, all fey and other magic beings in books tend to wear outfits the real magic folk wouldn't be caught dead in!"

"What's the FCB?" Cinderella asked.

"It's the Fairytale Control Board," he explained. "They regulate the amount of drivel that goes into the homogenized versions of fairy tales humans read."

"Sort of like a censure board?" Cinderella asked. The faerie man nodded. He motioned her closer and said conspiratorially, "You know about little red riding hood?"

"Of course," Cinderella said indignantly. "She went to give food to her Grandmother and got side tracked by a hungry wolf."

"That's not the real story," the man said. "The real story is that red had the hots for the wolf who really wasn't a wolf at all, but was a man in wolf skins, named Logan. She and he had relations, if you know what I mean, and the Grandmother never was part of the story. She was made up for kid appeal."

"No!" Cinderella whispered.

The faerie man crossed his chest and said earnestly, "cross my heart. Sorry I blew up about it, but male fey work their butts off helping people, and you'd think they'd rate one little mention in a fairy tale, but nnnoooo, my brothers and male coworkers don't even get into any of the books. You have to be a wizard or a sorcerer to be included, and they are always an afterthought."

"That's terrible," Cinderella agreed. "I can understand how you feel."

The man looked at her and said, "Yes, you do. I mean, have your family ever given you any praise for all you do for them?"

"Not once," Cinderella confirmed.

"That's why I am here," the faerie man said, "to change all of that."

"You might start by sharing your name," Cinderella said.

"My name is…well…it is rather long. It is Trillionanaoscapie," he said, "but you can call me Trillion."

"Why did you get named that?" Cinderella asked.

"Because my parents were into long names, that's why," Trillion said. "Any more questions?"

"Not that I'm not grateful, but you're here to help me because?" Cinderella wondered.

"You helped me thrice," Trillion said. "I was the old man in the forest as you have seen, but I was also the wounded cardinal bird."

"That's why I could never find you. You changed back." Cinderella guessed. "Is this your true form?"

"All except my wings." Trillion supplied.

He stood apart from her, and as he floated a little off the floor, she could see his diaphanous wings, which resembled a dragonfly's wings. They were many brilliant colors of the rainbow, and they spread out from his back, making him look truly remarkable.

The wings grew invisible once more, and Cinderella could only see Trillion landing gently back on the floor. Cinderella was awed by the beautiful creature that stood before her. She forced herself to look away.

Trillion studied her, glancing at her green eyes. Were they full of…embarrassment? He didn't know. He had studied human emotions, but he still was clueless about many things. The fey focused on something more familiar to him: her aura. He had seen it when Max had showed Trillion the girl in the tutor's magic mirror. It glowed with such bright intensity it had almost blinded him. The colors shining out from her aura were warm and friendly, and although she had some dark spots, Cinderella's aura was that of a rare type of human: the type others aspire to emulate as they grow wiser in life.

Of course, as far as humans were, she was not unattractive physically to look upon. Maybe her beauty wasn't obvious at first. Her skin was slightly tanned, probably from being outside gathering fruit for pies and firewood. Her figure was well rounded, curved in the right places, and lean in others. Her blonde hair was not too blonde, certainly not like her step sister's, Magdalena's. It was a brownish blonde, shoulder length, with a slight curl to it, unlike Dalena's straight, flaxen tresses.

Despite all of her outer packaging, what had attracted him to her from the start was her kindness and her determination not to be as cruel as those she served. That gave her a beauty that was rare, both inside and out. He found he was also having trouble tearing his gaze from her, but also forced himself to look away. He cleared his throat, causing her to look at him.

"Well," he said, finding his voice, "I suppose we should get started."