Huntress
A Cinderella Fanfiction
It was a rare moment indeed, since her father's death, young Ella could find to play imaginary games. But her stepsisters, Anastasia and Drizella, were upstairs having a nap – their 'beauty rest' – and her stepmother had gone to market – not to the grocer's or to the bakeries, for these Lady Tremaine could not be bothered and would have sent Ella, despite her age and her never having learned to buy things, as her father's servants, lately dismissed, had always done all the shopping, but rather to look at trinkets and baubles and clothes for her own awkward daughters – so she ventured to play at 'African safari' in the kitchen.
She had tied back her long blonde hair with a bit of frayed pink ribbon Anastasia had cast off the week prior, to keep her curls out of her eyes, and was marching about to-and-fro in front of the pantry, doing – under her breath – all the voices of her fellow hunters and huntresses.
"Tis a dangerous sport," said Ella, in her own little chipper voice, as if in response to the ones she invented for her imaginary companions. "But I'll venture on – out yonder – soon as it gets dark."
Dusk, she had read somewhere, was the best time for hunting animals. Or was it dawn? Well, it hardly mattered, as it could be either in her play world, and she did not like the idea of killing animals for real anyway.
There was a broken mantelpiece clock with a cracked glass face, just above the kitchen fire, and Ella pretended to read it, pretended its hands turned and it chimed the hour for her departure.
And, blowing air-kisses to her fellow hunters, she set off, into the wilds.
She had gone some distance (nearly out of the kitchen entirely) when the poor girl realised – she had forgotten her gun!
"Oh, no!" cried Ella, staring down at her empty hands – even a broom handle would have served as an imaginary weapon, but she'd foolishly brought nothing!
And here was a beast – a great grey lion – emerging from its lair, opening its great mouth to eat her up.
Ella sank to her knees, her rather tattered dress fanning out around her as she did so, and drew in a terrified breath...
It was not a grey lion.
It was Lucifer, Lady Tremaine's cat. His mouth had been open in a great yawn as he stretched his way idly over the kitchen threshold. "Roooowwwwwwwwwlllllll..."
For all that playing – when an hour to do so could be had – took her away from her miserable life with her stepfamily, Ella felt immensely glad in that moment to be back in her kitchen with only the cat.
She reached out and stroked him. "Oh, Lucifer!" If he been her dog, Bruno, she'd have kissed him and flung her arms about his neck in her relief, but the cat did not like to be kissed. Not even by Anastasia, and – apart from Lady Tremaine – she was the only one Ella'd ever seen pick him up without getting scratched or bitten for her trouble.
Lucifer stared indignantly, jowls turned downwards. He hadn't come in here to be stroked – he'd come for his lunch! And if he had wanted petting, it wasn't Ella – little Cinderella – he'd have sought out.
His fluffed-out tail swayed back and forth as he scowled, unblinking, till she sighed and brought him his bowl of milk.
I am lost in the jungle, all alone and unarmed. When I meet a lioness in her lair! Then I'm glad to be back in my own little corner... All alone... In my own little chair... – Roger & Hammerstein.