#fan retelling
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rustic-space-fiddle · 7 months ago
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WIP of Penelope with her forever-unfinished shroud.
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retellingthehobbit · 1 year ago
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Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 16: The Song of the Lonely Mountain First chapter / Previous / Next
To view full comic: Webtoon/A03 / Tumblr post with links to all chapters
Other blogs: TikTok/Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog
*crumbles into dust after finishing this* Thank you for reading! This The Hobbit webcomic adaptation thing takes a lot of effort to put together and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate every comment. I also really appreciate the people who’ve spread the word of this comic to their friends! <3
And finally, we’re at the Song of the Lonely Mountain! Within Tolkien’s canon, The Hobbit is an in-universe book that was “written” by Bilbo Baggins, who occasionally lies/embellishes/exaggerates things. The tonal differences between The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are explained by Bilbo and Frodo/Sam being different kinds of storytellers, with different relationships to “the truth.” This idea is the core of how I’m adapting the novel!  Bilbo is an unreliable narrator who is literally ‘drawing’ from his own limited experiences;  the different art styles reflect the different perspectives of other characters.   The “dwarf art style” in this chapter is inspired by stonework/metalwork in general— but especially by a mix of art deco, Celtic art, and European folk art. 
The central tension of the comic is between Bilbo and Thorin, who each have wildly different ideas about what kind of  story they’re in. Thorin is in a grand fantasy epic, while Bilbo is in a lighthearted children’s book adventure.  The tragedy is, obviously, that only one side of the story ever gets to be fully told.
On a sillier note, a few years ago I had my first gay crush on a lesbian who sang while playing the piano. This chapter is dedicated to the piano lesbian. I hope they’re doing well, wherever they are. XD
I think I might need a bit of a break but I’m hoping for the next chapter, titled “Dawn,” to arrive on January 13th. And your comments/support really do help motivate me to get more done! ^_^
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lunarbuck · 1 year ago
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Dumb Bunny (dark!winter soldier xf!reader)
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a dark little red riding hood retelling
pairing: dark!winter soldier x f! reader (any race)
wc: 3.3k
summary: The Wolf sees you walking through the forest on your way to your grandmother's house, and he just can't help himself.
warnings: dark fic, knives, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), pet names [bunny], degradation, primal play, predator/prey, fear, crying
a/n: this is my entry for @boxofbonesfic's fairytale writing challenge :) I hope you guys enjoy!
beta'd by the amazing @sgt-seabass <3
my masterlist
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The sight of your home village warms your heart. You’ve been away for so long and missed so much. It’s good to be back. You pull the hood of your cape up to keep the sun off your face and venture into the heart of the village. 
After gathering some sweets and a few loaves of bread, you bid farewell to the friendly faces you pass. As lovely as the village is, you can’t shake the feeling that something is just slightly… wrong.
The edge of the forest calls to you, the familiar sound of songbirds lulling you in. You’ve traveled this path hundreds of times; you know it with your eyes closed, even after all this time. Beautifully bright flowers bloom just off the beaten path. You gaze at them but don’t stop to pick any. Grandmother is expecting you. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her, you feel guilty you haven’t visited sooner.
As you walk, you hear footsteps crunch through the fallen leaves. You turn around, the hem of your cape fluttering with the movement. Behind you, you see a tall mountain of a man. Cloaked in black, the man stalks toward you. You’ve heard whisperings of him in town, the Wolf, they call him. 
“Excuse me, miss,” he coos, voice deep and gravelly. “Where are you headed? A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone in these woods,” he whispers. “There is danger around every corner.” 
You know what people say about the Wolf, the things he’s rumored to have done. That he’s a killer, that he roams the woods hunting unsuspecting victims. He’s ruthless, coldblooded and animal-like in his violence. You’re sure the rumors are true as you gaze up at his bright eyes. Fear flashes through your mind as you stare at him. His eyes are a stark, beautiful blue. His hair, dark and inky, frames his face, though most of it is covered by a black mask. 
“I’m visiting my grandmother’s house,” you tell him, smiling politely. You’ve always been taught to be kind to strangers, and this stranger, in particular, the way he’s looking at you, seems to scream danger. You don’t want to risk slighting him.
“Ah,” the Wolf replies, raising his eyebrows. “And what might you have there in your basket?” You move the cloth, showing the Wolf your various sweets and loaves of bread. You imagine he is licking his lips behind his mask. Images of his lips on you, of him kissing you deeply, of him tasting you, flash through your mind, and you quickly shut your eyes. You try to shake off the heat that’s settled in your belly. You shouldn’t think that way about a stranger.
“Well, I must be going. Grandmother is expecting me.” You nod to the Wolf and cover your basket, returning to the path you’d been following. Each breath feels tight in your chest.
“What a shame,” he calls. “The birds are singing so sweetly.” Your steps slow as you allow yourself to listen to the songs that float through the air, but you continue on. You can always listen to the birds as you walk.
“Ah, but the flowers are so beautiful this time of year. Wouldn’t your grandmother enjoy a bouquet?” The Wolf asks, again halting your walking. You glance at the flowers off the path, practically preening for you in the sunlight. Grandmother has always loved the wildflowers; maybe you could spare a few moments to gather a small bouquet. 
“I suppose…” You glance back at the Wolf, finding that he has continued to follow you down the path. He’s so close now that if you breathed deeply, your back would touch his chest. Your heart stutters with fear. How did he move so quickly without you hearing? How did you not feel him approach?
“You don’t want to miss out on all the beauty,” he whispers, leaning down beside your ear. With two long fingers, the Wolf tugs your hood off your head, letting the breeze flutter against your neck. He breathes deeply, and your knees wobble as you feel the heat the Wolf emanates. Something sharp trails down your neck, a stinging pain following close behind, and your eyes widen.
Not even a breath later, he’s gone. You shudder at his sudden absence and quickly dart your eyes around, looking for the Wolf, but he’s disappeared into the shadows. 
You try to calm your nerves, focusing instead on the flowers glittering just a few paces away. You kneel down, gathering your skirts to prevent them from getting dirty. The flowers are soft against your fingertips as you pick the perfect ones. All the while, the Wolf’s beautiful blue eyes burn in your mind.
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The Wolf
Poor, poor grandmother, I think to myself as I drag the woman out of her woodland home and into the glade. She’ll wake up eventually, but not before I do what I want. Not before I take care of her sweet, beautiful little granddaughter. 
I go back into the house and take in the empty space. Photos of my little bunny are everywhere, school photos and memories of vacations. She looks so delectable in her too-small bikini, her bright smile practically blinding me. 
Next, I climb the stairs, finding myself in the room I had just dragged her grandmother from. The four-poster bed takes up most of the room, fabric hanging from the top of the frame like a canopy. I grin at the thought of taking my bunny here, her tears staining the blanket. Her screams filling the air. I feel myself hardening in my pants, and I adjust my cock.
When I saw her walking through town, my mouth watered. She looked so beautiful in her red cloak, the sun warming her skin. She looked good enough to fucking eat. I followed her from a distance, but once she entered the forest, I couldn’t hold back any longer. The smell of her when I got close… I could barely hold myself back. I wanted to grab her right then and there. I wanted to fuck her into the dirt. But good things come to those who wait. 
I am not a patient man, and I always get what I want. Always.
So, I lay down on the bed, the canopy concealing me well enough, and wait. 
And wait, and wait.
Until I hear the door creak open. 
“Grandmother?” My bunny calls. I can practically hear the smile on her lips. I grin beneath my mask, fingers itching to touch her. To mark her. I hear her footsteps as she wanders into the house. My heartbeat speeds up, ready for the hunt. 
“Grandmother?” She calls again, this time even closer. I see her shadow as she comes up the stairs, and a moment later, she pushes open the bedroom door. “Oh, Grandmother, are you ill?” Through the canopy, I see her set down a vase of flowers, the ones she picked in the woods, and her basket, full of sweets.  
Her fingers gently curl around the canopy’s fabric and tug it aside. Her eyes widen, and her lips part on a scream, but I’m already moving. I lunge, grab her, and push her down onto the mattress. My hand presses over her mouth, absorbing her scream.
“So fucking beautiful when you scream, bunny,” I growl, dipping my head into the crook of her neck. I breathe her in, the sweet scent of fear mixing with the floral scent of her perfume.
My bunny writhes and struggles against me, but it’s no use. I’m bigger than her, stronger than her. She’ll never escape me. She heaves her breath behind my hand, so I take it off of her, not minding if she screams. No one will hear her anyways. 
“What– what are you doing?” She whimpers, tears streaking down her face.
I don’t answer. Instead, I straddle her hips, pinning her to the bed. I run my hands along her torso and up to her breasts. She fits perfectly in my hands, and I flick my eyes to hers, watching her reaction. I can see the way she struggles with herself. The way she wants to give in to me, but something holds her back. 
“Oh, bunny,” I whisper, my hands coming up to curl around her neck. “What a beautiful neck you have.” I squeeze her neck lightly, giving her just a taste of what I want, and I see the way her pupils dilate. Her hips jolt up into mine, and I grin beneath my mask.
She breathes heavily, lips parting into a perfect, soft ‘o’. “And what perfect lips you have.” I move one hand up, running my thumb across her beautiful mouth. I lean down close, cupping her jaw. 
I want to taste her, I want to rip this fucking mask off my face and taste my little bunny, but I can’t. Not yet. I need to be patient. I sit up, slipping a knife out of my belt and flicking it open. Her eyes widen at the glinting blade.
“Please,” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes again. “Please don’t hurt me.” I grin.
“My poor, stupid, little bunny. The more you beg me not to, the more I want to hurt you.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and I stifle a moan. I don’t know how I’ve lived so long without her, how I’m going to go on living if I don’t have her by my side.
“What did you do to my grandmother?” She asks, voice wavering.
“You don’t want to know, bunny.” Her tears stream down her cheeks, and she hiccups as she sobs. She’s fucking perfect. I take in the sight of her blood-red cloak stark against the white sheets. I run the knife along the side of her face, not cutting or scratching her but letting her feel the sharp edge. 
I slide off the bed, dragging the knife down the center of her sternum between her breasts and down her torso. I see the thoughts running through her pretty little head. I know she wants to run. I hope she does. I step back and watch her fingers twitch before she darts off the bed. Her red cape flutters behind her as she saints down the stairs. I give her a head start before giving chase. My little bunny is more perfect than she could ever know.
After taking a steadying breath, I take off after my bunny. She left the front door open, and I catch sight of the hem of her cape as she dives behind a tree. She ran pretty far, I’ll give her that, but she won’t escape me. Never.
My feet pound on the ground as I chase her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. She keeps running, doing her best to hide as she goes deeper into the forest, but she’s not fast enough. I catch up quickly, making sure she knows just how close I am. Whenever she hears my boots snap a twig, she yelps, tripping over her feet. As we get further away from the house, she loses steam. I grin as she stumbles, constantly looking back to see me hunting her. 
Bunny’s cape gets caught on a branch, and she falls, landing hard in the dirt. She tries to crawl away, but she knows it’s no use. I stalk toward her, loving the way she shakes with each breath, and sink to the ground by her head.
I grip her by her hair, lifting her face out of the dirt, and lean down. “You lose, bunny.” She gasps as I bring out my knife, holding it near her cheek as I turn her. Even though she ran and wants to think she’s afraid of me, I know what she wants. I can fucking smell it on her. Can taste it in the air. 
“Please,” she whispers, fingers digging into the leaves on the ground. Her thighs rub together beneath her skirts, and my mouth waters. I know she won’t run this time, not when she’s so close to getting what she wants.
I remove my mask, tugging it from my face with my other hand. Her lips part as her eyes search my features. I move between her legs, running a hand along one of her legs. I push up her skirt, exposing her soft skin. With my knife, I run the tip along her leg, up and up, until I reach her panties. She can’t hide how needy she is. My bunny writhes in the dirt, begging me to touch her with her big beautiful eyes. I slide my knife beneath the waistband of her panties, slicing the fabric. I cut a matching slit near her other leg, tugging the material away. She shivers as the cool air hits her cunt.
“What a pretty pussy you have, bunny,” I growl, lowering my face to the crux of her thighs. She watches me with lust-filled eyes, nodding like the dumb little bunny she is. I bite her inner thigh, leaving an imprint of my teeth on her skin.
“What beautiful eyes you have,” she tells me, a small smile on her lips. 
“The better to see you with, bunny.” I run my nose along her pussy, and she bites back a moan. My tongue laves along her clit, and I hear her breath hitch. 
“What–” she gasps when I press a finger inside her tight cunt. “What a perfect mouth you have.” I groan against her pussy, devouring her like my last meal. 
“The better to eat you with,” I mutter into her pussy. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. She tastes so fucking sweet, practically dripping against my lips. I knew my bunny would be perfect, but she’s better than I ever could have dreamed. 
“Please, please,” she whimpers, begging for her release. I curl my finger inside of her, looking for the spot that makes her squirm, and brush my teeth over her sensitive clit. My little bunny is so responsive for me, writhing around in the dirt. 
“So fucking sweet, bunny, my own little treat.” Her whimpers get higher pitched, and I know she’s close. I’m practically humping the dirt, I’m so hard, but all I can think about is how good my bunny is being and how fucking perfect she’s going to feel wrapped around my cock. 
I work her right up to the edge, and when she’s gripping my hair so hard she’s about to pull it out, she breaks. She comes all over my tongue and finger, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I crawl up over her, my tongue running over my lips, gathering her taste. “What a good bunny,” I whisper, taking in the sight of her blissed-out expression. She wants more, though, I can tell. 
Her eyes roam over my face, her hands tracing over my features. Her lips part, but she can’t seem to find the words. “Tell me what you want, bunny.” My finger circles her sensitive clit; she jolts. 
She shudders but doesn’t speak. “Come on, bunny. I know you’re afraid. I know that you don’t want to admit it. You want my cock? Is that it, bunny? You want me to fuck you here in the dirt?” Her eyebrows pinch together, and fear flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m dangerous; she knows I am unpredictable.
“You wanna be my dirty bunny?” I ask her, nipping at the soft skin of her neck. “You’re my dumb fucking bunny, you know that? You’re gonna let me fuck you into the dirt, and you’re gonna love every second of it, isn’t that right?”
“Oh my god,” she moans, hips bucking against my fingers. “Please.”
“I need to hear you say it, bunny.” I bite her shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and she gasps. “Tell me that you’re my dumb little bunny. Tell me what you want me to do.”
I see the way she hesitates, the way her mind runs through all the reasons she should fight me, but then I see the shift. I see the moment lust takes over, and she succumbs to her primal desires.
“I’m your dumb little bunny,” she whispers. I slide two fingers into her pussy, scissoring my fingers to stretch her. “And–” she sucks in a breath. “And I want– need you to fuck me.”
“Such a good bunny.” I settle back between her legs and pump my fingers, working her up again. I use my other hand to take off my belt. When my pants are down far enough, I palm my cock, moaning. She watches me with hooded, lust-drunk eyes, and I smirk. My dumb little bunny looks so pretty taking my fingers, but she’ll look even better taking my cock.
I take a long look at her pretty face before I grip her hips and turn her over. Hooking my hands underneath her, I position her with her ass high and her head in the dirt. This is how she was meant to be; she was fucking born for this. 
I line my cock up with her perfect pussy and tease her clit, loving how she jolts each time. My little bunny has never looked better with her skirt shoved up on her waist and her face pressed against the earth.
“What a perfect bunny for me,” I tell her, spanking her ass. I press my cock into her, groaning as she squeezes me. She’s so fucking tight, so perfect, like she was made for me. Made for this. I slide in, loving how she stretches around my dick. Her face screws up the deeper I get, but I don’t give her time to adjust. 
I set a brutal, deep pace, and electricity shoots up my spine. The sounds she’s making, the way her fingers dig into the dirt, are nearly too much for me to handle. The smell of sex and earth floods my nose, and I feel it flood my bloodstream. 
She moans and whimpers with each thrust, pressing back with each thrust, egging me on. My little bunny wants me just as much as I want her. I lean down, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and haul her torso up so she’s kneeling, arching against me. I run my tongue along the spot I’d cut earlier when I’d first spoken to her, tasting the sweet tang of her blood.
My little bunny has tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her eyes are screwed shut as she takes my dick.
“Such a good little bunny,” I groan into her ear. “You were fucking made for this. You were fucking born to be my dumb bunny, to take my cock.” Her cunt flutters around my dick, and my hips stutter.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants like a prayer. I drop a hand to her clit and circle it in a way that makes her throw her head back, and bite the cut on her neck. The combination of sensations throws her over the edge, and she convulses on my cock.
I press her back into the dirt and pound into her, slamming into her over and over again. I come on a moan, both of us collapsing. “Good bunny,” I whisper. “Such a good little bunny.”
She falls asleep, drained from the way I used her body, and I grin at the sight. She should know better than to fall asleep next to a predator like me. I brush the dirt from my pants, tucking my cock away, and pick her up. I carry her back to her grandmother’s house and lay her on the four-poster bed. 
Next, I retrieve poor old grandmother. She’s still asleep. The drug I gave her will wear off soon. I place her on the couch in the front room. I’ll let my bunny find her when she comes to. I return to the bedroom and stare at my beautiful little bunny. 
I don’t clean her up; I don’t even put her dress back. She looks perfect, dirty, and used against the bone-white sheets.
Just the way I like her.
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katabay · 6 months ago
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THEY SAY THERE IS A CARPENTER FROM THE PROVINCE PERFORMING MIRACLES IN THE CAPITAL
another scene and some sketches of the fake byzantine empire ocs! thomas is a carpenter, john is a merchant. there's an emperor (two, actually) in here, looming ominously over everything.
(I call it the fake byzantine empire because the setting is playing with byzantine history that spans across three centuries, but it's also pulling from things like Statius' Thebaid and later medieval literature. folk catholic horror, probably. doctrinal debates and schisms are in here)
on the topic of nameless and unknown saints, tho, sometimes I think about this excerpt from an essay in Closet Queeries and the time I was on my way to Tanjay and saw an abandoned chapel along a road with a statue of a saint I didn't recognize inside
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Closet Queeries, essays by J. Neil C. Garcia
⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!
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anniflamma · 8 months ago
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"Prayers? You?" David asked, breathlessly as he kissed and embraced the very reason he'd found strength to survive his recent ordeal. "Have you found the Lord in my absence?"
"I think he was here all along."
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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years ago
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Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt. 8)
(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)
Cinderella wakes to birdsong.
It brings her to tears. She tangles her fingers in the soft bedcovers, pulling them up and over her face. Her tears blur the gentle light seeping through the fabric so that she feels like she might still be dreaming. Her body is pleasantly sore from dancing, but not hurting like it does after a day of chores. Her hair smells of the gentle oils Helga patiently brushed into it rather than fireplace soot. The gnawing loneliness that’s accompanied her for so many years is wonderfully quiet, soothed by the long evening spent in the arms of her friend.
The Prince.
Cinderella huffs a laugh, disbelieving, and pulls the sheets away from her face. Her room is pleasantly cool, the air brisk though the windows aren’t open. She breathes in deeply. Her friend is the Prince. Her impossible, magic-wielding friend who saved her life and listened to her worries and always made her laugh is the prince.
And he’s a hell of a dancer too.
Even the memory of their dances thrills her. Cinderella jumps out of bed , unable to bear the sudden surge of energy coursing through her, and braces for the shock of cold stone against her bare feet. It never comes. Instead, the floor hums with the sort of warmth she’s begun to associate with magic. Cinderella laughs and sways to the window, humming portions of the previous night’s songs under her breath.
The people! The music! The colors! Her memory is a kaleidoscope of everything beautiful she’s ever seen in her entire life. At the center of it all is her friend and his gentle smile, his hand outstretched for hers.
Cinderella eases the window open. She’d been too nervous to take a proper look outside yesterday, but today is a different story. For all the elation she feels, there’s also something settled inside of her. A sort of contentment that sits at the bottom of her stomach where it won’t be easily swayed. So she opens the window without worrying if she’s allowed to do so and takes in a lungful of fresh morning air.
“The late Queen’s gardens,” Helga says from the doorway. Cinderella turns to find Helga with a breakfast tray balanced on one hand and a letter held in the other. Helga’s eyes sparkle. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
They are. Cinderella was listening to the birds and not looking at the garden, but she knows it’s true. The greenery is lush and well-maintained, the flowers blooming big and beautiful along a carefully swept path. She can hear water from beyond a row of hedges. A fountain?
“Everything is beautiful,” Cinderella says. The Prince’s green eyes against the night sky comes to mind and Cinderella’s heart flips. She clears her throat. “The grounds. The castle. It’s all very beautiful.”
Helga hums and closes the door with her foot. “Would you like to sit by the window then?”
“Yes,” Cinderella says. The idea of eating the croissant and eggs Helga brought while listening to the birds and watching the flowers gently sway in the breeze is so wonderful that Cinderella doesn’t see the problem right away. She frowns and looks around the bedroom. Besides the bed and the vanity, there’s not much more furniture in the room. “I can help you with some chairs…?”
Helga laughs and waves the hand holding the letter. “Don’t be silly, dear. It will only take a moment.”
Cinderella has to bite her tongue to keep from yelping when Helga lets go of the tray suddenly. It doesn’t fall. Instead the food hangs in the air as if set on an invisible table. Helga whips out her wand and flicks it at the stone near the window.
A chair and a small garden table rise from the floor, melting in reverse. The table is set with a series of dainty forks and a crystal glass. After a moment’s thought, Helga waves her wand again and a bottle of orange juice appears.
“Wow,” Cinderella says.
Helga is frowning. “Yes, well, it will do. Somehow, I always conjure garden furniture even when I had the loveliest tea table in mind…” She busies herself setting up the breakfast tray. “Come now, sit, sit, sit. Before everything gets cold.”
Cinderella doesn’t move. She’s never noticed it before because of the low lighting at night, but Helga’s magic looks a little like her friend’s magic. There aren’t as many colors and it’s very faint, but when the sunlight catches it just right, the air shines. As she watches, the shine sinks into the floor until the chair and table look as mundane as can be. Cinderella is fascinated. “How does that work?”
“How does what work?” Helga asks absently. She holds the orange juice up to the light, squinting at it. “I swear I meant to conjure peach juice…”
“The conjuring magic,” Cinderella says. She waves her hand to the table and chair. “That looked different than the floating magic you do.”
That gets Helga’s attention. Her gaze snaps from the orange juice to Cinderella. “Looked?”
“The magic came up from the stone,” Cinderella explains. She waves her hands in a vague approximation of it. “Then, when you finished, it went back.”
Helga doesn’t answer right away. She stares at Cinderella very hard, her gaze piercing, as if trying to see if Cinderella is being serious or not. She chews her cheek and finally says, “You’ve seen a lot of magic?”
Deny it. It’s not a voice, not really. It’s an ancient instinct and Cinderella works very hard to make sure that none of it shows on her face. Carefully, Cinderella shrugs. “No. But my friend uses a lot around me. Sometimes I can guess where it is.”
Slowly Helga’s shoulders relax. “…from exposure makes sense,” she murmurs under her breath. Then, louder, “You shouldn’t look at magic, dear. It can hurt your eyes.”
It doesn’t hurt. Cinderella smiles. “I’ll try not to.”
Satisfied, Helga says, “To answer your question, it looked different because that wasn’t a spell. I don’t have magic, remember?” She twirls her wand. “I use this to direct what my Lord lends me. What I did just then was—well. This castle is very old, yes? It’s got magic of its own that I can ask for help from time to time.”
“The castle did this?” Cinderella asks. She studies the table and chair with renewed interest. They look solid and well-made and the food seems edible. She thinks about the way the magic rose from the ground. “I wonder…”
“Pardon?”
But Cinderella is already extending her hand. The single chair next to the window looks lonely. It would be so wonderful if there was another chair for Helga to sit and have breakfast with her… “If you would?” she asks the castle.
Where the magic curled and bent to Helga’s will, it explodes under Cinderella’s. Another chair springs into existence faster than Cinderella expected. The table extends another foot with a pop! and a second bottle of orange juice appears next to a second glass.
“Oh my,” Cinderella says. She flexes her hand. The magic twines around her fingers before slipping back into the stone floor. She grins. “How wonderful!”
Helga blinks very quickly. “Yes…yes, wonderful.” She studies Cinderella, almost speaks, and then seems to reconsider. Finally, she says, “I take it the second chair is an invitation?”
“Yes,” Cinderella says. Perhaps she should have asked Helga before she acted, but she didn’t feel as if she needed to. Like Helga said, the castle was right there to help. “I would enjoy the company.”
They settle at the little table, Helga pouring juice and serving the breakfast pastries she brought. Cinderella’s feet are warm from the magic sitting so close to the surface of the stone and her heart is warm when, unthinking, Helga spreads jam over a croissant for Cinderella.
“Oh,” Helga says when she notices. She’d been staring into space as she prepared Cinderella’s breakfast and, now, jolts back to herself. There’s a light flush on her cheeks when she says, “Excuse me, my mind was elsewhere. Do you like strawberry jam? I can go to the kitchens for fresh pastries—”
“It’s perfect,” Cinderella assures. She remembers her mother’s hands around a crystal jar of jam, a whisper of just a little before dinner. She takes a bite of her croissant and feels a thrill at the sweetness of the jam. Just like she remembers. “Delicious.”
“An invitation came for you at dawn,” Helga says after a few moments of silent eating. Her eyes sparkle as she draws the envelope out from her skirts and holds it so the sunlight reflects off the golden seal. “I wonder who it could be from?”
The second invitation. The Prince told her it was coming, but Cinderella’s heart flips when she sees it anyway. She takes the envelope from Helga as if it were made of butterfly wings and opens it carefully. The faint smell of oranges drifts from the card inside.
The Baron’s Daughter is hereby cordially invited to the Castle on this day for a continuation of festivities…
Then, at the bottom, her friend has written I’ll pick you up in his own handwriting.
Cinderella strokes the letters of her friend’s writing. Each one is elegantly shaped and perfectly placed. She can imagine him as a boy sitting politely during his lessons, quill clutched tightly in hand, and brow furrowed as he practiced each letter.
“What was he like?” Cinderella asks.
“Pardon?”
“I want to know how the Prince was as a boy,” Cinderella says. When the silence stretches, she looks up from her invitation to see unease on Helga’s face. “Helga?”
“That’s…difficult for me to say,” Helga says.
“Were you not with him as a child? I assumed from the way you spoke…”
“No, I was,” Helga says. She tucks her hands under the table and looks out the window. The sunlight falls across the older woman’s face, highlighting the way the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth deepen when she frowns. “The Prince now and the Prince then are two very separate people. I don’t want to scare you away with stories of a person who no longer exists.”
Cinderella waits for Helga to say more. When the silence again goes on for too long, she prompts, “What do you think would scare me away?”
Again, Helga hesitates. There seems to be a war going on behind her pale eyes. Cinderella thinks that she must be twisting her apron under the table.
“He wasn’t kind,” Helga says at last. She busies herself wiping a stray smear of butter from the table. “Anything more, you’d need to ask him.”
Helga means to end the conversation there. Cinderella could let it end – should let it end – but the words echo. He wasn’t kind.
Cinderella’s first thought is good. She’s glad that her friend wasn’t kind. Cinderella has lived her entire life being kind and she’s seen what rewards are at the end of that road. Good that her friend knew better than to let others extract kindness from him like blood, good he didn’t sleep next to an empty hearth praying for the ones who put him there to return kindness with affection, good that he protected himself in a way Cinderella never could.
Cinderella’s second thought is why? Why did Helga sound apologetic? Did she think Cinderella would think less of him?
“When I was a little girl,” Cinderella finds herself saying, “I spent many hours in the garden.” She looks out the window and sees a different garden than the former Queen’s. She sees roses and sprigs of lavender as far as the eye can see. Her mother’s garden. “My mother had quite the green thumb. The things she could grow! I was so young then and didn’t have much reference, but it seemed as if every flower bloomed bigger and every bush grew fuller under her touch.”
“That’s quite the gift,” Helga says.
Cinderella hums. She loved her mother best in the garden. When her mother waited for her father by the window, she seemed colder and more distant. In the garden, her mother smiled. “It was. If we lived anywhere else, we would have had butterflies all year round. But being where the estate is, we only had a few weeks in spring and a little in fall when the butterflies would pass through the garden on their way to the Capital.”
“I didn’t realize you come from so far west,” Helga says.
Cinderella nods. “Near the mountains.” She finds her gaze being pulled toward the west as she talks. How far away is her home? At least a week’s ride by carriage. “I always waited for the butterflies to visit. One day, when I was very young, I woke up to see they’d come during the night. I raced outside to see them up close. There weren’t many of them yet, just a few, and I had the good luck to spot one resting on the ground.” Cinderella’s lip curls. “Only it wasn’t resting any longer. It had the misfortune to land on an anthill. The ants were hungry, I suppose. They were tearing the butterfly apart piece by piece.”
Even now she remembers the sick horror that filled her at the sight. The vicious hold the ants had on the blue wings, pinning the poor thing to the ground. The way the butterfly’s antennae waved in panic. The smell of the ants as they poured from their mound to feast.
“How awful,” Helga says. She’s watching Cinderella carefully, her hands still in her lap. “What happened then?”
“Nature,” Cinderella says. She feels as if her mouth is not her own when she says, “There’s nothing awful about nature. The ants needed food after the harsh winter and the butterfly was unlucky. It wasn’t the ants’ fault that they killed the butterfly. It was simply nature.” Cinderella breathes in through her nose and stiffens like a woman freed from a trance. “That’s what my mother said when she caught me killing the ants.”
A sense memory: her shiny black shoes coming down on the damp, red dirt as she collapsed the ant hill. The flecks of mud that splattered her ankles when she crushed their exoskeletons under her heel. Her mother’s hand hot on her shoulder. The percussive force of her mother’s shout ringing in her ears.
“She told me that I needed to try and understand the ants,” Cinderella continues. Her feet aren’t cold and muddy now. They’re warm from the magic coating them, tucked neatly under her chair. “She understood I was upset about the butterfly, but being upset was no excuse for the violence I responded with. I shouldn’t have punished the ants for what was in their nature to do.”
“A wise woman.”
Cinderella smiles with closed lips. The sun is well and truly risen now and its harsh rays feel hot against Cinderella’s cheek and collarbones. “A kind woman.”
“Ah,” Helga says, understanding.
Cinderella wonders what it is Helga’s understood. “Hm?”
Helga weighs each word carefully. “If I may offer my two cents, my lady?” When Cinderella nods, she says, “Your mother was right that it was in the ants’ nature to kill.”
Why is she disappointed in Helga’s response? Cinderella sips her juice to hide her frown. “That’s true.”
“However,” Helga says, “nature does not protect one from another’s nature. Yes, it was in the ants’ nature to eat the butterfly. But perhaps it is in your nature to kill ants for tormenting butterflies.”
Cinderella sets down her juice and gives Helga her full attention.
“Considering that,” Helga says lightly, “was it so wrong to kill them for hurting something that meant so much to you?”
Oh. Cinderella swallows, desperately willing away the ache in her throat. Her lip trembles. Helga is looking at her with such deep understanding that Cinderella feels shaken to her core.
All these years and she understands now why her mother’s words bothered her so much. Her mother always seemed to think Cinderella should behave as if nothing affected her, not her mother’s absence, not her father absence, and not the violence of the ants against the butterfly. Helga is saying the opposite. Of course, Cinderella acted that way. Of course! Like the ants, Cinderella also had a nature. Cinderella, like the ants, also had a right to act the way she did.
A knot she didn’t know existed unravels in her chest. Cinderella doesn’t need to sit quietly when an injustice is being done to her or others. She doesn’t need to make excuses for the aggressor or understand their motives. She can act. She can defend. She can protect herself.
(It was never about the ants at all.)
Cinderella clears her throat. “Yes.” Thank you. She can’t bring herself to say the words. “I’d like to wear the blue dress tonight.”
“We had to rush getting ready last night,” Helga says. She reaches across the table to place her hand on top of Cinderella’s. It’s cooler than the sunlight but warms Cinderella all the same. “Why don’t we take out time getting ready, hm?”
“I’d like that,” Cinderella says.
--------
Thanks for reading!
If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.
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valensolo12 · 3 months ago
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Been playing Pillars of Eternity all week and decided to try to keep a journal of interesting moments, since it turned out to be pretty fun when i did it with fallout 1. It's a much longer game so this is gonna take a while but here are my favorite pages!
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also a family photo of the party so far :) Durance is the weird uncle
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bethanydelleman · 17 days ago
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so, this is a very specific question but I LOVE your blog, your takes are so well articulated and you are so knowledgeable on Austen that I wanted to hear your opinion on this.
so everyone knows that emma is the easiest austen novel to read as queer right? if you had to direct/write a modern gay emma adaptation which route would you take? lesbian emma paired w harriet (seems to be the most common take) with jane (less common but her descriptions of her were something else) or genderbent knightley? again this is v specific but I've been thinking of writing an au like that since forever and your input would be amazing:)
Hello and thank you! I actually have a very specific answer to this one because I have an unfinished fan fiction about a queer version of Emma. It's Regency so I won't modernize it. So here is what I would do:
Jane Fairfax is bisexual. Despite not liking Emma very much, they were together as teenagers before Jane stopped visiting home for two years. Jane then falls for Frank, which Emma thinks is fake because...
Emma is a lesbian.
Harriet is straight and boy-crazy. Emma and her don't have any relationship beyond being friends. (I don't like the power/intelligence imbalance here, Jane feels more equal to Emma)
Mr. Knightley is asexual and sex-repulsed. He has never married because he knows it would cause social harm for his wife to never have children because of him. He loves Emma, but didn't think their marriage was possible.
The story basically follows canon but with very different motives. Emma is trying to break up Jane & Frank out of the misguided idea that Jane can't love Frank, so she's saving him from a mercenary marriage. Jane loves Emma, but cannot bring herself to live as her "companion" with no equality of fortune. After Jane and Frank's engagement is announced and Emma is heartbroken, Mr. Knightley offers as companionship marriage to Emma, who has realized that he is the real person she can't survive without. They live together as best friends. Mr. Knightley and Emma adopt one of their nephews as their heir.
30 years later, the widowed Jane Churchill moves back to Highbury and either Mr. Knightley has also passed on or he's okay with his wife having a lover.
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kabishkat19 · 5 months ago
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Grimm fairy tales🥀
Did I make a fake trailer for my hyper fixation with the dark adaptions of classic fairy tales… yes. Always felt this was a missed opportunity (I’m not crazy good at edits so be kind)🖤
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muerder-snail · 2 months ago
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I made a WEBTOON!
I have come to realize I can’t stay focused enough to commit to a story so I decided to make mini comics about my special interest ✨Greek mythology✨ and things connected to it such as the game hades, dislyte, record of ragnarok, blood of Zeus, Percy Jackson, epic the musical and some of my own work. I’ll also include some other mythology such as journey to the west and what ever is in dislyte but mostly Greek.
I hope you all like this, ody out!
(Edit: I got the link to work!)
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rustic-space-fiddle · 26 days ago
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POV: you wake up to a literal goddess calling you “sleepyhead”
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starlitvick · 1 month ago
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The respect I have for people who have actually been able to read The Odyssey and The Iliad is insane.
I was at the bookstore today buying the newest pjo book and I went to the classics section like “hm maybe I can buy The Iliad and The Odyssey so I can finally read them instead of getting all my information on the plot from video summaries, spark notes, and tumblr” then I grabbed both of them and decided to yk sift through to see if I could actually even read it. I in fact, could NOT read those things. Like the style of English and speaking hurt my brain, I thought the spark notes summaries were brain melting but oh lord the book itself hurt more.
So yeah I did not buy either one and only both wrath of the triple goddess lmao, but I did leave with a lot of respect for the people who have been able to actually read the book because I just can’t
But also if anyone has like a translation of either one that’s easier to read please do recommend and I’ll see if I can get it because I would really like to actually have a copy I can refer to when I need it (a copy I can actually understand that is)
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wolfboy88 · 5 months ago
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aka the S6B retelling featuring Dark Thiam
Chapter 2 now available
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the-monkey-ruler · 7 days ago
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Alakazam the Great (1960) 西遊記
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Director: Yasushita Taiji / Tezuka Osamu / Shirakawa Daisaku Screenwriter: Keinosuke Uekusa Starring: Kiyoshi Kozuyama / Noriko Shindo / Noriko Shindo / Tamachi Kato / Kawakubo House / Wind Festival Ryoichi / Hideo Kinoshita / Setsuo Shinoda / Nobuaki Sekine / Kuniku Takeda / Katsuko Ozaki / Michiko Shirasaka Genre: Animation / Fantasy / Adventure Country/Region of Production: Japan Language: Japanese Date: 1960-08-14 (Japan) Duration: 88 minutes / USA: 84 minutes Also known as: Saiyu-ki / The Enchanted Monkey / The Magic Land of Alakazam / 西游记 IMDb: tt0054265 Type: Retelling
Summary:
One day, an unusual monkey is born from a stone. The stone monkey befriends a fellow monkey named Rin-Rin and is later crowned king of a tribe of monkeys after he proves his courage by diving into a dangerous waterfall. He becomes arrogant as king, much to his subjects' dismay and he grows insecure when he learns about the existence of humans from Rin-Rin, who claims they are the smartest beings around. The stone monkey seeks out a wise hermit and forces him to make him his pupil. The hermit teaches the stone monkey considerable magic abilities and rechristens him Son Goku. Goku shows off his new abilities to Rin-Rin, and to further impress her, goes to heaven to retrieve the sacred fruit the hermit fed him.
In heaven, Goku causes mischief, and overpowers the celestial forces sent after him. He defeats General Kinsei and takes his staff but loses a shape-shifting duel with Jiroshinkun. Goku meets Buddha, who challenges him to fly off his hand, a challenge Goku arrogantly accepts. Goku fails and is imprisoned by Buddha beneath the Five Elements Mountain. Rin-Rin takes care of Goku during his imprisonment as his arrogance gradually fades. When Rin-Rin nearly succumbs to a blizzard, she is saved by Kanon, who heralds the arrival of the monk, Genjo Sanzo, who frees Goku and asks him to accompany him to a pilgrimage to Tianzhu to retrieve a sacred sutra. Goku accepts the mission after Sanzo places an unmovable headband around him that Sanzo can tighten at will.
During their journey, Goku and Sanzo meet a father and daughter. The daughter is pursued by a monster who wants to marry her. Goku disguises himself as the girl and takes her place when the monster, the pig-man Cho Hakkai, arrives that night. Goku reveals the deception, forcing Hakkai to flee for his home, with Goku giving chase. Goku is confronted by Hakkai's half-brothers, Ginkaku and Kinkaku, who trap him in a gourd which melts anyone inside it. Goku escapes, and tries to trap the brothers in their gourd, but he is thrown into a pit with a giant scorpion. Goku narrowly defeats the scorpion and traps the two in their gourd. Goku spares Hakkai when he hears Rin-Rin's voice and allows him to accompany him and Sanzo.
Meanwhile, the imp Shoryu informs his master, Gyū-Maō, about Sanzo’s pilgrimage. Gyū-Maō tasks Shoryu to lure Sanzo and company to his dominion of the Flaming Mountains so he can eat the monk and extend his lifespan. Shoryu attacks the group in the desert, scaring away Sanzo's horse and capturing him. Goku saves Sanzo, though Hakkai accidentally loses their food during the chaos. Later, the group comes across the castle of the man-eating ogre Sa Gojō. Gojō tries to eat Hakkai and Sanzo, but Goku defeats him and convinces him to join their pilgrimage.
When the group reaches the Flaming Mountains, Shoryu turns Sanzo's companions against each other, but Sanzo manages to calm them down. Gyū-Maō causes a volcanic eruption which blocks the group's path. Goku learns about the Basho-Sen, a magical fan owned by Gyū-Maō’s wife, Ratsunyō, which can freeze the lava flow. He and Hakkai disguise themselves as Gyū-Maō to retrieve the fan, but are caught by Ratsunyō, who captures Hakkai while Goku escapes with the fan. Shoryu tricks Goku into giving him the fan by disguising himself as Sanzo, whom Gyū-Maō had earlier captured. Shoryu freezes Goku and pushes him into the lava. Although Goku survives, he is left paralyzed and unable to use his powers.
Gyū-Maō prepares to cook Hakkai and Sanzo for a large feast with his fellow demons. Gyū-Maō betrays Shoryu and traps him in a jar. Goku and Gojō rescue a repentant Shoryu, who gives Goku a healing potion. They rescue the others in time and fight Gyū-Maō and his group. Hakkai freezes Ratsunyō and Goku defeats Gyū-Maō, causing him to fall into lava, which Hakkai freezes with the fan. The group makes peace with Shoryu and travels to Tianzhu, where they meet with Buddha and Kanon. Buddha removes Goku's headband and gives the pilgrims the sutra. They return to China, where Goku reunites with Rin-Rin and his subjects.
Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alakazam_the_Great
Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydgTTsBixh4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4ytPE0o28Q
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I’m doing a thing! It’s a retelling of the plot of The Brothers Karamazov from Grushenka’s perspective. You can read it on ao3.
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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years ago
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Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt 7)
(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6)
This, Cinderella thinks, is a fairytale.
The nobles are bowing to the Prince, to her, and the air smells like the desserts on the table to her left. The music is still going, a sweet flute that serves a placeholder until the greetings to the prince are done. Over the bowed heads of the dancers nearest them, Cinderella can see her stepfamily curtsying to the arrival of the Prince.
Curtsying to her.
“I am glad that my tardiness did not hold up the festivities,” the Prince says. He inclines his head to the dais where the Queen and King sit. “We should resume.”
The Queen and King.
The Queen is as beautiful as the rumors say. Her long, black hair, streaked with grey, falls around her shoulders like vines, pinned into curled shapes against her violet gown with pins that sparkle like the night sky. She wears a simple gold circlet that glitters in the candlelight. Is it encrusted in jewels?
The King wears a heavier crown in burnished copper. His eyes remind her of the Prince’s, hawkish and knowing when he looks at them. He’s dressed completely in black except for the sash that crosses his chest. That is the same violet as his wife’s cape and his son’s jacket.
Cinderella is prevented from curtsying by the way the Prince presses her hand against his arm. She bows her head as best she’s able, heart thundering in her chest. Somehow looking at the Queen and King reminds her of the rainbows in the meadow. They swim in her vision as if obscured by power.
“Hold your head high,” the Prince whispers to her. His breath is hot against the shell of her ear and when she glances at him out of her peripherals, his eyes are warm. “You’re with me.”
Cinderella has never been with someone. She’s always been trailing behind, packages in hand, or at their knee with a hairbrush and sewing kit in hand. Even as a little girl she was never with her parents. She always felt like she was a step behind them, watching as the distance between them grew into an ocean.
She doesn’t feel like that now. The Prince’s arm is warm under her fingers and the gaze of so many people makes her face hot even if she knows the Prince’s magic protects her from being recognized. Cinderella has never felt so keenly in her own skin as she does in this moment.
Cinderella pulls her shoulders back and looks right over every noble to the blooming mosaic on the other side of the hall.
Well done, the voice in the back of her head purrs. There’s satisfaction curling in Cinderella’s stomach that feels foreign and heavy. She likes standing tall. She likes feeling bold and confident. Very well done.
“I know I promised you champagne,” the Prince says. He waves his hand and the music begins to play again. The nobles don’t resume their dance right away, their eyes fixed on the Prince’s every move. Expectant? Hopeful? Envious? The Prince only has eyes for her. “But I am jealous your first dance wasn’t with me.”
“Perhaps if someone had been on time it would have been,” Cinderella says. The Prince snorts and Cinderella’s smile widens. “Your highness.”
The Prince leads her onto the dance floor. The band is gently coming together again, string instruments rising underneath the lonely flute, the pianist adjusting on their bench in preparation. The nobles part for them like water, sliding back into their places without a word.
The Prince comes to a halt in the center of the dancefloor. If he notices the way the nobles stare, it doesn’t seem to bother him. He slides his arm out from under Cinderella’s hand, but doesn’t relinquish it. He kiss the back of her hand and asks, “May I have this dance?”
Cinderella must be beet red. She breathes in through her nose and smiles on the exhale. “Yes.” Then, because he is her friend, “You’ll be the first to have a dance from me, if that makes you feel better. The rest only shared one with me.”
Does the Prince’s gaze soften? Candlelight catches in his eyes, setting them ablaze. “Having or sharing, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “As long as it’s with you.”
Cinderella is speechless. The Prince takes the opportunity to sweep them into their first dance together, one hand on her hip, the other still holding her hand aloft. She’s not ready or at all prepared for it and has to rely on his grip for support when she stumbles.
“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?” Cinderella hisses. She kicks at his shin and scoffs when he evades it easily. “Ugh.”
“I’m fairly certain that’s not how this dance goes,” the Prince says, tone mild. He’s smiling when she turns her glare on him. He whispers, “You’ll need to be faster if you want to kick me.”
Laughter bubbles in her chest. Cinderella fights it down. “You’d better show me how this dance works before I give into the temptation.”
“My pleasure.”
Dancing with the Prince is better than any of the other dances, though she doesn’t think she can bear to tell him that when he’s grinning like he knows it. He doesn’t guide her like Cy, her first masked partner, pulling and navigating her through the steps like a teacher might. He doesn’t make it a competition like Iz did, doesn’t change the rhythm whenever she manages to catch up to his pace. He isn’t considerate like Morrigan, waiting for her to catch her breath after a particularly tricky step.
Dancing with the Prince is like…it’s like being in the meadow. It’s like laying underneath the oak tree and watching the sun through the leaves, his gentle voice in her ear and the feeling of his magic chasing the chill away. It’s the feeling of being together where anything she says or does will be welcome or celebrated.
She doesn’t know when the other dancers join them, but she notices when the Prince nearly runs into a pair. She neatly takes the lead, spinning them to avoid a collision. The Prince startles and then scowls.
“I would have noticed,” he says. His gaze is dark on the dancing couple as if he’d like to curse them for the near accident.
“But you didn’t have to,” Cinderella says. Somehow she knows he isn’t that irritated. She thinks about spinning him but decides against it. She’s never tried spinning her partner before and is afraid of throwing him into the swirls of skirts and tailcoats that now surround them. She follows him away from the couple who nearly collided with them, surrendering the lead easily. “I did.”
“You did,” the Prince says, an inscrutable look on his face. It only lasts for a moment before he’s quirking an eyebrow at her. “Another song?”
Cinderella doesn’t feel tired at all. “Yes.”
They dance.
-----.
The night is a dream.
Cinderella holds onto it even after the Prince escorts her back to the Emerald Castle, after Helga pulls the pins from her hair, after she gulps down water and fruit before climbing into bed. They never did manage to have a glass of champagne. Cinderella can’t bring herself to regret the missed opportunity.
I’ll just have to try it tomorrow, Cinderella thinks with a thrill. Tomorrow. She’s going to the ball tomorrow.
She danced with the Prince all night. He delighted in each song with her, always keeping up with her mood and inviting her into faster steps or higher leaps. They talked and they laughed and, looking back, they must have seemed like children to everyone else. Cinderella felt like a child, free and excited in a way that she hasn’t been allowed to be in a long time.
She closes her eyes and can’t wait for the Prince to come pick her up for the ball tomorrow.
-----.
The carriage lurches and jumps as it transitions from the smooth Royal Road to the rougher cobblestones of the royal town. The silent occupants seem to wake up from their stupors all at once, the jostling as good as cold water on a dreamer.
“Mother,” Drizella whines. She doesn’t understand what went wrong. She did everything her mother said to do! She curled her hair and wore her lilac dress and didn’t dance with anyone other than the Prince. Except— “He only danced with her all night!”
“I have never been so embarrassed,” Anastasia says. She bites her thumb. Visions of the woman in green spin across the back of her eyelids every time she blinks. “We wore the same color! How dare she?!”
Baroness Ramsey doesn’t answer her daughters. She promised herself when she married the Baron that she would never allow anyone to guess at her non-noble past through her conduct. So she lets her face remain impassive and thinks carefully before she speaks.
Inside she is seething.
“That woman was in the wrong,” the Baroness says at last. She lays her hands daintily over her lap. “A ball like this – well. It’s for all noble ladies, isn’t it? The Prince was meant to dance with others. I’m sure the King and Queen will talk with him tonight. Tomorrow…”
She trails off. Her girls misunderstand as she meant them to. They perk up at the mention of tomorrow and the idea that the Prince will be different then. Anastasia begins debating what jewelry she will wear to compliment her gown tomorrow, going over the pros and cons of each one (“That woman wore gold tonight and won’t tomorrow, so the gold necklace might be the safest choice. But the prince wore silver tonight and might again and if I wear silver we could match.”) while Drizella pulls at her curls, lost in the daydream of what tomorrow could bring.
Inside the baroness is not so sure.
“A second invitation will be sent to those the Prince has taken an interest in. Expect news by dawn.”
They are not high nobility. It is only through the baroness’ hard work and clever deals that they’re nobility at all. Perhaps it would be different if her husband were better at networking like her, but he’s not (if he’s still alive at all) so they have no advantage through title alone. Their only advantage lies in her daughters’ beauty being recognized and – thanks to that woman – that didn’t happen.
Maybe I was hasty to leave Cinderella at home, the Baroness muses. Cinderella would have caught the Prince’s eye. There’s always been something…unsettlingly compelling about that girl. To be honest, the Baroness has always been a little afraid of Cinderella. Even as a child she always seemed to look through the Baroness rather than at her. With her golden hair and odd, light eyes, Cinderella would have been enough to compete with the woman who had captured the Prince’s attention. Then, when the second invitation arrived, the baroness could have kept Cinderella away to leave the real work to her girls.
She eyes her daughters. No. She could not have chosen any differently. It’s been hard work ensuring her daughters never grew afraid of their strange stepsister. Imagine if they were forced to watch the prince be bewitched by her? The baroness was right to leave Cinderella at home, dressed plainly, rather than allow her daughters to see through the soot and rough clothing to the strange, menacing woman beneath.
“We will stay up all night until the invitation arrives,” the Baroness announces. She won’t be able to sleep anyway. “I want each of you to go over every detail of tonight. Who did you notice? What could you have improved on? We will need to be even better tomorrow.”
Anastasia and Drizella complain, but the Baroness tunes them out. She knows what’s best for her daughters. If she says that they need to go over noble greeting they say, every pin, every broach, every conversation, they will.
It will come, she tells herself. The Prince may not have noticed her daughters, but the Queen was certainly interested in them. She seemed particularly interested in Drizella. Perhaps she will be the one to choose the prince’s bride. Yes, that must be it. She was too attentive to my daughters for that not to be the case.
The second invitation will come. The carriage squeaks to a halt outside of their inn and the baroness waits impatiently for the coachman to open the door. Yes, her earlier concerns were born from anxiety. Obviously the Prince won’t choose his own bride. Clearly! He’s a prince and princes must marry based on their parents’ wills. She, a baroness, wouldn’t allow her daughters to choose their husbands. Certainly the Queen, a fellow noble mother, feels much the same.
Cheered, the Baroness doesn’t yell for the coachman to hurry up helping her daughters down from the carriage. Anastasia does it instead and her Capital accent is even beginning to sound convincing! Drizella nearly falls when the coachman supports her step down too weakly, but her recovery is much quicker than it would have been two years ago.
Yes, the baroness must not lose herself to anxiety. She’s raised her daughters well and that will all pay off when she sees one of them married to the prince. Perhaps she should talk to the Queen herself tomorrow? Mother to mother?
Yes, that’s the best plan. She’ll leave her girls to the business of catching the eye of the prince. If they prove successful, wonderful. If not?
The Baroness hides her smile. There’s a reason she came to the ball despite the invitation not including mothers of the potential brides.
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Three important invitations are delivered at dawn.
One is snatched by the Baroness who breathes a sigh of relief that she must hide from her daughters.
The second is handed to Helga who rolls her eyes at the redundancy and promises to deliver it to her charge once she wakes.
The third is delivered via raven to a lone man on the road on horseback. He holds his arm above his head as soon as he recognized the purple ribbon tied around the bird’s neck, barely flinching when its talons cut through his thin, traveling shirt.
“A summons?” the man asks. The bird does not answer. It takes off as soon as he unties the message from its leg. He flips the letter over to examine the seal. His stomach lurches. “From the Queen?”
He can’t ignore a letter from the Queen. With a sigh, the man turns his horse gently before even breaking the seal. The Queen only accepts replies in person. A bitterness coats his tongue.
Another letter has brought him back to his ancestral home. A very important letter from someone he’s been forced to leave alone too long. And now, barely four days’ ride from the sender, he’s forced to ignore her once again.
I’m coming, Cinderella. Just a little longer.
Baron David Ramsey has been away from home for too long.
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