#another cinderella retelling

[confetti-cat]

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

[amatres]

if i cant have eloise and theo i Will happily take eloise and cressida i will admit

[writesailingdreams]

I may be a weirdo but I find Disney remakes with realistic animal characters more hilarious/fun when some percent of the cast are human/human-like. It's like fairy tale times --- but in the real world (but not)

Like yes give me the super realistic crab Sebastian. I love it, no joke.

[teaforthotxxx]

Hear me out: Cinderella story where instead of getting a beautiful dress, Cinderella is FTM trans and turns into a boy at midnight. He goes to the ball to have a good time and the prince and him fall in love.

Blah blah. Dance dance. Clock strikes midnight. Cinderella runs away leaves a golden shoe/ glass slipper. The prince looks through the whole kingdom to find the boy he met that night. A boy with mind you TINY TINY feet.

He goes to Cinderella’s house and finds out that they only have daughters. But, finds Cinderella dressed in rags (peasant clothes which resemble boy clothes a bit? Idk) and he asks Cinderella to try the shoe. IT FITS but hes confused cause he fell in love with a boy.

He asks Cinderella a personal qn and Cinderella answers! They live happily ever after.

DO IT YOU COWARDS! Im bored of the current Cinderella rhetoric.

[heechwe]

enchanted ↦ jww

⋆ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⋆ word count: 6.1k ⋆ genre: fluff. semi-angst ⋆ tags: cinderella-ish retelling, royalty!wonwoo ⋆ synopsis: Life as the housemaid and an inconvenience to your family is not what you wished for, but Wonwoo brings a new, royal perspective that turns your world around.

Scrub, wipe, shine. The chant plays over in your head, a symphony to block out the call of your horrendous stepsister trotting down the staircase. She says your name with a shriek but you pay her no mind. More than likely she has another errand for you to do. One she will take pleasure in you finding uncomfortable, no doubt. The color of the suds and sloshing sounds of the water bring you comfort. You dip your rag in the bucket next to you and plop it on the tile floor. Taking pleasure in the most menial tasks makes life a lot more bearable.

Heejin calls your name again when she makes it to the last step, knowing well enough you can hear her when she’s standing over you. “Are you deaf? We need new clothes from the market!”

You look up to her, a confused but indifferent expression on your face. You don’t bother asking what the clothes are for, but you know she’ll tell you regardless.

“For the ball, you imbecile,” Heejin says.

Minha, the younger of the stepsisters, pipes up behind Heejin, her voice a squeak compared to her older counterpart. “It’s the prince’s coronation.”

You nod and continue scrubbing the tile. If the task at hand isn’t done before your stepmother gets home, she will have your head on one of the pikes lining the kingdom’s outer walls.

“Finish this and then head to the seamstress. The fabric must be on my bed by sundown, or Mother will not be pleased,” Heejin says, a warning interwoven with the smirk on her lips.

Heejin purposefully kicks your bucket of soapy water across the floor on her way to the sitting room. The liquid drenches your apron and face thoroughly. You wish you could sling an insult at her for her entitlement along with her lack of care for anyone’s wellbeing but her own. Minha’s face transforms into a small frown, her eyes expressing sympathy as she follows her sister’s trail.

Since your father took gravely ill five summers ago, you have yet to receive an ounce of kindness from your newfound family. “Family” is barely a word you’d use to describe the relationship between yourself and them, the wolves who invaded your home on the eve of your fourteenth birthday, just a year after your mother’s passing.

Minha is the kindest of them all for her inaction during your stepmother and Heejin’s abuse, but you wish you had a confidant somewhere in the world. 

You rifle with the letters you saved from your father and mother, the inscriptions inside of them the last memory you have of them both. Some written to each other, others simply their musings and thoughts you wish you would have discussed with them before they left this earth.

If only someone knew you truly, who cared to hear your words and valued their meaning. Who saw life as a gift rather than a tool used to induce a person’s misery. If dreams could become reality, you would not be alone another day.

Wonwoo mentally checked off the items in his head that the king and company expected to be done for the coronation ball. The town baker was provided with the list of desserts and bread necessary for the feast. The lute and harp players were given an excellent amount of coin for taking part with their instruments. Even the meat and dairy from the kingdom’s best butcher was safely stored in the horse-drawn carriage behind Wonwoo’s own stallion. The final task in need of completion was a trip to the seamstress. In the words of the king, “it’s not every day my boy finds a bride.”

On arrival, Wonwoo was enraptured with color. He absorbed the rolls of fabric and material encased on the shelves, the finest satin and puffiest tulle displayed for ladies and gentlemen to spare no expense on for the upcoming celebrations. He gave the specifications to the shopboy almost an hour ago, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind spending a bit longer outside of the castle walls.

The bell above the door pierces the air with its chime, and Wonwoo looks up to see the most encapsulating view in existence. Would someone disbelieve him if he said that view included a girl with cheeks caked in soot, her hair pulled back underneath a common scarf, and her clothes as drab as a servant girl’s? Probably. But the sunshine on your face and twinkling eyes suggests to him that he should continue looking for as long as he can.

The seamstress and owner of the shop comes from behind the store, a sketching pencil tucked atop her ear and a vibrant smile on her lips as she says your name, the letters together a lovely orchestra. “Here for the usual order?”

“No. Heejin needs something spectacular for the ball. Her words, not mine.” You raise your hands in mock surrender, and the seamstress laughs.

“I’ll see what I can do. Just wait a moment.” In a flash, the seamstress walks back to her private area of the shop, and Wonwoo is left alone again with you, the mysterious but mesmerizing girl. A maid perhaps, given the nature of your visit?

All he knows is that he must talk to you, whether you recognize him or not.

You lightly tap your hands against the wooden counter, waiting for Miss Jae to come back with a fabric to take home. Hopefully one that Heejin loves enough to keep. That way you don’t have to come back on foot a second time today.

“Blue is best.”

You turn with a gasp. The man attached to the voice is adorned in royal clothing, golden cufflinks and buttons matching the royal purple material of his clothes.

 “Sorry,” you stutter, hands suddenly clammy.

“Your color.” He slides over to a roll of sky blue satin, placing a patch of it over his arm. “It looks terrible on me, but on you, I believe you would outshine any commoner.” He lets out a breathless chuckle and intakes a deep gulp of air.

It has been so long since another person wanted to engage with you, especially someone as handsome as the person before you. He may be as nervous as you, given his awkward introduction, but you know your conversational skills are worse for what. You aren’t sure how to converse anymore about topics outside of dinner orders and cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, but I won’t be attending the upcoming festivities.” You try to hide the sadness that threatens to break free on your face, but you’re too late. The stranger sees it and responds in kind.

“Everyone is welcome to the coronation,” he assures you.

“I’m afraid ‘everyone’ does not involve me…Your—” You stop short, unsure of his title as you don’t know his name or his face from recent memory.

“Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo.” Wonwoo breaks into a smile. You’re unsure whether you like his laugh or his smile more, but both seem to make your cheeks heat up all the same. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, and you give yours back, curtsying in response.

You tell him your name as well, a blush on full display. “As I said, Wonwoo, I usually stay in. Not in my nature to court or be courted.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure your company is surely missed.” His hand is still caressing yours, thumb rubbing up and down your palm softly.

A shopboy suddenly comes into view. You both separate quickly, the intimate bubble bursting at the intrusion. The boy stuffs the garments in Wonwoo’s hands and bows swiftly before going back to his duties.

“You must be hard to miss as well, Wonwoo.”

“Well, you could say that.” You both hear a horse neigh outside the shop doors, and Wonwoo barely fights the urge to stay with you. “Until the next time.” He says his goodbye and your name with determination. If only you could assure him there will be a future where you cross paths again, but that hope may be squashed as quickly as it was born. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to hold onto it, though.

“Not terrible,” Heejin says when you come home, running her hand over the material Miss Jae gave to you. “If Mother needs more yards of it, you’ll have to go back immediately before they run out.”

“Of course, sister,” you say. You hate to use that word for someone as vile as Heejin, but Stepmother Jung enforced the rule as strictly as the list of chores you were to complete before the sun set every day. “We must always be a family in the eyes of society,” Stepmother Jung told you once after your father passed. “Even if you will never be a part of this one, you have to play your role.” If only that role extended to social gatherings.

Minha looks over Heejin’s shoulder and smiles. “It’s a beautiful pattern.”

“That’s why it’s for me. Mother will give you one of my old gowns to wear,” Heejin tuts and pats Minha under the chin with her free palm. You know Heejin spares her worst behavior for you, but in your eyes, Heejin doesn’t deserve the title of sister in any form. Just as your stepmother has no business being a mother to anyone.

“You’re dismissed,” Heejin says to you, the hand that was under Minha’s face used to wave you off.

“Sister, if I may.” She grimaces at you, but a curious spark remains in her eyes. You think back to Wonwoo, plucking up every ounce of your confidence. “I was wondering if you may consider letting me attend as well. Stepmother may not let me go of her own volition, but if you told her you approved then maybe-”

“And why would I do that,” Heejin says. She knows exactly what you want, and the only way for her to entertain the idea is if you grovel.

“Because I have never asked anything of you before.”

“As you should.” Your stepmother’s figure and shadow encompass the entirety of Heejin’s bedroom doorway. You immediately lower your head; it’s one of the humiliating rules you have to obey in the wake of becoming the family servant. You hear Heejin snicker, but it’s cut off immediately by Stepmother Jung clearing her throat. “Your purpose in this household is to do what is asked of you without complaint or question, not the other way around. Asking for anything else is an insult to me and my daughters.”

You feel tears prick the back of your throat, but you hold onto your resolve with a steadfast grip. “Stepmother, I am begging you—”

“I do not know what is worse, girls,” Stepmother Jung says, addressing Heejin and Minha, “hearing someone beg for something that will never come true or seeing someone forget their place in this world.”

Your bottom lip quivers without your approval. You can only hope none of the other people in the room are paying attention to your despair. Heartbreakingly, it appears they don’t.

“Now, Heejin, we need to measure you again for your dress. I swear you grow an inch every time you require a fitting, dear girl. Minha, I know exactly which of Heejin’s dresses will look perfect on you.” She motions for you to look her in the eye, and you force the tears to evaporate. “As for you, you have chickens to feed.”

“Seungcheol, I told you already, the conversation is over.”

“That’s Prince Seungcheol to you, kid.” Seungcheol juts Wonwoo in the arm. The practice swords whip through the air as the birds sing throughout the courtyard. “And who’s to say a royal summons would embarrass her? Everyone is to attend the ball. Maid, mare, or otherwise.”

“She seemed certain she was not supposed to be there. I don’t want her to feel forced to do anything.” Wonwoo huffs as he lands a blow on Seungcheol’s hip.

“What good is it to be royalty if I cannot help a dear friend and the future Hand of the King find love?”

Wonwoo and Seungcheol grew up together due to their fathers’ stations, one bearing the crown and the other gaining the responsibility of advising him. Although Wonwoo had no place without Seungcheol’s family, they had become close in their own right. Once Seungcheol ascended his throne, Wonwoo knew he was to be standing beside him with the title his father had worn for most of his life. 

With that in mind, it seemed both Wonwoo and Seungcheol were on respective quests to find a bride to continue the long-held, individual legacies they were born into.

“All you have to do is smile and dance with every eligible woman in the next three kingdoms while I hope my mystery girl decides to step out of the shadows, unprompted and entirely by her choice.” 

Seungcheol scoffs, sweat on his brow from trying to find an open spot on Wonwoo to exploit. “You place high priority on a stranger’s independence and choice-making.”

Wonwoo blushes. His thoughts go back to the fabrics, the jasmine smell in the air, you walking into his life and halting his day in the best way possible. He wishes he had said more, learnt more about you, held your hand longer before he was whisked away back to his priorities. Now he could only hope you would find your way back to him, whether by fate or of your own free will.

With his thoughts occupied, Seungcheol takes the opportunity to knock Wonwoo in the shoulder. Seungcheol smiles triumphantly, biting his lip. “Finally, for fuck’s sake.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You won’t beat me again, Choi.”

“Wanna bet?” Seungcheol jokes.

Wonwoo immediately thwacks Seungcheol’s sword out of his hand in response. The tip of Wonwoo’s meets the column of the prince’s throat, and he grins. “You should train more if you want to be half as good as me.”

Dust, sweep, clean. You repeat the list in your head with traces of melancholy in your heart. You weren’t expecting to be allowed to go to the ball without a fight, but Stepmother Jung was right. What was the point in fighting if you had no standing at all to barter with?

Minha calls your name, her appearance in the kitchen is like magic. You must’ve been too lost in your morose thoughts to notice her walk in. Or she seems to know how to sneak around the manor better than you do.

Her arms rest behind her back, concealing something. “I’m sorry,” she says immediately, surprising you.

“I cannot blame you for Heejin or your mother.” A part of you wishes you could be more cruel, but you’re certain you have little to no capacity to be, even to your worst enemy. “You have done nothing to require an apology.” 

“I have. You deserve to go to the ball as much as any of us do.” She looks over her shoulder for someone, or a lack thereof. Satisfied, she throws a lump of fabric on the kitchen island. You notice the bandages on Minha’s fingers with a quick glance before focusing on the dress. The turquoise material sparkles in the light of the stained glass windows. “So you will.”

“Minha, I can’t-” You feel the same tears coating the back of your throat again, grateful to her but incapable of accepting the gesture.

“You can. You were right when you said you’ve never asked for anything before. So don’t ask. Take the chance, and the dress, and go to the ball.”

With that, Minha disappears quietly from the room, leaving the decision in the air for you to either seize or surrender.

The main ballroom is filled with swathes of dancing couples alongside gossiping nobility and local townspeople. To a stranger walking in, it was a display of royal decadence, the party lit from within with the sounds of joyous laughter, heavenly harps, and gorgeous decor. To Wonwoo, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

 Seungcheol and his parents sit in their royal chairs, the gleaming gold of the upholstery almost too polished for Wonwoo’s eyes. The young men share knowing glances when someone particularly obnoxious makes an entrance or wishes to greet the royal family. Wonwoo wishes he could joke with his best friend openly about the noble women’s copious frills and curly mops, but now is not the time or place.

Wonwoo’s father leaves the king’s side to pat his son on the back. “You did well with your part in this, Woo. Maybe you’ll be rewarded with finding someone to wed as well. Wouldn’t that be luck smiling on us all,” he says with a loving grin.

“I doubt that someone will show up.” Wonwoo frowns.

“Have faith, my boy.”

Like luck was indeed shining on him, Wonwoo looks up and sees you at the top of the stairs, horns blazing to signify your arrival. Even in a mask, he can tell it’s you from the skipping of his heart. With your hair in a loose bun, tendrils framing your face with precision, you look nothing like the girl he met in the dress shop yet the exact same. He wonders how the color blue had the capacity to take his breath away. It doesn’t help how the dress’s bodice hugs you perfectly, the bottom of the gown a cloud that Wonwoo wishes he could rest his head upon forever.

You fidget with the tops of your gloves that brush the neckline of your dress, the sleeves dropping loosely on your shoulders. Wonwoo wants to rush up the stairs to assure you there is no need to be nervous.You’re the most beautiful woman in this kingdom, tonight and always.

When you reach the bottom, everyone is looking at you, the mysterious stranger that nobody can recall or pinpoint. You hear murmurs as you pass, some predicting you’re a long lost relative of the prince or whispering of you being a foreign beauty. You laugh to yourself at their capacity to chat and how far they are from the truth.

You catch Minha’s eye from her corner of the room, Heejin and your stepmother sneering at you. Minha smiles, a silent cheer in her expression, and you respond with a mirrored grin.

You make it to the center of the room, the pathway cleared for you thanks to the shock and awe of the crowd. To your content, Wonwoo meets you halfway. A hush falls over the spectators when he meets you on the dance-floor, but you don’t care about their perceptions.

Wonwoo says your name and bows. You curtsy in response. Despite feeling out of place for half of your life, it seems instinctual now to be in this room. Not with the strangers surrounding you, but definitely with him. “My prince.” 

A look of shock over Wonwoo’s face, and he immediately laughs. “No, I-I— I should have told you before. I’m not—“

You place a hand to your mouth, the realization a flood. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“I didn’t tell you before, so I wouldn’t expect you to—”

“I did say I don’t attend many social gatherings.”

You both share a laugh, the confusion dissipating your embarrassment at your slipup. You notice a well-dressed young man that steals all the glances in the room away from you, the man you now know is the prince himself. He strides over to Minha, her expression a pale sheet. He takes her hand for the next song, which she gleefully accepts.

Wonwoo pulls your attention back to him with the taking of your hand in his. “May I ask you to dance?”

“I would be delighted.”

You sit on one of the many balconies in the royal castle, breathless. Your feet should hurt more than they do with the multitude of waltzes you danced with Wonwoo, but they don’t. You wouldn’t mind if every limb ached, though. With Wonwoo beside you, breathless as well from the night’s excursions, you feel light as air. Free from the obligations you never asked for.

If only you knew Wonwoo felt the same way. He could not remember the last time he smiled this much in one day. Seungcheol was his best friend, his father the biggest influence in his life, and yet both of them reminded him daily of what the future entailed. With you, he didn’t feel anything but ease. 

“What if they send a kingsguard looking for us?” Your mouth is upturned in a smile, but you know Wonwoo shouldn’t be gone too long from the events. He was of some royal standing, and he needed to be there, shaking hands and bowing to subjects.

Wonwoo furrows his brows, his smile mirroring yours. “Seungcheol is the one who needs the most protection tonight. And besides, it would take ten of the best men to pull me from this balcony.” He chuckles. “Right now, there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

You nod and sigh happily. Looking over the edge of the marble landing, you agree with him. The town square is visible from your vantage point, the torches and homes, big and small, specks of light celebrating the coronation. “It is a beautiful view.”

“Is it indeed,” Wonwoo says, his eyes pinned to you and the bare skin of your upper chest. Your skin looks lit from within, your entire being a star amongst a sea of darkness. It’s at this moment Wonwoo knows his father was right. Luck has given him the greatest gift and more, and he won’t let you get away again.

You turn your head. His words make your breath hitch, but you try to reserve yourself. You smile in response and take his hands in yours. Your bodies are closer than you initially realized, and the look in his eyes begs you to move further towards him. 

All your life, you have lived at the whims of others. As you see it, there’s nothing wrong with taking your power back. Choosing at this moment to throw other parts of your life out of focus. Wonwoo is all you want, so you take your chance.

His mouth softly collides with yours, his lips careful to press too hard onto yours. He presses one hand to your neck, deepening his kiss and igniting a fire inside your heart. Every insult or slight you’ve endured over the years seems to fade away in that instant. You’re grateful, even, if it meant it all led to the moment in front of you, a man who seems to share your feelings confirming so with a kiss you’ve never experienced before.

You break away from him, each others’ lips still centimeters away. Wonwoo inhales a shaky breath, eyes hazy with longing. The desire to kiss him again and hold him closer is strong, but timing proves the night can’t last forever.

Your stepmother’s carriage suddenly comes to the front of the palace, and you feel your stomach fall.

You quickly step back from Wonwoo and take a breath, nerves spiking and your heart telling you to defy your head at this moment. It would be so easy to stay here and not look back, but the fallout would be too incredible to bear. And you wouldn’t wish that on this beautiful man in front of you.

“I must go,” you say, a sob caught in your throat.

“Please don’t leave. It’s only midnight,” Wonwoo insists, squeezing your hand. In the same fashion as the day you first met, he’s rubbing circles into your palm, almost like an incantation. With his words and his touch, maybe he can convince you.

Unfortunately, your choices can’t be that easily swayed when so much is on the line.

“I told you before Wonwoo. My life isn’t filled with parties like this,” you reply, tone wavering, “or people like you.” You take his hand in both of yours and press a kiss to the knuckles. “But I’ll cherish this forever.”

Before the pleading look on his face breaks your resolve, you gather your skirts in your hand and run.

You run down the staircase Wonwoo brought you up only moments before.  He calls out your name,  but you refuse to look back now, knowing it will break you to look into his eyes and walk away again if need be. You feel yourself fading the further you run away from him and out of his life.

It’s true, you’ll never forget him or the way he’s made you feel. But it’s also true that it is terrible to forget one’s role in the world. How does one witness all the colors of the world and accept going back to living in black and white?

Little did you know the paper you carried in your skirt's pocket had fallen out on the way out of the palace. Wonwoo looks through the forest lining the castle and curses, you disappearing successfully in the darkness. 

Before he can walk back into the ballroom, he notices the aged paper on the brick steps of the stairs. He unfurls it and reads the handwritten text. He exhales with relief, feeling in his gut he has found the key to finding you again.

No matter where he has to look, whether it’s beside a babbling brook or the highest castle on the far side of the ocean, he promises himself the next time he sees you he will make sure you stay by his side forever.

You feel the sticks and twigs scrape your arms and legs as you run into the forest, the fabric of your dress in ribbons by the time you make it home. Thankfully, you don’t see the coach or footmen anywhere in the distance.

Once you’re inside, you discard the clothes and makeup into the cellar’s hearth. Each item burns slowly, reminding you with every new cinder of your harsh welcome back to the reality you’re familiar with.  The smock you quickly tied around your waist and the soot you smeared across your face to avoid suspicion. The calluses on your palms from the endless, menial work. Your pliable acceptance of cruelty.

It’s all you’ve known, but it feels foreign at the same time. You don’t want to go back to your routine now that you’ve had a taste of what life could be.

Your stepmother and stepsisters waltz into the foyer. Minha looks starry-eyed and love-swept, all of which relate back to her dallying with the prince.

“I can’t believe he danced with me but was looking at you the entire time,” Heejin sneers at Minha, removing her gloves with tense fingers.

You smile to yourself, happy Heejin was knocked down from her high horse and the tides turned in Minha’s favor.

“The good thing is that the prince showed one of you attention, my love.” Your stepmother splays her fur coat out on the loveseat, your cue to immediately scoop it up to carry to the coat closet.

“Tomorrow you need to clean inside the cupboards. I noticed they were a tad dusty,” Heejin says before you can walk out of the room. Your heart was heavy before, but now it’s numbed and frozen to the habitual torture.

"Of course, sister."

Wonwoo rubs his fingers over the page’s text as his father interrogates the young girl in front of them. Seungcheol sits back in his throne beside the king’s chair, curious if this is the girl his best friend whisked away four nights prior.

Wonwoo’s father plucks the writing from Wonwoo’s hand and gives it to the knight. The knight hands it to the girl, her face doe-eyed and timid. “Is this writing familiar to you in any way?”

She looks down to the floor and shakes her head. “No, Lord Hand.”

She didn’t look familiar at all to Wonwoo, just like the last dozen women who came before his father and the prince.

Seungcheol’s idea to find Wonwoo’s mystery girl by interrogating every noble and common girl in the kingdom sounded stupid the second Wonwoo heard it. But with the king’s approval and the hand’s enthusiasm to find his child a bride, the plan was enacted.

Now, in paper and practice, Wonwoo feels more defeated the longer they continue. The only thing that gives him solace is the paper he found, his only connection to you keeping him grounded.

The girl bows for Wonwoo and the royal figures in front of her before being escorted away from the great hall. Wonwoo’s father hands the paper back to his son and sighs.

“I feel we are much closer,” his father says to lighten the mood.

Wonwoo laughs sadly. “It seems you’re the only one who feels that way.”

Seungcheol stands from his chair and pats his friend on the back, his version of a hug. “Closer or further, we’ll do whatever we must,” Seungcheol says to Wonwoo’s father.

Wonwoo’s father exits, a handful of knights marching behind him.

Seungcheol puts a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder. He looks at his best friend with sincerity, a vulnerability he rarely shared with anyone. “You cannot lose hope now.”

Wonwoo nods. “That’s not what I’m afraid of losing. The longer this search continues, the more I feel our chance slipping away.”

Wonwoo traces the familiar pattern of the words with his thumb, the lost paper the one thing holding him steady.

You rifle through the documents you’ve held onto over the years, fear triggering the tremble in your hands. You had brought the dress home from the ball and immediately threw it in the fire. If you had accidentally discarded one of your father’s most precious letters along with the items you burned that night, you’d never forgive yourself.

You hear a horse-drawn carriage outside of the manor and the shrill wail of Heejin calling your name. It stamps down your anxiety enough for you to focus on following the sound.

Walking into the room, you see your stepmother lacing up Heejin’s corset while Heejin is putting a dab of rouge on both cheeks. “The royal carriages are outside!”

You gulp and nod at your sister, unsure what she wants from you.

She exhales with an angry breath and motions for you to go upstairs. “Get my shoes, you idiot!”

Minha stands at the top of the stairs and looks at you sadly. “I could’ve gotten them for you if you just asked, Hee.”

“Like you could do any better,” Heejin remarks. Her voice becomes airy when your stepmother reaches the final inch of tightening on Heejin’s corset. You run up the stairs to quickly follow your orders.

You squeeze Minha’s hand as you pass her to walk towards Heejin’s room. When you find the slippers and place them on your stepsister’s feet, someone knocks on the door forcefully.

Minha and Heejin stand in the center of the room as your stepmother walks up to the front door. You run back down to the cellar. 

Typically you would answer the door for company, but you knew your stepmother wouldn’t want the royalty welcomed by the unbecoming help.

Regardless, your heart thumps furiously at the sound of the stranger at the door delivering his greeting. And you can only wonder what will occur because of his presence.

Wonwoo waits in the carriage as the knight addresses the lady of the house. Wonwoo vaguely remembers his name and feels guilty for not keeping it to memory. Mingyu, was it not?

The lady of the house, her mouth a permanent grimace, nods and opens the door wide for the company to come inside. Wonwoo’s father steps out and Wonwoo follows behind him. Seungcheol exits his own carriage as well.

They all enter the manor, and Heejin can’t help her squeal at the prince’s presence in their home. Wonwoo stifles an eye-roll, keeping his mind focused on business.

As soon as Seungcheol locks eyes with Minha, he smiles. “My lady,” Seungcheol says, striding over to her to bend down and kiss her hand. Minha’s cheeks turn a deep scarlet, but she bows accordingly and smiles.

“‘My p-prince,” Minha stutters.

Heejin sneers at her younger sister, but the prince is too enamored with the young woman in front of him to pay any attention to her.

Wonwoo’s father coughs, redirecting everyone’s attention to him. “Madam Jung, our records indicate there are four residents in this manor. So, to be correct, outside of the three of you here now—”

Madam Jung giggles uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Lord Hand, I have not been to the registrar in some time. Those records must be outdated.”

“So, the third child referenced in these documents-”

 “Took ill some time ago. Again, an oversight caused by immense grief, I assure you.” The words leave her mouth instinctually. Wonwoo feels the confidence in her words and how false it is. From the conduct of her oldest daughter, he’s not surprised lies and negativity are commonplace in the household.

A rumble from the below startles both the women and Wonwoo’s father. The knights instinctively grab the hilts of their swords, but to no danger, a girl covered in ashes from the hearth saunters into the center of the foyer, tears streaming down her face and fists clenched.

In that second, Wonwoo feels he could cry as well.

He wants to run over to you and kiss the tears from your face, squeeze you tight, and get down on his knee in front of everyone in the room. The weight of the ring box in his pocket reminds him of what he has wanted to do since you left him alone that night. He inhales a deep breath, both elated and terrified at once, wondering what is going through your mind at the sight of him here.

I’ll never let you go again, he thinks with steadfast certainty.

Wonwoo comes back to reality when he realizes you’re stomping towards your stepmother. You have barely noticed anyone else’s presence in the room besides hers, and he’s sure you heard every word of her lies from the cellar. The pain on your face is a mixture of incredulity and anger. The emotions are knotted together in the expression on your dampened face.

“How dare you,” you whisper, lips quivering but voice solid as a stone.

“How dare I-” Your stepmother starts, but you raise a hand to her. She blanches. Surely she’s shocked to see this side of you rear its head.

“My whole life, the only act of kindness you’ve shown me is pretending I didn’t exist, in spite of my father’s love for both of us. And now, after everything, to wish me dead…” 

You muster what is left of your strength to continue. “I’m unsure what I did to deserve such hatred in this family, but all I’ve ever wanted was to belong. Was that worth me being punished for this long, mother?” The word tastes like venom on your tongue. It prickles the flesh on your arms to call her such a title, but spitting it back at her with vitriol makes a part of your anger subside.

“You w-will not speak to me like that in my own home, you l-little pest,” she stutters. To your satisfaction, her insults have no weight now.

“This house could be eaten by the hearth, for all it’s worth. It’s no home of mine anymore,” you say.

Done with her and your speech, you begin to walk away. You stop short at the audience in front of you, failing to recognize their presence before. You bow to the Hand and Prince Seungcheol, but you freeze instantly when you see Wonwoo barely ten feet away.

A burden lifts from your heart when your eyes meet. Suddenly, the two of you are in each others’ arms, the pain you felt prior a vague memory.

“I knew I would find you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on the top of your head. He cups your cheeks with his hands, some of the soot scraping off onto his fingers.

You smile wide. What could you say to encompass the feeling of seeing him again? No words would do the sensations justice.

Wonwoo continues before you can respond. “Like the stars you look to above.”

Hearing your father’s words on his lips makes your heart swell. Of course he had the letter. It had to be fate. It was meant to be lost and then found by the man you fell in love with so easily.

“Follow your faith home, and you shall find my love,” you finish, biting your lip to hold yourself back from weeping more.

Unable to stop himself, he presses his lips to yours. He steals the smile on your mouth for himself, his mouth turns into a grin through the kiss. Even when you separate, your foreheads remain touching. 

You had been led to believe, through years of darkness and cruelty, dreams couldn’t come true. And now, with a full heart, you realize love can make every dream come true if you believe.

[venussaidso]

rahu-ketu (cinderella-prince charming)

So after looking into the spoiled brat archetype, which turned out to be Ketuvian, I found another handful of characters who come from old money being portrayed by Mula natives specifically. Coming from Jyestha, the billionaire/fame nakshatra, and into Mula, it explains the aftermath of the massive accumulation of Jyestha.

Remembering that Shatabhisha is also the Cinderella nakshatra (reference > Claire Nakti's Patreon Shatabhisha-Cinderella article), I immediately thought of the film Khoobsurat which I watched ages ago. And there were Cinderella themes surrounding the main female character played by Sonam Kapoor. She is Shatabhisha Moon.

Her love interest is literal royalty, being born into an extremely wealthy family. Expecting Ketu influence, after this list which I keep extending, I checked Fawad Khan's chart, as he plays the prince. And his Mula Moon placement validated this observation of mine even more.

Their pairing made me remember the Chinese drama Meteor Garden. And there, Mula native Dylan Wang plays a typically domineering Ketuvian who runs his entire school. The character was literally born into wealth. His mother is very neglectful and he has no boundaries or self-control at all, being the literal spoiled brat he is.

In the story, he meets a Rahuvian who is the first person to ever stand up against his tyranny. Much like her love interest, she's played by a double nodal native, Shen Yue.

The dynamic is very abusive, so I couldn't finish the drama, but she technically is 'Cinderella'. She comes from a poorer background, much like Sonam Kapoor's character in Khoobsurat.

Then onto the Thailand remake, F4 Thailand: Boys Over Flowers. It is Mula Sun native Vachirawit Chivaaree playing the same tyrannical spoiled king baby Ketuvian from Meteor Garden.

He was born into extreme riches, and he was raised with zero boundaries, doing whatever the hell he wants as he runs his school. His mother is neglectful, as expected.

And the person who courageously stands up against him is the character played by Tontawan Tantivejakul, she is also Rahuvian.

She comes from a poor family, unlike him. He falls for her first, and her Rahuvian coolness makes him less & less unruly.

Then, in the Cinderella film, Ever After, Shatabhisha Sun Drew Barrymore stars in this retelling of Cinderella. And, Shatabhisha ASC Brandy Norwood also played Cinderella in 1997.

In Ever After, her Prince is portrayed by a Mula Moon native, much like in Khoobsurat.

Mula Moon Dougray Scott plays Prince Henry, heir to the kingdom.

[60s-heartshaped-chevrolet]

SPECIFIC MOVIE RECOMMENDATIONS #2

🌸Dreamy Escapes: Enchanting Old Fairy Tale Adaptations🌸

Hello, dreamers! 🌷🧚‍♀️✨

When the golden days of summer arrive, there's nothing quite like immersing oneself in the ethereal charm of fairy tales. Here are some vintage gems that provide a delightful escape into worlds where dreams and reality intertwine, capturing the essence of summer's enchanting spirit. 🍄🌿✨

🏰 Deváté Srdce (The Ninth Heart) (1978) Directed by Juraj Herz, this Czechoslovakian fairy tale follows Martin on a quest to save a princess from a dark sorcerer. With its gothic atmosphere and enchanting visuals, The Ninth Heart is a spellbinding mix of adventure and romance. 🌹✨

2. 🐉 Peau d'Âne (Donkey Skin) (1970) It's a whimsical adaptation of Charles Perrault’s fairy tale with surreal visuals, vibrant costumes, and a touch of musical magic. This film is a visual feast that perfectly captures the ethereal spirit of fairy tales. 👑✨

3. ˖🐚🫧 Rusalochka (The Little Mermaid) (1976) This Soviet adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s beloved tale brings a haunting beauty to the classic story. It captures the melancholy and magic of the mermaid’s world. This film is a must-watch for fairy tale enthusiasts. 🧜‍♀️✨

4. 🦄Jak se budí princezny (How to Wake a Princess) (1978) is a charming Czechoslovakian film directed by Václav Vorlíček. It's a delightful retelling of the Sleeping Beauty tale, following a prince's quest to awaken a princess from a magical slumber. The film features enchanting storyline and picturesque settings, blending romance, adventure, and classic fairy tale magic beautifully. 🪄💫

5.🎭 Tři oříšky pro Popelku (Three Wishes for Cinderella) (1973) Another Czechoslovakian film (I love them) features Cinderella, played by Libuše Šafránková, who uses three magical hazelnuts to change her destiny. The film’s enchanting scenery and heartwarming narrative create a perfect escape into a magical winter wonderland. ❄️🔮

6.🦋 The Singing Ringing Tree (1957) This surreal and visually captivating story follows a prince on a quest to win the love of a princess, with the help of a magical tree. Its fantastical sets and dreamlike quality make it an enchanting watch. 🍃📜

Light some candles, pour yourself a refreshing summer drink, and let these vintage fairy tales whisk you away to magical realms.

Send you love and stardust (another list soon)🎀🪞🩰🦢🕯️

[fictionadventurer]

Top 10 fairytale retellings?

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine: The one that started it all. I don't think it'll ever be knocked off the top spot.

The Fairy Tale Novels by Regina Doman: The entire series was life-changing for me. Excellent as retellings and as contemporary stories.

Entwined by Heather Dixon: Adorable fantasy retelling with delightful characters. Reminds me of a classic live-action Disney musical. It's always a delightful Christmassy comfort read.

Brine and Bone by Kate Stradling: Lovely Little Mermaid retelling from the POV of the "other woman" that allows it to be true to the original while remaining a happy ending. Every time I read it, I love it more, and it moves further up my list of favorites.

The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale: When it comes to traditional retellings that simply flesh out the characters and the world, this is as good as it gets. For a long time, I didn't think anyone could write another fantasy "Goose Girl" retelling because this one is so perfect.

Valiant by Sarah McGuire: Retelling of "The Brave Little Tailor" that (after a slow beginning) is so solid in every area. Another excellent straightforward retelling.

A Cinder's Tale by Stephanie Ricker: My favorite sci-fi Cinderella retelling. It weaves in the genre so well and has amazing characters. A huge influence on my own sci-fi retellings.

Bella at Midnight by Diane Stanley: I love all the first-person POVs, and the way it weaves it all into a medieval-ish Joan-of-Arc-style story.

The Bruised Princess by A.G. Marshall: A "Princess and the Pea" retelling that I read often because it's so short and sweet. It manages to make sense of the plot points without magic and without turning it into a fairy tale version of "The Bachelor", and just has a sweet little love story.

Goldheart and The Countess and the Frog by Kenley Davidson: The first is a non-magical "Rumpelstiltskin" retelling that adapts the fairy tale into a lovely story about art and friendship. My last reread (on audio) left me extremely aware of the flawed writing style, but I have enough fondness for the characters that it remains in the list. The Countess and the Frog is a novelette retelling of "The Frog Prince" that's a newsletter freebie from the author, and does a very cute job of adapting it into a sweet little romance.

[cushfuddled]

When I first started shoveling Jayvik fanfic into my mouth a month and a half ago, I was shocked and delighted at the avalanche buffet of top Viktor and dom Viktor content. But I've started to feel like the detective who kneels down and touches some footprints in the dirt like, "Something happened here..."

Because I can't remember the last time I saw a fanon concept become...so ubiquitous? Even in fics where Viktor bottoms, he's a power bottom/topping from the bottom. Spotting a fic with an overwhelmed sub bottom Vik in the Ao3 tag feels a bit like the moment a snow leopard graces your Himalayan trail cam.

I DO NOT mean to suggest anyone "should" write more inexperienced/bottom/sub Viktor! It's just...as someone who likely missed whatever ancient discourse might've plagued the Arcane fandom years hence, I've been through this fandom song and dance enough times to recognize the smell of...what say, capital-O Obligation.

I just want people to know they can write whatever kind of fanfic they want. That's the point of this post. I hope someone somewhere reads this and feels emboldened to let loose/goof off/get freaky/whatever.

Because I can see why people would feel Obligated to portray Viktor as a top/dom/the sexually experienced one. He's physically disabled and chronically ill. Ableism so often takes the form of paternalism and infantilization. There's this pervasive notion that disabled people don't have sex. People think we're too "pure" for sex, or assume we're "undesirable" as romantic partners/that our physical or mental disabilities would make sex impossible. With that cultural context, it's a radical act for so many people to come together and choose to portray Viktor—a disabled, terminally ill man who struggles with suicide ideation—as a sexually experienced top.

One of the hardest things about being disabled/ill is the lack of control. You can't plan for the future; you don't know whether your pain levels will be better tomorrow or demand another trip to the ER; your life is totally in the hands of overworked doctors who don't care about you. So it feels kind of like an act of reclamation to put Viktor in a dominant position. In a safe, sane, consensual arrangement, all parties have control over the situation, but with topping and/or domming comes the Role of authority/power. Making Viktor an experienced, sly top/dom gives back Viktor's autonomy and agency.

So yeah. I get why this trend is pervasive within the fandom! It's fantastically subversive. I just hope nobody feels like they HAVE to fall into this dynamic.

I remember a Tumblr post from years ago where someone described the drawbacks of a supposedly "feminist retelling" of Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, wherein the heroin saves herself by her own strength and wits. This, I would argue, is a perfectly fine story to tell...but its lack of intersectionality betrays a shallow definition of feminism. In casting those retold fairy tales in a feminist, "empowering" light, one ignores the realities of the people who found escapism in those helpless damsels.

In a paradoxical way, when my MCAS knocked me flat on my ass for two years, I was always out of control of my life AND forced to take control all the time. All those overworked, traumatized, apathetic doctors meant I had to be my own patient advocate. I had to do my own research; figure out which treatment plans made the most sense; find doctors who took my insurance and could see me within six months; argue with Medicaid when they didn't want to pay for one of the drugs I'd been prescribed; find new and creative ways to feed myself when my body reacted like it was allergic to everything other than water and Cheerios. And god, I had to self-police myself all the time. At the doctor's office, you have to look sick enough that they believe you when you say you're hurting, but you don't want to seem TOO sick because the desperation will make the doctor diagnose you with "hysterical woman" (or they'll just assume you're fishing for drugs). At home, you want to project some amount of strength so you don't worry your loved ones or make yourself too much of a "burden." (You also don't want to have to manage other people's anxiety on top of your own.) My disability (autism) and chronic illness (MCAS) are invisible, but I imagine there's a lot of masking that goes into navigating public spaces with a visible disability/illness, too.

So...when everything's this constant battle for control—when you're forced to project strength every day regardless of your pain level—of course some people are going to find relief in stories where they're allowed to shut down. I think it's important to let disabled characters be vulnerable and overwhelmed and even dependent on someone else, because as often as disabled and chronically ill people are infantalized, so too are we expected to "overcome" our disabilities/illnesses through miracles of resilience and cunning. We're pushed to perform strength, cheer, and "normalcy" for the public, who find our disabilities "sad" and "uncomfortable." Every time someone refuses to put on a mask, or a relative tells us to simply get more exercise, or a politician rails against "wellfare queens," or a bus route gets cut or a bench gets removed or our doctors hand-wave our symptoms, our world reinforces the message that we are Too Much; that our needs are exorbitant, our very existence a drain on society. So many of us throw ourselves into self-sabotaging grasps at independence. We work ourselves far past our limits to prove we aren't a burden on society. We refuse help just to maintain that tiny sense of control over our lives.

I find it deeply comforting to read stories where ill and disabled characters are...allowed to be helpless, I guess. To break the fuck down and let someone else finally take the reigns for a while—to lift some of that burden off their shoulders. I love when ill and disabled characters trust someone enough to take off that heavy armor, revealing the pain and weakness beneath the facade they were forced to take up to survive, and are rewarded with warmth and reassurance and care.

At a certain point...is it not a little ableist in itself, to restrict a disabled, chronically ill character to one specific role? To essentially lock them out of a position where they're allowed to relinquish control and be taken care of?

In essence,

Disabled and chronically/terminally ill people are not a monolith. As I always say, what offends one person will uplift another. It's an uncomfortable reality, but there's really no such thing as perfect representation. I think part of intersectionality is being willing to accept that multiple things can be true at once, because everyone's lived reality is different. It's absolutely fine to prefer one trope over another. But if I find a fanfic offensive or uncomfortable, I can always click the back button with the knowledge that there's almost certainly someone out there who'll find that same so-called problematic content empowering. Whether fic writers prefer top Viktor, power bottom Viktor, bottom Viktor, switch Viktor, sub Viktor, dom Viktor, experienced Viktor, virgin Viktor, omega vs. alpha Viktor, and every niche in between...I just hope they go where their heart tells them and write what they want.

[le-trash-prince]

I feel like I’ve been able to read so many speculative fiction wlw books in the past few years that I get a little frustrated when ppl complain that wlw relationships are always sidelined in stories. So I’m just gonna make a list of the ones I’ve completed, for posterity. There are so many interesting books out there and all of these deserve more attention.

To reiterate, this is speculative fiction (sci-if/fantasy) where the primary relationship is wlw.

Ash: Chinese and fae influenced retelling of Cinderella (+Huntress, a prequel)

A Restless Truth: historical magical murder mystery set on a Titanic sister-ship. This is the second book in a series but my favorite so far

Burning Roses: European fairy-tale/Chinese legend mashup featuring older ladies

Cinderella is Dead: YA fairy tale dystopia

Crier’s War: human x android enemies to lovers political intrigue

Even Though I Knew the End: supernatural detective noir, super quick and super fun

Gearbreakers: enemies-to-lovers with mecha

In the Vanisher’s Palace: Viet influenced Beauty and the Beast where the Beast is a dragon lady

Juniper Harvey and the Vanishing Kingdom: middle school age mythological fantasy adventure, I wish I had this growing up

Labyrinth Lost: bruja fantasy underworld adventure

Last to Leave the Room: WFH doppleganger horror + toxic coworkers who hate each other (they really don’t)

Legends and Lattes: Simple and sweet DND inspired cafe AU

Once and Future: King Arthur but in space with ladies. Wish this one had been poly

Roots of Chaos series: high fantasy with dragons and so many queers.

Strictly No Heroics: the struggles of villain henchmen

The Abyss Surrounds us/The Edge of the Abyss: kaiju pirates, enemies to lovers

The Burning Kingdoms Trilogy: desi epic fantasy, enemies to lovers

Spear: Arthurian sapphics

Someone You Can Build a Nest In: shapeshifting monster falls for a monster hunter

The Locked Tomb: wlw necromancers in space. Enemies to ???

The Luminous Dead: spelunking thriller set on another planet—this one is fucky everyone should read it

The Memory Librarian: short stories set in Janelle Monae’s android world

The Mimicking of Known Successes: detective noir set on Jupiter—ex-lovers reunited by circumstance

The Red Scholar’s Wake: space pirates, enemies to lovers, human x spaceship

The Salvation Gambit: con-artists breaking out of a sentient prison-world ship

The Space Between Worlds: inter dimensional corporate exploitation, handler x agent mutual pining, this one is so underappreciated

The Witch and the Vampire: YA vampire x vampire hunter

This is How You Lose the Time War: everyone knows this one

We Set the Dark on Fire: YA Latine political intrigue, school rivals to lovers

If you have any others please add, I’m always looking to grow my reading list

[it-happened-one-fic]

A Cinderella Fairytale - Deuce

Author Notes: @miriamladyvoid So this is the selection from my 600 followers event that corresponds to the book you chose (A book that has been lovingly re-covered in now sun-faded fabric). i wrote this while listening to "Lavender Blue" from Disney's Live action Cinderella (2015) OST. I kept this one as a female reader as well since that was what was in your request. I hope you enjoy!

600 followers event!

Type: female reader/ fluff/ romance/ charming fairytale in a book that has been lovingly re-covered in now sun-faded fabric/ Isekai

Word count: 2416

I exhaled, scrubbing the floor that magically seemed to gain more filth each time I blinked.

Never had I so regretted touching a book as I regretted touching the one that had transported me into this fairytale world that was a little bit too much like Cinderella for my liking. Especially considering I was the one in the role of Cinderella.

I should've known to be wary of the enchanted books Crowley had told me to take to the library for safe storage. If I had, then maybe I would have found myself getting transported to a magical world that wasn’t my own or Twisted Wonderland.

Of course, I hadn’t exactly been planning on opening one of the books. One of them had just slid off the top of the stack and fallen to the ground, opening as it did so.

I’d frowned at the book covered in sun-faded fabric that obviously hadn’t been original to it as I sat down on the other books before kneeling and slowly picking the book upright as Deuce had come into the room behind with yet another stack of books. 

I’d barely even gotten a chance to glance up at the young man as a flash of light sparked out from the book, causing the young man to shout in surprise before everything had faded into darkness and I’d woke up here.

I hadn’t woken up with no clue as to where I was. The enchantment on the book had been kind enough to give me all of the information regarding my character’s backstory.

And it was almost exactly that of Cinderella. Meaning that I was essentially trapped in a retelling of one of the world’s most famous fairytales known to man.

The only real comfort was that, at the very least, Deuce had no doubt seen me get sucked into the book.

He would go and get help; I knew he would, and as soon as they could figure out how, I trusted that my friends would get me out of this book and back into Twisted Wonderland.

But up until then, my best options seemed to be filling my role and playing the part of Cinderella. Which included servitude to my apparent stepfamily.

“You still haven’t finished cleaning the floor, Ashes? You won’t be able to go to the ball at this right!” My supposed stepsister trilled at me from the upper staircase, and I twisted to look up at her.

I had to hand it to her and my stepmother, who stood behind her with a faux-disappointed expression; they weren’t going with the classic nicknames of ‘Cinderella’ or ‘Cinders.’ Instead, they referred to me as ‘Ashes.’

I watched as my stepmother shook her head, her lips pulled together in a pout, “Really, dear, I would have thought you would know this by now. If you try to clean the floor while covered in filth, then you’re only going to spread filth around.”

I glanced down at my clothes, which were not, in fact, covered in filth but were considerably stained. I nodded nonetheless, my fingers curling into the filthy rag I was using to clean, “Yes, ‘Mother.’”

I heard the tapping of heels, and then my chin was lifted by a fan so that I was looking up into my stepmother’s face, which was just a little bit too red to be colored by blush alone, “I told you to call me ‘Duchess,’ Ashes.”

I pulled my mouth up into a fake smile, “Yes, of course, Duchess.”

She let out a hum before twisting to look up at the clock and tutting lightly, “It is far too late for you to join us at the ball, Ashes. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay behind tonight.”

I twitched slightly at her words, indignant on my character's behalf. For tonight, she said. More like for the rest of your existence.

I wasn't particularly looking forward to meeting the prince charming of this story, but I was looking forward to my entrance at the ball. At the very least, I would get to see her shocked and dismayed face then. Though that was only a little comfort, considering it wasn’t actually going to be ‘Ashes’ who finally bested this woman.

The fan was yanked from under my chin, and she made sure to drag its sharp corner along my skin before finishing pulling it away as she smiled at me, “Be sure to finish your chores, ‘Dear.’”

She stepped away, turning in a swirl of rich but gaudy fabrics as I watched her stalk out of the kitchen and to her smirking daughter’s side, “And remember, tomorrow the prince will be visiting to declare his intentions to my daughter.”

My daughter. Not your sister.

But that was fine. In no way did I want to be accused of being related to the caution orange monstrosity of tulle that was the wicked step-sister of this tale.

I bowed my head, idly wondering what my fairy godmother would look and be like as I murmured my response, “Yes, Duchess.”

The two women left, trailing shrill laughter behind them as they swept out of the room, and I sat back.

As I recalled, the fairy godmother usually showed up right after Cinderella’s heart was broken, which did make me wonder if she would even show up.

According to the plot, she should, but I was hardly heartbroken.

But that was fine. I’d found a dress in the attic that was a perfect match for my size that was no doubt left by the previous lady of this house.

Ashes’s mother.

Changing didn’t take long, and I glanced at the clock as I walked through the house. The only question now was how, exactly, I was going to get to the palace without a pumpkin carriage to take me there.

I stepped out of the house, glancing around and feeling my eyebrows raise as I spotted a carriage that was parked right outside the house. A little bit too handy to be a coincidence, as the man in front waved me over.

“You must be a lady of this house. We’ll have to hurry to get you to the ball on time, my dear,” He smiled warmly, and I felt myself grin back at him before clambering into the carriage and sitting as it took off.

I frowned at the box next to me, though, immediately suspicious as I leaned out the window, “This box… Are you delivering it?”

The man shook his head, “No, ma’am, that would be for you. Some faerie stopped by and left it here, saying the lady who took this carriage to the palace would need it.”

I frowned at it, feeling my eyebrows lift before I carefully opened the box to reveal delicate glass slippers.

I felt myself laugh slightly; I supposed it wouldn’t really be a Cinderella fairytale without at least one gift from a fairy godmother after all.

And, just like a perfect fairytale, they fit like a dream and were impossibly comfortable despite their design.

I found myself shaking my head and smoothing back out the full, layered skirts of my dress, idly wondering about what this prince charming was going to be like.

Probably perfectly handsome, in a brilliant white suit, and totally at odds with the young men I’d gotten so used to being around at NRC. And there was nothing wrong with that. In fact, that would make him someone that I’d want for this story’s protagonist. 

Ashes deserved someone who would be good to her in ways that she had experienced since her childhood, when her father and mother were still alive.

It didn’t seem like I’d been in the carriage hardly anytime at all when it rolled to a stop and the coachman leaned around, a smile on his face that somehow reminded me of Cater, even though he looked nothing like the ginger-haired young man, “Here’s your stop, ma’am. And good luck on winning the prince’s heart.”

I felt myself smile at him as I stepped out of the carriage, noticing that its roundness really did make it appear like a pumpkin.

“It looks like I’m going to be fashionably late,” I was surprised to find that I felt oddly nervous as I looked up at the grandiose staircase that led up into the sparkling palace just ahead.

He leaned down, winking at me lightly, “All the better for making an entrance, I say. Now, farewell, my lady.”

And with that, he snapped his reins once, and the carriage pulled away as I started up the staircase, at first slowly and then trotting, as my skirt fanned out around me.

Sets of doors after sets of doors were opened for me as I hurried through the palace, idly checking clocks as I went. Even I knew that the magic would wear off at midnight, and if I wanted this story to move forward, I needed to meet the prince before then, at the ball.

And right now, even as I filled the role of the princess in this story and even looked the part for once, ending this story was still my best chance of returning home outside of relying wholly on my friends to get me out.

I found my pace slowing, though, as I approached a particularly ornate set of double doors in front of which two men stood. Both of them looked my way and nodded slightly before they opened the doors silently for me. Revealing the glittering spectacle of a ball that was spread out in front of me as I walked out on a dais from which two sets of stairs fanned out.

I could see the musicians getting ready, but they obviously hadn’t started playing yet, which meant I’d made it before the prince had made his choice of partner.

I swallowed thickly, letting one hand rest on the stair’s gently curving rail while the other reached to lift my skirts, just enough for me to slowly step down the stairs and the rest of the way into the brightly lit ballroom.

I exhaled softly, bracing myself to meet Prince Charming when I saw him, and somehow, instead of being surprised, I only smiled.

His eyes were wide as he took a few, almost hesitant steps towards me before he smiled in return from across the room.

Guests parted around him, their confusion evident as he walked towards me at my quick pace and heads turned, their eyes landing on me as he slowed and came to a gentle stop right in front of me, “I finally found you.” 

His voice was so soft, and I laughed slightly, shaking my head in slight disbelief until I found my voice, “Deuce… I didn’t even know you were here. Did you get sucked into this story at the same time I did?” 

He nodded, glancing down and making a slight face before he looked up at me once more, “Yeah…  I’ve been looking for you ever since so we could get out of here, but I’ve also been getting forced to act like a prince…..”

He trailed off, and I laughed slightly, tilting my head at him, “Well, you look like a perfect prince.”

He brightened at my words, though he also looked a little bashful before he nodded slightly, “And you look like a real princess, Y/n!”

He reached out, taking my hands in his, and I heard music start up almost immediately, causing my eyes to widen and glance over towards the musician right as one of the men from the top of the staircase spoke up, “His Highness has chosen his partner!”

I looked back towards Deuce, only to find him looking around just as startled as I was, “I don’t know how to dance though….”

I squeezed his hands lightly, pulling his gaze back to me with just that slight gesture, “Hey, we’ll do it together.”

I watched as he blinked at me slightly before nodding, a determined glint entering his gaze, “Right, together.”

And with that, we shifted, spiraling across the floor with unpracticed motions that somehow seemed oddly perfect. They fit the two of us. Two people who weren’t originally from this story but had still ended up swept up in the tale.

As the music trailed off, we came to a slow stop, with his arms wrapping around me as we both laughed slightly. Perhaps from the giddiness of having danced in front of an entire group of people, or maybe from the ridiculousness of us being in a fairytale such as this one.

And then, as I leaned against him, the lights seemed to brighten and turn the entire ballroom white.

I closed my eyes, pressing my face into Deuce’s shoulder as his grip on me tightened until, at last, I chanced opening my eyes only to find the glittering spectacle of the ballroom gone.

I sat back, startled, and my motions caused Deuce to jolt slightly, his own eyes opening as we looked up at the Heartslabyul students around where we knelt on the floor of the school’s library.

“Guys! How-”

“We just closed the book,” Ace was shaking his head at us, his arms crossed as he looked down at us, and I blinked as his stare shifted over to Deuce and he snorted.

“Next time, instead of diving in after the Prefect, use your head, and maybe they won’t be trapped in a book for so long.”

Deuce frowned, straightening from his seated position, “Hey! I had to do something!”

And just like that, the two of them started bickering. But I felt a light tap on my shoulder that had me turning as Cater smiled down at me, “So what was being a princess like?”

I blinked at his words before a smile slowly started to crawl across my face, half in amusement and half in genuine happiness that I’d gotten to experience such a magical little story.

I looked over at Deuce as I smiled, realizing I’d probably never get to see him dressed up like a prince or dance with him like that ever again. And those, at the very least, were two memories I’d treasure for the rest of my life.

And when I answered Cater, I was still smiling, half-wishing we could have made it to the end of the story. It had felt like we’d only just gotten to the good part after all. 

“Like a fairytale.”

[fairytale-poll]

ROUND 4A, MATCH 1 OUT OF 2!

*Includes the original 1950 animated film, the 2002 sequel Cinderella II: Dreams Come True, and the 2007 sequel Cinderella III: A Twist in Time.

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Disney's Cinderella:

she is very iconic, she is super kind and has a beautiful dress

Submitting specifically because Cinderella III: A Twist in Time has lived rent-free in my head ever since I was a small child.

This Cinderella is most young (western) peoples introduction to this very story. Cinderella is so hopeful and by getting one small magical adventure, her whole life changes for the better. She is skilled and inspires such loyalty with her kindness that it’s hard to dislike her for any reason she gives. I’ve always been jealous of her ball hairdo too.

Walt Disney put all he had into this movie. And his favorite animation was the dress transformation scene. There’s a reason she is often front and center on the Princess group promotions.

she is the original. to me. probably the first exposure to cinderella for a solid chunk of people alive & on tumblr today. she is just a perfect encapsulation of everything that cinderella is, even if she's become warped in the public consciousness. also i'm pretty sure she's the reason why the glass slippers are so predominant in more recent retellings bc she is simply so iconic. 100/10 no notes 💜

She's maybe not the OG OG but she was one of the first animated Disney princesses and strangely enough it doesn't stop her from having an amazing personality. She's literally a slave but keeps being a nice person, forgiving and always doing her best. And the sequels absolutely didn't ruin her character. She's a sweet girl who tries to fit in but who's loyal to the person she is and who tries to change things always in a cute and sweet way to show people it's not that hard. She literally forgave Anastasia and tried to help her after all she did to her (the scene where the step-sisters destroy her dress still is terrifying to me)... she's awesome and deserves more recognition honestly...

(Mod's note: the following submitted specifically for Cinderella III: A Twist in Time, but I condensed the animated movies into one entry.) No she is not the same as the original Cinderella of 1950. This girl’s biggest chance was unfairly snatched away from her. When the Prince was brainwashed she was enough to get him to double take. She was so Right that their connection over powered magic. And she had to be rescued from a ship. And was almost crushed within a pumpkin! And finally had to expose another imposter, who turned out to be just another victim of Lady Trameine. This Cinderella fought harder for her love because she knew what True Love was like and she still was able to forgive those who asked for it.

(Mod's note: the following submitted specifically for Cinderella III: A Twist in Time, but I condensed the animated movies into one entry.) Listen yes it's the same Cinderella from 1950 but she has an arc in this one! It's Disney's greatest film!!

Listen I love them both but the animated Cinderella definitly shine in every single movie she has. And she has 3.

Vote for Cinderella because she deserves it and is still underrated in the Disney Princesses Franchise when she survived so much (ab*se... Lady Tremaine still terrifies me and she doesn't even have magical powers except when she steals the magic wand in Cinderella 3) Also one vote for Cinderella is one jump outside the window Henri is ready to do. Yes it's real.

Disney animated the original fairytale but definitely made it more magical and less creepy (like the birds making the step sisters blind? It gave me nightmares for ages). If I think: which one will I want to rediscover multiple times? Disney's Cinderella. Plus Cinderella 3 is a masterpiece.

Mofurun as "Mofurella"

listen. they do an episode where they're all sucked into Cinderella and they make the trans teddy bear Cinderella. Incredible story writing, 10/10, no notes.

Mofurdella is even plot relevant, that episode is how they get the Rainbow Carriage for their group attack anyway MOFURDELLA FIRST CINDERELLA PRECURE EPISODE TO GET ONE MOFURILLION VOTES

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

So, controversial topic. taking in count that in a month, the webcomic "scarlet lady" is gonna end ¿what are your feelings about it?

I know that there's people out there that don't like it for the chloe salt, but i have to admit that the damnation that chloe went through, at least for me, gave her more agency than canon, for the fact that it wasn't manipulated by outside forces like canon did, it gave her the right to choose to be better or worse.

Another great element is that it does what canon refused to do: five back Adrian his agency by letting him vent his frustrations AND let him realize that his father is a bastard.

If you don't agree, that's more than excellent, i want to know your take in this topic, that being positive or negative 😄👍

My friend, you are talking to a big Scarlet Lady fan, so I'm happy to give my thoughts! Get ready for some gushing and in-depth discussion of the adaptation process. That's really what all fanfiction is, but Scarlet Lady is more of an adaptation than most since it's a true canon rewrite that often requires you to know canon to fully appreciate its jokes and meta commentary.

Before we get into it, I want to give a link to the comic for those who haven't read it. The artist/writer is @zoe-oneesama and this is page one of the comic. I'd follow the comic link if you haven't read it as the comic is nearing its end, so going straight to Zoe's page will spoil you on elements of ending.

General Thoughts on Adaptation

Adaptation is an art, not a science. There are things that are objective elements of a story. Things you really cannot change if you want people to feel like you're telling an adaptation of a given tale. But there are also plenty of elements that are more subjective. Things some people might consider vital, but that aren't truly necessary to stay true to the story's core. (Yes, the character core thing applies to stories too!)

For example, to be a Cinderella adaptation, you need to have some sort of big reveal moment where "the prince" finds Cinderella, but that moment doesn't need to involve a slipper and the prince doesn't need to be an actual prince. My favorite modern Cinderella adaptation is A Cinderella Story: Once Upon a Song and it twists both of those elements while keeping the major story beats in place, making it fully deserving of the Cinderella label while also being its own unique story that isn't a straight retelling, it's an adaptation.

I bring all this up because, as readers of this blog may have already guessed, Scarlet Lady does a lot of things that I personally would not do when adapting Miraculous. A big one being that I prefer a more complex take on Gabriel, but that's simply a matter of preference. A complex Gabriel is not a requirement for adapting Miraculous. Complex Gabriel vs comedic villain Gabriel is just a choice you have to make when it comes to adapting canon because canon is such a mess that both options have straight up backing in the source text. Even if they didn't, Gabriel's core role - villain - is one that leaves you a lot of room for interpretation based on other factors that we'll talk about in a second.

I'll close off this section with this: having read all of Scarlet Lady, I'll be so bold as to say that Zoe and I almost perfectly align when it comes to identifying the flaws in Miraculous because I've agreed with pretty much every change she's made. She did a fantastic job staying true to the core of canon while also telling the story she wanted to tell. It's not the way I'd redo canon, but it doesn't need to be for me to call it a fantastic story. Plus a lot of the different choices I'd make come down to narrative style and tone.

Narrative Style and Tone

I'm a novelist at heart, which means that I favor serialized storytelling. For those who don't know that word, it means stories that are one coherent whole just broken into chunks. Stories where the order matters. You can't start watching at a random episode, you have to start at the beginning. And skipping an episode usually means that you'll have no idea what's going on.

Miraculous is not a serialized show. It's primarily an episodic show, a word that means that episode order doesn't matter. Every installment stands alone.

Obviously Miraculous isn't completely episodic, but that's fine. Purely episodic narratives are rare these days. Most stories have at least minor serialized elements even if those elements are often ignored for multiple episodes at a time. This is where both Miraculous and Scarlet Lady fall. They're mostly episodic stories with serialized elements popping up every now and then.

Miraculous does this element poorly because it acts like it's a purely episodic show and then takes that to an absurd extreme. Rules, characters, and lore can never be counted on to stay the same from episode to episode even though that's not actually how episodic stories work. Scarlet Lady doesn't make this mistake. It understands that episodic narratives should have STORIES that stand alone, but that the WORLD the stories take place in must stay consistent.

Now that we've gone over the basic format stuff, let's talk about tone.

Generally speaking, tone is the vibe of your story. It can be serious, silly, dramatic, and so on. One of Miraculous' biggest flaws is that its tone is all over the place. It's a silly romcom that brings in serious topics in serious ways and then handles them with all the grace of a hippo performing ballet in a china shop because of course it does! Those topics are horribly suited to the show's overall tone so it has no way to properly address them.

This is one of the many things I love about Scarlet Lady. It takes the show's absurdist tone and honors it. That's why Zoe's version of Gabriel works so well! He's a silly cartoony villain in a silly cartoony comic as he should be. It's also why my versions of Gabriel tend to be more complex. More serious serialized narratives are where more serious complex villains thrive. Neither option is better than the other, it all comes down to how you're adapting the original work. Zoe's choices are perfect for her version's style and tone. If mine are even close to that good for my preferred style and tone, then I'll be a happy author.

Narrative Weight & The Chloe Thing

This is getting long, so I'll end with a note on Chloe since you brought her up as it's another great example of the fact that there are very few choices that are inherently right or wrong when it comes to adaptation.

I don't know if I'd say that I'm a Chloe fan, but I certainly don't hate her. I also love what Zoe did with the character! It's a prime example of a thing that I've talked about before: the issue with Chloe is not a lack of redemption. The issue is that Chloe was given too much narrative weight to be what canon made her.

Quick definition: narrative weight is the importance a narrative places on a person, event, thing, etc. The more time you dedicate to an element of your narrative, the more weight that element has in the eyes of your audience. The more they expect the element to matter. The way that you develop the element will also shape audience expectations.

In the context of canon, Chloe has more development than almost any other side character. We know more about her family, her childhood, her personality, and so on. This was an absurd choice for canon to make because Chloe is not actually important to the story they told. You could pull her out of canon and almost nothing would change. Gabriel can make akumas do whatever he wants so, lore wise, he didn't need Miracle Queen. In fact, he arguably shouldn't have made Miracle Queen. He could have just taken the miracle box and jumped right into the plot of season five. Similarly, Chloe being mayor was an absurd one-note moment that's easily replaced with something more logical.

Because of this, there are a lot of things you can do when adapting Chloe. Everything from turning her back into a one-dimensional mean girl to redeeming her to what Zoe did: take Chloe's narrative weight and petty brat behavior and lean into both to make Chloe a main antagonist while also acknowledging the fact that Chloe is a messed up teenage girl who needs some serious help. I'm super excited to see the end of Chloe's arc in Scarlet Lady as I think it's going to be one of my favorites in the fandom. That is admittedly not a high bar as I'm very picky when it comes to Chloe content. I think most of it falls flat because most of it fails to let Chloe hit some sort of rock bottom when she absolutely needs to if you want to do anything interesting with her. She's not the kind of person who will easily change or see the error of her ways.

Conclusion

Scarlet Lady is a fantastic adaption of Miraculous and Zoe is a fantastic and funny adapter. The comic might not be to your tastes - and that's fine, nothing has universal appeal - but it's still a great example of how to honor source material while doing your own thing with it, which is a true skill. One of the problems with many modern retellings and reboots is that the people running the show don't understand how to adapt a narrative. They take far too much creative freedom and end up with something that doesn't feel anything like the source.

If I found out that Zoe somehow got hired to adapt something I love, then I wouldn't have any concerns. I'd have no idea what she'd do with it, but I'd be confident that it wouldn't spit in the face of the thing I love. I'd personally read a hundred Miraculous re-imaginings with her at the helm.

[aurorawest]

Summer Reading Update (part 1)

Teach the Torches to Burn by Caleb Roehrig - 4.75/5 stars

This was a really well done retelling of Romeo and Juliet. I read another book from the Remixed Classics series, Dear Henry, and while that one was also good, it felt like it adhered too slavishly to The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, so sometimes things seemed to be happening only because they happened in the original. And I haven't actually read the original book, it was just...easy to tell. Teach the Torches to Burn never felt like that, and I loved how it fleshed out so many of the characters from the play.

You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian - 5/5 stars

I feel like tumblr sings this one's praises enough that I don't really have to, but—everyone should read this. Everyone should read all of Cat Sebastian's books. I think I liked this one better than We Could Be So Good, but that could just be because I've found myself becoming more and more of a sucker for sports romances.

Unhallowed by Jordan L Hawk - 4.75/5 stars

Sad to say goodbye to the Whyborne and Griffin series, but I already love this spinoff!

Soul of Ash by HL Moore - 3.75/5 stars

Crow's Fate by Kim Fielding - 3.75/5 stars

The Sleeping Soldier by Aster Glenn Gray - 5/5 stars

I sound like a broken record re: Aster Glenn Gray, but please read her books. If you like Cat Sebastian's mid-century romances (like You Should Be So Lucky!) you like Aster Glenn Gray. This one is ostensibly a Sleeping Beauty retelling, but one where the sleeper actually sleeps for 100 years. In this case, it's a Union soldier who is put in an enchanted sleep in 1865 and wakes up in 1965 and oh my god, it's so good. It examines racism, it examines toxic masculinity, it examines homophobia, and how same-sex platonic affection became taboo. I'm pretty sure this woman has never written a bad book, but this may be her best.

Alec by Kaje Harper - 3.75/5 stars

Artemis by Andy Weir - 3.75/5 stars

Oak King Holly King by Sebastian Nothwell - 4.75/5 stars

I loved this one! There are so many books about Faerie and they can be pretty hit or miss for me, but this one struck just the right balance of otherworldly, inhuman creatures and characters I could root for. Shrike and Wren were lovely.

Imperfect Illusions by Vanora Lawless - DNF at pg 56

Orchestrated Love by AJ Buchanan - DNF at pg 1

Razorblade Tears by SA Cosby - 4.25/5 stars

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern - 5/5 stars (reread)

The Only Light Left Burning by Erik J Brown - 5/5 stars

Excellent sequel about what happens after you make it to the last bastion of civilization after the apocalypse.

Unwieldy Creatures by Addie Tsai - DNF at pg 12

A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel by KJ Charles - 5/5 stars

Oh man. This may have displaced the Will Darling Adventures as my favorite KJ Charles book. Wonderful MCs, A+ side character arcs, and villains you really loved to hate. I rambled on a lot about this book to my wife after I finished it.

Stars in Your Eyes by Kacen Callender - DNF at pg 156

His Lordship's Secret by Samantha SoRelle - 3.75/5 stars

Us, Et Cetera by Kit Vincent - 5/5 stars

Cinderella retelling with androids but Christ on a bike was this a painful read. Really, really well done. Highly recommended.

Charming Young Man by Eliot Schrefer - 5/5 stars

My 5 star rating diverges pretty sharply from the average Storygraph rating for this book, and I'm not sure why, other than maybe people thinks it's PrObLeMaTic. It was definitely not a super happy book, though it ends on a good note (that's a pun btw!). I thought it was a great book about a period that isn't often written about (1890s Paris) with a fascinating protagonist (who was a real person).

Dark Heir by CS Pacat - 5/5 stars

It's a CS Pacat book; it's the sequel to Dark Rise; obvs I loved it. I don't understand why this series is shelved under YA except that Pacat's publisher thinks more people will buy them. This series is the gay Lord of the Rings you always wanted and somehow is an even slower burn than Captive Prince.

Of Knights and Books and Falling in Love by Rita A Rubin - DNF at pg 50

Cover Story by Valerie Gomez - DNF at pg 176

Letters to Half Moon Street by Sarah Wallace - 4/5 stars

[kirby-manga-translated]

Kirby Manga Double Bill + A Fanfiction?!

Solid Snake voice: Kept you waiting, huh?

Finishing off the requests in my queue (at least for the time being), I present to you two chapters! One from Manmaru Nikki and one from Mopupu. And yes, you read that title correctly, there's a special surprise after them as well! Well not a surprise I guess since it's in the title but very special! Anyways, let's just get to the manga, eh?

Kirby: Manmaru Nikki (AKA Daily Round Diary) - Volume 4, Bonus Chapter 2 English Translation

Starting off with a quick little retelling of Cinderella with Kirby characters in all the roles! Though this one is short, I still feel like I got some good translation work in there. A lovely morsel of Kirby manga that can be read in full at the following links:

Imgur

MangaDex

Google Drive

Next up, it's

Kirby: Moretsu Pupupu Hour - Volume 7, Chapter 8 English Translation

A full-sized chapter here about Kirby leaving and the manga getting a new main character that definitely isn't just Kirby wearing a costume! King Dedede is left to figure out what's going on and how to convince the others that it's obviously just Kirby wearing a costume. Read the full thing at the following links:

Imgur

MangaDex

Google Drive

Now what was that about a fanfiction?

It's true, dear readers: I have dabbled in fanficcery! It's kind of like translating a manga chapter except instead of translating Japanese into readable English I have to translate my internal thought process into readable English.

It's a nice and simple story about Kirby wanting to eat a cake but not being allowed to eat said cake and all the emotion and heartbreak that occurs as a result, featuring King Dedede, Daroach, Adeleine, and Magolor. It's the very first fanfic I've ever written, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. It might not Wham Bam Rock your socks off but it could, uh... Fatty Whale your... scales off? Look just read the thing at this link if you want

Whew! Looks like you've got some reading to catch up on. It hopefully won't take me this long to update again since I'm not planning on writing another fanfic anytime soon (but maybe someday...). Hope you enjoy the chapters and please let me know what you think of my fanfic!

[obeetlebeetle]

brennan's choice to bring the authors into neverafter is an interesting move -- on a basic, storytelling level, it adds another dimension to the cosmic horror elements already in place, which is useful primarily because brennan likes cosmic horror and tends to rely on it, so we have a lot of basis for comparison going forward. on another level, and one that i find more fruitful largely because it brings something very new and sharp to the story, is that we now have textual acknowledgement that these tales were recorded or written with authorial intent. we've yet to see if brennan will be invoking basile, perrault, the grimms, etc., but they are present in the text now and can be considered as much a part of the neverafter story as the characters themselves. all that said, i want to start thinking about what that authorial intent was, and how it has developed in our retelling.

much of the horror in neverafter is centered on pinocchio -- he is our most direct link to the stepmother, an entity that consumes other characters (notably, her own children and red's grandmother, and presumably snow white's stepmother) in order to achieve the same power as the authors. so we can demonstrate a link between authorial intent and parental authority, and we can assume that neverafter is interested in the intersections between parent and author as roles occupied in order to control characters or stories and their eventual outcome.

as a character, pinocchio is pinocchio, but acting on an archetypal level he is also the child: his original tale was inspired by and modeled after the "jack" tales, after all. there are two primary roles that the child can inhabit in fairy tales. the good child is rewarded, and the bad child is punished. as a character, pinocchio confuses these roles, and we can see why -- the original intent of his tale was not to reward him, and he was never supposed to become "good" and therefore "real." he was meant to die as a puppet. in nva4, pinocchio dies as a puppet. the dissonance of collodi's tale is recognized in the stepmother's promise to pinocchio, stating that she can make him real when it is impossible for him to be good.

in this, the stepmother takes on the role of both the blue fairy and geppetto in pinocchio's story. but those roles, as written by collodi, were never meant to be gentle -- the parent is not meant to be a source of care, or protection.

brennan is not collodi -- his concerns are less material, less related to the issues of class and poverty and survival present in collodi's tale -- but, consciously or not, he has drawn on the way the original story primes pinocchio to accept violence from parental figures and to understand their anger towards him as a function of a properly told story. in this instance, with the agency of a player behind him, he is able to develop new aims and defy his parental authority -- and we can see that the world of neverafter is unable to function properly when pinocchio cuts his strings and rejects his role as a servant to his father's wellbeing.

so, again, we see the stepmother taking on geppetto's role -- but what about the fairy? what about the fact that our pinocchio was introduced after the end of his tale, and what about the role the fairy has played until now? she was the one that killed him the first time, not the stepmother; she was the orchestrator of his moral adventure and, as neverafter so succinctly put it, the figure in control of whether or not pinocchio is "real."

there has been a clear schism between the fairies and the stepmother in neverafter -- we can see that in the exchange between the stepmother and cinderella's fairy godmother, particularly the claim that "magic was never [the stepmother's], magic is [the fairies']!" but what the fairies seem to resent is the stepmother's authorial role, her ability to take stories and reshape them, rather than the character role she plays within the stories themselves.

additionally, there have been a lot of hints that this was a "good" world, and that there is something to return to, if the stories can be restored to their "real" versions. but by breaking down the original pinocchio tale through the lens of what has occurred in the neverafter, we can see that this corrupted version is not really so different -- the macro effect, the authorial intent through first the stepmother and then brennan himself, has clearly changed, but the effect on pinocchio as character and the child as archetype remains.

i take the introduction of the authors into the tale and the link drawn between them and the stepmother to be our first significant sign that things will not be able to return to the happily ever after -- our first real critique of the conditions of thought created and reinforced within fairy tales, and hopefully, a sign that brennan is questioning not the optimism of the fairy tale but the goals fairy tales set out to achieve.