The Price of Glass Slippers
Chapter 1
"Cinderella! Hurry UP!" A nasally British voice screamed at me. "My tea?!"
"Here you are Gertrude! B'careful not to spill it!" I should dump it on that ratty nest she calls brown curls. I forced a cheerful tone, even though she did the thing that bothered me the most: called me Cinderella.
Since it's probably important for you to know, I'll tell my real name is Eleanor FitzGerald. Quite commonly I go by Ella or, even more commonly, Ellie. I had once lived with my loving father, and, even at one point, a beautiful mother, who disappeared one day, when I was an infant. When I was seven, my father, Jennings, though it would be in my best interest that I had a mother/motherly figure. The biggest mistake he'd ever made. It was fine at first. Camille, his new wife, often spoiled me, and Gertrude and I fought like sisters, and her youngest sister Millicent, and I got along. When I was ten, though, my father went to battle and was reported missing in action. Nobody could locate my mother, so I went into the care of Camille. Or, I should say, I began taking care of them. Cooking, cleaning, serving food, tea, et cetera. Cleaning the cinders in the fire place was the task I did and despised the most, which is how I developed the nickname Cinderella.
"Cinderella! There is no sugar in my tea!" Gertrude screamed again.
I sighed. "Its onya saucer Gertrude."
"Oh." She said bluntly.
Someone put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure she was grateful Ellie. My sister just can't express thanks well." Millicent said, offering me one of her cookies. "If it's not too much trouble, do you think you could lace this blasted corset?" She asked.
"You needn't show her so much respect Millicent! She's just a useless orphan!" Gertrude spat, not even shifting from her seat on the sofa.
"I am not! My mothers still alive! I know she is!"
"Then why are you living here?"
I was about to snap, it was my fathers house, after all, but I refrained from it, helping poor Millie with her troublesome corset. You see, Camille had this twisted idea that her beautiful daughter Millie was neither thin, nor curvy enough for her standards.
"Thank you! Oh, Ellie! I almost look as pretty as you!" Millie squealed, admiring her reflection in the mirror. Millie was pretty. Much prettier than Gertrude.
"Ellie? Pretty? Millicent, I believe you've been losing your eye sight, to think Cinderella is pretty." Gertrude said arrogantly.
I rolled my eyes. "Millie, shall I help ya with your hair? Your red hair looks lovely in curls." Gertrude huffed, putting her clammy sausage hands on her hips. She did not enjoy being ignored. It was her biggest pet peeve, especially when I was the one ignoring her.16
"Oh! Ellie! Your such a sweetheart, but shouldn't you be preparing for the ball yourself? I'm sure you'd charm the prince."
"Millicent!" Gertrude snapped.
"What? Every man these days adores a young woman like Ellie. She can cook and clean and everything!" I smiled. Though she didn't have to, and pressured not to, Millie had always been one to speak highly of me. Maybe it was because I was the first in her family to show her any kindness at all. In Camille's eyes, the only reason Millie was better than me was because she was her own daughter.
"Balls aren't somethin' you see a girl like me at, that and I haven't got a gown to wear."
"What about that one of your mothers in the attic?" Millie suggested, only to receive a powerful elbow to the stomach.
"She wasn't invited! Now Eleanor! Go prepare my sister for my engagement party!"
"Your engagement party?" We all asked, totally shocked.
"Of course. We all know I shall marry the prince!"
"Oh Gertie, don't get your hopes up. Ellie, do you mind cleaning the attic while we attend the ball? Mother asked me to ask you?" Millie asked. I knew what she was hinting at. I knew EXACTLY what she was hinting at.
"It'd be no trouble. Ya two have fun tonight!" I said cheerfully, taking a metal rod from the fire and wrapping Millie's hair around it. "I love goin' through the attic and finding old pictures and such."
"You are such a loser." Gertrude muttered. I walked away, taking her empty tea cup and saucer, paying her no attention. When I reached the kitchen, I heard her pounding her heavy feet up the stairs.
********
She didn't find my dress. No one had seen it in years, except for Millie and I. We'd found it doing chores for Camille. It had been about a year ago, and I doubt anyone had touched it.
"Not in this one... Ow! Ow, heavy box! Gah! It's not in there either! Where did it go?" I whimpered. It was five o'clock, and my step family had just left for the ball. I only had a few minutes to find a dress and go. I'd spent so much time doing Gertrude's hair that I hadn't had any time to do my own. It wasn't fair. I was supposed to meet the prince that night! I blame Gertrude! She no doubt found the dress and hid it. I didn't have time to look at that point. I don't want to say it, but I'm a pessimistic person. The stress of not being able to get ready in time pushed me over my limits. I started to cry, sob, and then bawl. Someone had heard me. The sound of footsteps on the old wooden stares startled me. They drew closer and closer, finding their way up the attic ladder. I inched closer to the crate next to me, light enough I could through, but heavy enough I could use it in self defence.
Thankfully, my weapon wasn't needed. It was only Kira-Lynn, the house chef. She was older and wiser than Camille, her heart was kind, and her eyes were thoughtful and compassionate. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me closer, pulling stringy brown curls from my tear stained face. "It looks like you could use your fairy godmother right now." Before my eyes, she became years more youthful, and two beautiful wings appeared in a storm of gold dust. All I could do was nod.
"Here you are Gertrude! B'careful not to spill it!" I should dump it on that ratty nest she calls brown curls. I forced a cheerful tone, even though she did the thing that bothered me the most: called me Cinderella.
Since it's probably important for you to know, I'll tell my real name is Eleanor FitzGerald. Quite commonly I go by Ella or, even more commonly, Ellie. I had once lived with my loving father, and, even at one point, a beautiful mother, who disappeared one day, when I was an infant. When I was seven, my father, Jennings, though it would be in my best interest that I had a mother/motherly figure. The biggest mistake he'd ever made. It was fine at first. Camille, his new wife, often spoiled me, and Gertrude and I fought like sisters, and her youngest sister Millicent, and I got along. When I was ten, though, my father went to battle and was reported missing in action. Nobody could locate my mother, so I went into the care of Camille. Or, I should say, I began taking care of them. Cooking, cleaning, serving food, tea, et cetera. Cleaning the cinders in the fire place was the task I did and despised the most, which is how I developed the nickname Cinderella.
"Cinderella! There is no sugar in my tea!" Gertrude screamed again.
I sighed. "Its onya saucer Gertrude."
"Oh." She said bluntly.
Someone put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure she was grateful Ellie. My sister just can't express thanks well." Millicent said, offering me one of her cookies. "If it's not too much trouble, do you think you could lace this blasted corset?" She asked.
"You needn't show her so much respect Millicent! She's just a useless orphan!" Gertrude spat, not even shifting from her seat on the sofa.
"I am not! My mothers still alive! I know she is!"
"Then why are you living here?"
I was about to snap, it was my fathers house, after all, but I refrained from it, helping poor Millie with her troublesome corset. You see, Camille had this twisted idea that her beautiful daughter Millie was neither thin, nor curvy enough for her standards.
"Thank you! Oh, Ellie! I almost look as pretty as you!" Millie squealed, admiring her reflection in the mirror. Millie was pretty. Much prettier than Gertrude.
"Ellie? Pretty? Millicent, I believe you've been losing your eye sight, to think Cinderella is pretty." Gertrude said arrogantly.
I rolled my eyes. "Millie, shall I help ya with your hair? Your red hair looks lovely in curls." Gertrude huffed, putting her clammy sausage hands on her hips. She did not enjoy being ignored. It was her biggest pet peeve, especially when I was the one ignoring her.16
"Oh! Ellie! Your such a sweetheart, but shouldn't you be preparing for the ball yourself? I'm sure you'd charm the prince."
"Millicent!" Gertrude snapped.
"What? Every man these days adores a young woman like Ellie. She can cook and clean and everything!" I smiled. Though she didn't have to, and pressured not to, Millie had always been one to speak highly of me. Maybe it was because I was the first in her family to show her any kindness at all. In Camille's eyes, the only reason Millie was better than me was because she was her own daughter.
"Balls aren't somethin' you see a girl like me at, that and I haven't got a gown to wear."
"What about that one of your mothers in the attic?" Millie suggested, only to receive a powerful elbow to the stomach.
"She wasn't invited! Now Eleanor! Go prepare my sister for my engagement party!"
"Your engagement party?" We all asked, totally shocked.
"Of course. We all know I shall marry the prince!"
"Oh Gertie, don't get your hopes up. Ellie, do you mind cleaning the attic while we attend the ball? Mother asked me to ask you?" Millie asked. I knew what she was hinting at. I knew EXACTLY what she was hinting at.
"It'd be no trouble. Ya two have fun tonight!" I said cheerfully, taking a metal rod from the fire and wrapping Millie's hair around it. "I love goin' through the attic and finding old pictures and such."
"You are such a loser." Gertrude muttered. I walked away, taking her empty tea cup and saucer, paying her no attention. When I reached the kitchen, I heard her pounding her heavy feet up the stairs.
********
She didn't find my dress. No one had seen it in years, except for Millie and I. We'd found it doing chores for Camille. It had been about a year ago, and I doubt anyone had touched it.
"Not in this one... Ow! Ow, heavy box! Gah! It's not in there either! Where did it go?" I whimpered. It was five o'clock, and my step family had just left for the ball. I only had a few minutes to find a dress and go. I'd spent so much time doing Gertrude's hair that I hadn't had any time to do my own. It wasn't fair. I was supposed to meet the prince that night! I blame Gertrude! She no doubt found the dress and hid it. I didn't have time to look at that point. I don't want to say it, but I'm a pessimistic person. The stress of not being able to get ready in time pushed me over my limits. I started to cry, sob, and then bawl. Someone had heard me. The sound of footsteps on the old wooden stares startled me. They drew closer and closer, finding their way up the attic ladder. I inched closer to the crate next to me, light enough I could through, but heavy enough I could use it in self defence.
Thankfully, my weapon wasn't needed. It was only Kira-Lynn, the house chef. She was older and wiser than Camille, her heart was kind, and her eyes were thoughtful and compassionate. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me closer, pulling stringy brown curls from my tear stained face. "It looks like you could use your fairy godmother right now." Before my eyes, she became years more youthful, and two beautiful wings appeared in a storm of gold dust. All I could do was nod.