A Cinderella Retelling

by E. L. Tenenbaum

  “Perhaps her nose is too long, or one eyes droops like so,” Maybelle suggested, half-closing one eyelid to demonstrate.

  “Perhaps she simply doesn’t want to be known,” I offered, and both stared at me incredulously. My face flushed under their disbelieving glares, which would be beneficial cover for the words that followed.

  “Do you not think the prince would like to know the name of the woman who took his heart?” Calliope asked.

  Took his heart? Surely, he wasn’t pining after me, not as I was for him. He had a kingdom filled with beautiful women to choose from. I had only him.

  “Will he marry her then?” I whispered.

  “If he can catch her!” Maybelle exclaimed.

  They looked at each other, then burst out laughing hysterically.

  “Maybe at the grand ball,” Calliope said when she was finally able to catch her breath again.

  “The ball?” I asked, not believing this could really be happening.

  Calliope nodded. “A grand ball. The final event, where the prince must choose his bride, or marry whomever his father chooses for him.”

  My stomach thudded to my feet at her words. Surely, Marie would concoct something for me so I could go to the palace again. When once I would have been simply happy to be there, I knew now that I could not find happiness again without the prince. If I didn’t make it to the grand ball, then he would be forced to marry someone else. It couldn’t happen. Marie couldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t allow it.

  And what about the truth of who I was? I wondered that night, as sleep stubbornly stayed away. Would he be able to forgive my use of magic? Could he see me as the enchanting woman who’d caught his attention or only as the young girl from the street? Would Princess Lyla speak up on my behalf? Why should she? Because we’d both been the object of a stepmother’s hatred? Was that enough to make her raise me to a princess? A cousin of sorts?

  It didn’t seem possible. And who knew if she would even still be there by then. She had her own kingdom to get back to, her own prince, her own happily ever after.

  Thinking about the princess made me wonder about what she would do in my place. Having heard the stories and then met her in person, I knew she was smart, knew she was someone who got things done. Did I have it in me to do the same?

  I doubted it.

  The Third Mistake

  Ticking down the days until the grand ball proved a much harder task than for the first two events. It would be in one week’s time and some days the hours flew by and others they ambled along at their leisure. My emotions rollicked along with them: Sometimes they were a rush of ecstasy, of pure joy and elation at the two incredible chances I’d already been given. Others, the agony chewed away at my stomach, from the uncertainty of whether or not I could go, whether or not Marie would allow the magic to stay around long enough for the prince to ask for my hand.

  The night before, I had concluded that I would never be able to accept my life here again if I didn’t at least get to try.

  I never should have gone to that ball. No matter what I was feeling in the days leading up to that night, no matter the insecurities and uncertainties, the surety I had then of what I felt I had to do turned out to be one of the most misguided decisions of my life. So what if the prince married someone else? Once I attended that grand ball, all the events that unfolded from that night were inevitable, from the moment I tried to flee to the moment I came back to the palace for good.

  Without Marie to turn to, I discussed these worries high up in my attic with my goldfish night after night. Most responses I received were wide eyed bubbles, but there were times when it moved its fins and that was answer enough. Some nights, the worries sent me to sleep in tears, others, joy cradled me in her arms and hummed me to sleep with a loving caress.

  As they had after the masquerade, Maybelle and Calliope were intent on imitating the mystery lady’s gown. Although at this point both were agreed that they would rather spend more time with the lords who paid them attention than with the prince who didn’t, they still hadn’t yet given up hope that the right dress might turn the prince’s handsome head. The path to royalty was too great a temptation, too intoxicating a dream to so quickly relinquish. The mystery lady, for her part, had to content herself with being a style setter, a role she was most unaccustomed to, no matter that it would be part of her life at the palace.

  I tried as best I could to temper my stepsister’s desires for replication. I convinced Maybelle to add deep blue to her silver and purple design, and Calliope to include green in hers. Admittedly, the outcomes of both were most flattering, and I was sure, if they wanted, they could tie up their young lords’ hands in marriage before the night was over. They, like most others it turned out, chose to go without anything to hide their faces that third night, as it seemed the contest for the prince’s heart was already won. If not, they wanted the prince to see them as they truly were, and both girls were very lovely. However, that did not stop them from wearing pearl and feather headbands in their hair in salute to the mystery lady’s hat.

  Two days before the ball, Madame led the way into Camallea, intent on finding an extra little something special for her girls. When once I would relish any time away from the house, especially in the vibrant burst of capital life, I dreaded the trip with every step I took. At that point, I didn’t even care that they treated me like a pack horse, unceremoniously dumping packages into my already full arms. I just wanted to get out of there, and fast. I kept my head ducked, my eyes lowered the entire time we were there, praying in agony that the sun would set early or that a sudden thunderstorm would close up the shops and send us on our way.

  Neither was to happen.

  Looking on it now, I was rather foolish to think that anyone would recognize me, that anyone would notice me beneath my soot-stained skin and patchwork head kerchief. I didn’t know then what types of questions the prince had asked Princess Lyla, what answers she’d been forced to tell. For all I knew, the prince had sent out word to arrest the Cinderwench, the unworthy servant who impersonated a lady and dared touch the heart of a prince.

  The person who worried me most was the captain. At the masquerade, at the festival, he hadn’t seemed entirely blinded by my disguise. Considering it further, since that day at the well in the quaint piazza behind the confectioner’s, no matter what guise he saw me in, he had never overlooked me. Fortunate for me, neither the captain nor his soldiers were in the streets that day.

  Madame finally found what she was looking for in a small glassblower’s shop toward the end of the main market. I was dragged inside behind the others where whatever anxiety I had endured until then compounded when I, weighed down as I was with packages, suddenly found myself in a room full of delicate glass pieces, charms, and figurines. One too strong breath, even from little me, would destroy years of the owner’s work. Then my life would surely be over.

  Madame slowly circled the shop, as if knowing that every prolonged second could be the death of me. She thoroughly examined every piece, biding her time, as a slow trickle of sweat started somewhere around the nape of my neck and eased its way down my spine. I finally prayed she would just stab me and end my misery, a first and final act of mercy for the girl she’d habitually stomped out like stray cinders from a fire.

  “It if would please the lady,” the servile glassblower tried to steer Madame’s attention to a small pouch he’d set on the counter, “perhaps these are worthy of consideration?”

  He carefully slid out the small pieces from the pouch to a collective gasp as every breath was stolen away. Dangling from a thin, silver thread were three pieces of glass, at once opaque and translucent as they sucked in the light from the room and swirled it into a kaleidoscope of colors within their sandy depths.

  “What is this?” Madame asked, reaching for the glass. Even she wasn’t able to keep the wonder from her voice.

  For his part, the glassblower didn’t react to her awe. Humble and obsequious, he still knew ho
w to play his part in the game. “Castarrean glass, my lady,” he explained, his Maridonian accent matching his origins with the method of glassmaking. “I made it myself, right here in my shop.”

  Madame took the chain from him and examined each piece individually. There was no specific shape or pattern to any of them, but that only added to the allure of the actual glass. The pieces themselves were thick, jagged, and pointed, as if someone had dropped a large jar then picked out the biggest shards from the remains. The ends had been rounded to keep the glass from cutting, but that didn’t negate their sharp angles. Beyond all these details was the inexplicable way the glass toyed with the light in the room.

  “It’s a very tricky method to make this kind of glass,” the merchant went on, “not many have the skill or patience to get it right.”

  Madame gave no sign that she’d heard, but her stillness gave her away.

  “Exquisite,” she finally declared, and only then did we let out our held breaths. Not too much though, I was still balancing boxes and inordinately afraid I would topple them and the lovely glass on display. “We’ll take them.”

  In a moment of unprecedented concern, Madame refused to entrust me with the carefully wrapped pieces. Instead, she insisted on carrying them herself and I was too relieved to feel slighted.

  Once I finished helping my stepsisters get ready the night of the grand ball, they hurried downstairs, and only then did Madame affix the necklaces of Castarrean glass around their necks, with a sharp order of, “Don’t touch them!” Then they spun on their heels and flounced out the door.

  I stood at the top of the stairs, watching their carriage recede into the night. I knew I should be hurrying to the wall, but something stayed me for a time. Perhaps I sensed this was the night that would irrevocably change my life forever. Perhaps I knew that there was no turning back if Marie would be there to dress me fit enough for the prince’s ball and the bearer of his heart. Perhaps, somewhere deep and subconscious, I knew this night was a mark of the end.

  When I finally shook myself to act, I flew to the low stone wall near my pear tree.

  “Grandmère, Grandmère!” I called for her. “Grandmère, you must come, please!”

  At first, all was silent, the echo of my voice dying away in the fields. Fear overtook me. Maybe Marie wouldn’t appear? Maybe she sufficiently fulfilled her father’s promise, and this was it of my other life, so close to the finish yet unable to see it all the way through.

  I refused to let myself cry or fall into despair. If Marie wouldn’t come to me, then I would go to her. I was already swinging my second foot over the wall when a familiar voice asked, “Wherever are you going, Ella dear?”

  “Grandmère!” I spun around happily, and there she was, floating over the wall as if she’d been there all along. “I wasn’t sure you would come,” I admitted.

  Marie let out a soft chuckle. “And let you miss the biggest night of your life?” she asked. “My dear, whatever rags the magic contrived until now, we shall outdo them tonight!”

  “And will you, can you, let it stay?” I asked hopefully, looking up at her through wide eyes, praying she would give in.

  Marie shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Ella, the magic will only stay until midnight this time.”

  “Midnight!” I exclaimed. “What if I run out of time?”

  “You’ll think of something,” Marie assured me. “A man who only loves you for your clothes is not a man who loves you very much at all.”

  I wanted to protest—appearances were always important—but I didn’t have patience for clever phrases. Tonight was my last chance with the prince, and yet she insisted it all end by midnight, which gave me even less time than before. Even if I was fool enough to think he would ask for my hand by then, couldn’t she at least give us until morning, allow us one untainted sunrise together before the cinders darkened my world forever?

  Marie was already enroute to the garden, and I scurried to catch up. If this was to be my last night of magic, then I wouldn’t miss a single spark of it.

  True to her word, Marie outdid herself that night, the pumpkin became a magnificent golden carriage that glowed and sparkled from within. We could make the journey to the palace in the dark of night by the light of that carriage alone. The goose was once more turned into my faithful coachman, for which I was glad. He may have thrown me to the wolves before, but he was unrivaled as a coachman.

  Four fat rats were turned into four powerful stallions, white coats pure as untouched snow, white as Princess Lyla’s skin. Two lizards once more became my footmen, and though the squirrels had proven more than adept at their jobs, I was glad to have the lizards back. It reminded me of the beginning, like the whirls of all the parties were coming full circle.

  As for myself, Marie didn’t transform me right away and I didn’t rush her. I knew she wanted tonight to be grandest of all, but tonight, other considerations had to be made. Should I go as myself? Should I be recognized tonight of all nights, if tonight could be the night my future was stamped with a royal seal, the night someone was finally willing and unafraid to love me?

  I exhaled in relief when I finally felt the magic take hold. I relaxed into the familiar tingle, and even felt some comfort as it worked. I opened my eyes to find my dress glowing with the same spark that seemed to ignite my pumpkin carriage.

  Marie produced a mirror so I could fully appreciate her masterpiece. “Well?”

  My gown was all gold, a continuous piece of material that wrapped around me without any visible stitches or seams. Small canary-yellow diamonds were interlaced throughout my dress, affixed with unnoticed real gold thread. If I could sell it, the dress alone would bring in enough money to feed an entire village, and its livestock, for at least three years, if not more. A gold mask, delicate as lace, stretched across my eyes. The now-perfect ringlets of my hair were piled atop my head fronted by a thick gold headband sprouting a five petal gold flower. Even the gold silk gloves covering my hands were luminescent in the moonlight.

  “Marie, you have outdone yourself,” I said, reverence quieting my voice. “So much gold,” I muttered numbly.

  A flick of the thumb and the glint of gold tumbling in the air. Marie deftly caught the coin I’d given her before making it disappear again. “I had inspiration.”

  “So you haven’t used it, nor have you shared it with others!” I accused.

  “Would you like me to?” Marie asked.

  “If you truly have no need for it,” I replied, “please share it with someone who does.”

  “Your mother would smile upon your kindness,” Marie said. She tried to wipe away a tear discreetly as she assessed me a final time. “Beautiful, you’re absolutely beautiful.”

  I didn’t think about it until later, but till today I will never forget how she spoke only of me and not the dress. I was so young then, so naïve. I thought the hardships I’d known were the worst I’d ever have to bear.

  I lifted my gown to peek down at my feet and a small gasp escaped me. “Glass slippers?”

  “Castarrean glass,” Marie replied with a warm smile.

  And really, there was only one type of glass I had ever seen or known of that could take the light around it and fracture it into an endless rainbow of color. The gold, the canary-yellow, it all swirled together in a shine more brilliant than the sun, more varied than the most creative artist’s palette. And the glow from my gown would be illuminating into them all night.

  I hugged Marie then, so hard and so tight that were she not a faery, I fear I may have hurt her. But I didn’t know how else to thank her anymore, how else to put into words the wonder she had given me these three times. I could only hope now, as I did then, that she felt it was worth it.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Marie asked suddenly, tenderly.

  “A prince?” I asked, incredulous she would even ask. “Of course it is!”

  “Then off with you,” Marie commanded, pulling out of the hug. “You have a bal
l to get to.”

  “Goodbye, Grandmère,” I called to her, as the footman settled me into my golden orb. “I hope to see you again soon.”

  “You will, Ella dear,” she promised, and was gone even before we rounded the final bend of the house.

  In what I anticipated to be my last night at the palace, I refused to allow any thought or emotion to cloud my mind. I dulled all my internal workings and sharpened my senses so I could take in everything, soak in everything, one final time.

  By now, I knew the way to the palace very well, not just because I had imagined it so often, and not only because I was forced to walk much of it barefoot. Late one night, I had snuck into my father’s study and taken out the maps of the kingdom. Iris, unlike that pigeon-brained goose, had remained silent when I came, emitting only a soft squawk to say he was glad to see me. I tickled the top of his head to let him know I was glad to see him, too, and promised him I would never let Marie bedeck me in macaw feathers.

  Finding the map of Camallea, I had traced all possible routes the carriage could take over and over, envisioning it unfold in my mind even as my fingers walked across its renderings in thick black ink on parchment. I even pulled out maps of other realms to trace Princess Lyla’s journey to ours. Now, as we rode, I could see the way the route unfolded on the map, could see how the coachman had changed routes on the way there to keep us out of sight of anyone watching for us on the road.

  Tonight, the other coachmen and footmen didn’t pretend to shy their heads away when my goose-man guided my carriage into the palace yard. Even if they weren’t curious about me, my coachman must have been somewhat of a legend in his ability to twice evade the palace guards.

  My carriage rolled to a stop before the main entrance, my door perfectly aligned with the red carpet that would lead me up the steps for what I thought then would be the last time. A lizard-man helped me out of the carriage and as before, I stood in the courtyard soaking it all in, knowing how the candlelight, the very moon and stars must be illuminating my headband, my dress, my shoes.