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roseddraws · 1 year

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Don’t usually do stories on here, but saw this prompt and felt inspired. Constructive criticism welcome <:

Cinderella huffed through gritted teeth, scrubbing furiously at this most recent stain on the tile; there seemed to be more every day. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise her if her stepsisters spilled food on purpose to spite her. That sounded like them.

She thrust the brush into the soap bucket, splashing water all over the floor and soaking her dress. It hardly mattered anyway: her stepmother and stepsisters were enjoying themselves at the royal ball, and probably wouldn’t be back all night. Probably be too hungover to get up ‘till the afternoon too, Cinderella thought with grim pleasure.

She sighed and sat back, the stain finally gone. She looked around at the rest of the floor, assessing how much work she needed to do before tomorrow.

Good lord.

Right. Now seemed a good time for a break. She dropped the brush on the floor and stood up, cracking her back. She wiped her hands on her apron and made her way outside, still barefoot.

Cinderella took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of the fresh air and the coolness of it on her skin, soothing her exhausted muscles. Leaning her back against the wall, she closed her eyes and imagined she was anywhere else. It was the perfect night for a ball; midwinter evening, but surprisingly warm, the stars bright and clearly visible in the cloudless sky.

“It is a lovely night, isn’t it?” A voice said from beside her.

Cinderella startled, eyes snapping open and head snapping to the side. Standing next to her was a woman. Or… perhaps it was a younger girl. No, she was sure it was a woman. Older than her, perhaps in her twenties, or seventies. The woman grinned at her obvious confusion.

Cinderella remembered her manners. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. Your dress is lovely.” It wasn’t a lie: she was wearing a gorgeous, deep green ball gown, with a flowing train made of translucent fabric that seemed to fade to nothing. Over her shoulders was what looked to be a cloak of iridescent, black feathers.

The woman looked pleased. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your manners. That’s something I’ve always liked about you.”

Cinderella was quickly growing uneasy, wondering if this woman was older than she looked, and perhaps going senile. Though, now that she’d mentioned it, she did think the woman looked inexplicably familiar.

Tilting her head, the strange woman spoke again with exaggerated surprise, a wide grin still plastered on her face, as if she’d forgotten she had to move her mouth when she changed facial expressions. “Do you not recognise me, dear? I suppose it has been a while since we last spoke.”

The girl tried for a politely apologetic expression, shaking her head.

The woman smiled even wider. “I am your godmother; it’s my job to make sure your life is going as well as I can make it.”

Now, most young ladies might be frightened or concerned by this statement. Cinderella, however, felt that it explained quite a bit about her childhood; namely, all of her faint memories about an old woman that taught her numbers and read her bedtime stories when she was small. And by god did she need someone to fix her life.

She matched the woman’s grin. “I do remember you,” she tilted her head thoughtfully, mimicking her earlier motion. “Partially, at least. May I have your name?”

Her godmother’s eyes crinkled with genuine mirth, and her head snapped back as she let out a laugh like church bells.

“Good! You remember me. I’m glad to see living with that infernal stepmother of yours has not wrung all of the wits out of you,” she said. “And to answer your question, although I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say, you may refer to me as ‘Godmother’.”

Godmother clapped her hands once. “Now, Cinderella, if you still want to get to that ball, we’d better get to work right away. Unless you intend to show up dressed like that?”

Cinderella looked down at her stained, grey rags, still soaked with dirty water, and shook her head. “What did you have in mind?”

Her godmother frowned. “Now, dear. You’ve spent enough of your life being told what to do; I think you’ve earned the rights to some autonomy. What do YOU want?”

Cinderella’s face broke into a genuine smile for possibly the first time since her father died.

“What do you think will piss off my stepfamily the most?”

Her godmother grinned mischievously, her wings unfurling behind her.

***

The prince snarled as he slashed at what was left of the training dummy. The remaining hunk of leather finally collapsed to the floor, and he stood over it, panting.

He felt a little better.

“Reginald Charming Peaseblossom!” A furious voice boomed from behind him.

Reginald flinched, but stubbornly refused to turn around.

“You are to turn and face me this instant, young man,” She said, deathly calm.

The prince took a deep breath, making the most of the last few moments of his life, then turned to face his mother.

The woman in front of him was a few inches shorter than he was, with snow-white hair standing out shockingly against her ebony skin. She wore a deep purple and lilac dress with golden accents, and her arms and neck were all but covered by heavy gold jewellery. Hung over one of her arms was what looked to be a wine-red suit, which looked almost as bedazzled as her own dress. Reginald chose to focus on her clothing to avoid looking at the stony face she was surely wearing.

“Yes, mother?” He asked, still breathing heavily. It came out more feebly than he’d intended.

The queen took a deep breath, and it looked like it took all of her strength to keep her expression cold and neutral (it was unbecoming for royalty to show emotion in the company of others, the prince remembered from his many lessons in etiquette). She stepped towards her son and shoved the suit at him, the extravagant garnishes jingling.

“You’re lucky there’s no time to punish you. Put this on quickly- I will be making sure it’s done properly- then head straight to the ballroom. Guests are already arriving. We will discuss your tardiness after the ball.”

“Yes, mother,” Reginald replied. Then, feeling bold, he added, “But don’t expect me to find a suitor. I am certain that none of the guests-“

“One of our guests will take your fancy,” his mother’s voice was more angry than he’d ever heard it, but her face was blank as always. “Otherwise, your father and I will choose a bride for you.”

The prince stiffened. He didn’t know why he still tried to defy her. He knew all it would do was get him into more trouble.

“Yes, mother.”

He turned smoothly, walking away with his head held high and his suit folded neatly over one arm, as he’d been taught. He deflated the moment he was out of the queen’s sight, relaxing his posture and breaking into a jog. If he hurried, he could wash quickly and be ready without making his mother much more angry. He didn’t want to attract the attention of any possible suitors, of course, but he wasn’t an animal.

Or perhaps he was just looking for an excuse to avoid the ball for a bit longer. He’d probably regret that later.

Once he’d reached his room (slamming the door and locking it behind him), he let out a sigh that hurt his throat with its force. He wanted to scream and throw something across the room in anger, but knew he didn’t have time for any more dramatics.

Instead, Reginald stalked over to his closet and threw the doors open, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He held the suit in front of him, and saw with disgust that it looked fantastic.

As he’d noticed before, it was a deep, wine red, the buttons apparently made of gold. It was paired with a white poet shirt to wear underneath. Reginald’s dreadlocks were tied back in a short ponytail at that moment, but he knew if he let them down and added some golden strings and ribbons, maybe a pair of gold earrings as well, it would compliment the gold on the suit perfectly.

The already unhappy face in the mirror contorted into a scowl as the boy realised that his mother, as usual, was right.

***

Cinderella tried her best to look like a noble as she hitched up her skirts and stepped daintily down from her carriage-that-had-been-a-pumpkin. Actually, she had to move daintily, because her shoes were made of brittle glass (it was A Look, okay? She was a trendsetter).

She looked back at her godmother, who’d been sat besides her on the drive there. The fairy was stepping down after her, leaving her long train trailing behind her into the carriage. She offered her goddaughter an encouraging smile.

“You’re going to be great, dear,” she told Cinderella. “Go have fun. I’ll be here, even if you can’t see me.”

Cinderella smiled back. “Th- I’m grateful, Godmother. And I’m very glad for all of these gifts.”

With a knowing grin, the woman gave a final curtsy, and was gone in a gust of wind and a fluttering of fabric and feathers.

Cinderella took a deep breath, straightening her posture. She nodded to the carriage driver, who squeaked in response. And without further ado, she turned to follow the rest of the party-goers into the castle, holding back a smile as she pretended not to see the heads that turned in her direction.

She was far and away the best dressed there.

Most of the crowd consisted of the more rich common folk- they were easy to distinguish from their extravagant skirts made of clearly cheap material- but a significant amount of them were actually nobility. Cinderella walked among lords, ladies, dukes, duchesses, counts, countesses- and her dress outshone them all.

She’d arrived at the same time as most of the other guests, right as the music was starting. A shy boy about her age in a striking orange suit caught her eye, and she sashayed over to him as the music crescendoed. He gaped at her, and she grinned at him and held out her hand, which he took tentatively. The girl laughed and pulled him to the dance floor, trying for a pirouette. Admittedly, she didn’t know how to dance, but this boy seemed too enraptured to tell.

She giggled girlishly, twirling from his arms a few songs later and into the arms of a young woman in a pale pink dress, who gripped her hands with no hesitation and danced with confidence and a lot more skill than Cinderella possessed.

She spent the better part of the next two hours dancing the night away, never staying with a partner for more than a song or two, but leaving them with an impression that would stick with them for the rest of her life, unbeknownst to her. She was aware of little beyond her dance partner and the eyes of her audience, for once not distasteful or reproachful, but admiring. Reverent, even.

She sometimes caught glimpses of deep green fabric and iridescent, black feathers, and she knew that her godmother was there with her, and Cinderella felt happy and safe for the first time she could remember clearly.

It was pure luck that the Prince of the Entire Bloody Kingdom found his way into her arms.

***

Reginald didn’t make a habit of staring at people. He knew it was impolite, plus most people weren’t interesting enough to warrant staring.

This girl, however…

Reginald knew what love felt like, in theory. He’d read plenty of books on the subject, and thought he’d probably be able to identify it if he ever fell in love with someone, unlikely as he found the notion. And he was sure this wasn’t it. Which begged the question: why couldn’t he look away from this girl?

Perhaps it was her clothing. Her dress was ocean-blue, with layers of skirts fading to a turquoise the colour of a tropical sea, the bottom skirts trailing behind her, rippling like waves. The hemline was raised in the front to just below her knees, and was lined with a translucent, white fabric that glittered like sea-foam and seemed impossibly light, as if it floated just above the ground. Her bodice was simple; the neckline and waistline were adorned with the same sea-foam-fabric, but other than that it was entirely plain- although Reginald swore that when the light hit it just so, it moved like the surface of the ocean from a mile above. Somehow, despite her ethereal dress, the prince felt the most striking part of her outfit was the shoes: they were made entirely of intricately-shaped glass, and yet were as pristine and flawless as they’d been when she’d arrived, despite being perhaps a centimetre thick at their strongest point.

It gave Reginald a petty sense of satisfaction to know that her simple outfit of a ball gown and slippers far outshone his mother’s intricate dress with twice its weight in gold jewellery.

But no, it wasn’t the outfit that drew the prince’s eye.

There was something about the way she moved, that he could no more explain than he could ignore. She clearly couldn’t dance, yet her movements were elegant, flowing smoothly like water in a stream. If he hadn’t spent so much of his life in dancing lessons, he’d probably think she was an expert. She seemed tireless, moving with the same unnerving enthusiasm she’d danced with all night, with an unfaltering grin stretching from ear to ear. Something about her reminded him of a dream, as if the colours of her clothes and skin and flowing hair couldn’t quite keep up with her, leaving afterimages in her wake.

It was like she was enchanted.

Reginald wanted to study her.

That was the real reason he joined the dance, and finally found himself with her a few hours later (the entire crowd was clustered around her, almost forming a solid wall).

He looked down at the girl, who looked back at him, face perfectly framed by her almost snow-white hair, and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Oh, wow. You’re beautiful.”

He immediately cringed. That… that had come out wrong. The girl raised her eyebrows, looking unimpressed.

“Thank you? But I’m really not interested… your highness.”

“Oh thank god,” the prince sighed, too relieved to be surprised.

The girl threw back her head and cackled, and Reginald realised in that same moment that that was also not a polite thing to say to a guest.

“Wowwww!” She said with mock-offence, twirling into a pirouette even though the song did not call for it at all. “I expected the prince to be a lot more polite.”

“No- I’m- I- I just meant- um…” he stuttered, to the girl’s visibly growing amusement. “Can we please start over?”

She laughed again, then broke away and dipped into a curtsey.

“Cinderella Fairchild, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Oh good, they were doing formal introductions. Reginald knew how to do those.

“Prince Reginald Charming Peaseblossom of Mythica, at your service.”

He held out a hand, raising an eyebrow. Cinderella took it and he pulled her into a more formal slow dance, this time to the beat of the music.

“So, what brings you to the ‘find the prince a wife’ party if you’re not planning to court the prince?” Reginald asked, starting to lead Cinderella to a more private corner.

“What brings you to the ‘find the prince a wife’ party if you’re not planning to find a wife?” Cinderella countered.

The prince grimaced. “This ball was… not my idea, to put it mildly.” (In truth, he’d been fighting against the plan for weeks) “I actually have no interest in romance. I’d be glad if I never found a wife, ever.”

Cinderella raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Would you rather a husband?”

She laughed at his scandalised expression, and he scrambled to defend himself (yet again).

“No- There’s nothing wrong with- I was just- I thought- You-“ he huffed. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.”

“Yup!” She grinned, popping the p.

Reginald raised his eyebrows at her. “I notice you’re avoiding my question, Cinderella.”

She squinted at him and jutted out her jaw, like an annoyed child. “Well, if you must know, I’m busy having a good time and pissing off my stepfamily by showing them up and refusing to clean their house.”

The prince laughed. “Alright, valid. It seems neither of us have a happy family life.”

He twirled her around like a ballerina, even though the song playing at that moment was actually quite somber. Then he frowned, realising something.

“Hold on. Aren’t you a noblewoman? Why are you doing your family’s chores?”

She smiled secretively. “A noblewoman? Me? Why on Earth would you think that?”

Reginald took a step back and looked Cinderella up and down incredulously. “You’re telling me that you’re dressed like that… and. You’re not royalty?”

“Mmhm!” She tilted her head to the side as if she was looking at someone behind him, still wearing that secretive smile.

The prince raised an eyebrow, planting his hands hands on his hips. He continued to stare at her for a few seconds, before finally giving in and asking the question she was clearly waiting for.

“So how did you get the outfit then?”

“Oh, this? Just a gift from my godmother.”

“Mhm,” Reginald knew she was teasing him, but now he had to know what she was being so secretive about. “And where did your godmother get it?”

“She made it herself!” Then Cinderella gave him a smug smile. “She’s good with magic. Comes with being a fairy, I think.”

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but when they did his mouth gaped so wide he thought his mother would crucify him if she were there. He didn’t for a moment consider that the girl might be lying: a fairy’s involvement would actually explain a lot of what he’d seen that night.

“Your godmother is a fairy? How… how did that even come about?” Somehow, that was the only question Reginald could think to ask.

Cinderella looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment, then she shrugged. “No clue, honestly. I’ll have to ask her when I get the chance.”

The prince chuckled and shook his head. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” At Cinderella’s questioning look, he elaborated. “I mean because of my heritage. My mother makes sure everyone we meet knows that my great-great-great-whatever grandmother was a fairy, and that I have ‘nature’s blessing’, or something like that. She would lose her MIND if she knew that a fairy’s goddaughter was at this ball.”

Cinderella giggled. “Maybe I should go introduce myself. How much do you think she’d pay if I told her I’d ensure calm seas and a bountiful harvest?”

The prince started to reply, then cut himself off abruptly. A grin slowly split his face, as he turned to face Cinderella fully.

“Just how badly do you want to get away from your stepfamily?”

She grimaced. “More than anything.”

“Enough to marry a man you just met?”

Her eyes widened, and a matching grin began to spread across her own face. “Perhaps.” Her face turned sly again. “Or, maybe not a man I just met. I’d have to know him for at least a few hours first…” she glanced through a window. “How long until midnight?”

Reginald also turned to look. “I’d say two hours. Why?”

“I wanna be dramatic about it. Might explain later.”

The prince found himself smiling wider at the girl’s obscurity, which he was quickly growing familiar with. “Well then. Might I offer you a tour of the gardens while we wait?”

Prince Reginald held out his hand once more, and Cinderella took it without hesitation.

#cinderella #alternate fairytales #fairytale #new fairy tales #original story #aroace

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