The Price of Glass Slippers

"Papa! Papa!" A five and a half version of myself screamed, jumping into my fathers arms, and even to think about it, could feel my body being crushed by a loving bear hug.
 
"There's my sweet little princess!" He cheered, picking me up and spinning me around. "What are you two looking for?" He was refering to me and the pretty little red head next to me. Fee. Fee was a year and a half my senior, but for some reason, she was always with me as a child. 
 
"Fee and I wantcho to play knights an' princesses with us!" I squealed. "You an' I can be the princesses, since Fee insist that she's a knight!"

"No I didn't! I'm always the knight! Why can't I be the rescued princess!" Fee whined, stomping her foot and crossing her arms.
 
"Your just not the princess type Fee!" I teased, as Fee jutted out her bottom lip. "Fine then! Papa can be the knight."

"As much as I'd love to Princess, I must be off." He put me down and tosseled my hair.
 
"Off ta where?" I asked, crossing my arms. Papa had never refused to play with me before.
 
"Well," He paused briefly, "I am going to see a friend."

"A lady friend?" Fee asked.
 
Before my governess, Annie, could scold her for being intrusive, I cut in. "A lady friend? Papa, why are you meetin' with a lady friend? I don't want no new lady 'round here bossin' me around!" I said, glaring at Annie.

   "And why not?" My father asked. 

   "Neenee's bad uhnuff!" I whined, wrapping my boney arms around my fathers waist. 

   He smiled, kneeled down to my height, and pet the top of my head. "Everything will work out for the best, love. Trust me."

   I had no idea what he meant at the time, but rather than question him, I nodded. 

   A few years later, married his lady friend. You guessed it, that hag Camille. At first, I had rather enjoyed having a mother around. Someone who would plait my hair, and tell me stories. She would often mend my dresses, and shower me with compliments. "Such an interesting shade of green. A bit like moss." She would say, as she either pet my head or tucked strands of hair behind my ears. "Just like your fathers."

  "Really?" I asked. I wasn't often told I was like my father, but for some reason, Camille saw some sort of connection. 

   "You are your fathers daughter, that's for sure."

    I would nod and smile, but I didn't really understand why she always compared me to my father. As I grew older, I realized that she was only trying to erase the thought of my mother. If there was none of my mother in me, it would be as if she never existed. 

    Camille was always jealous of my mother, and quite honestly, I couldn't blame her! I was even jealous of my mother. She was beautiful, sweet, caring, and oh so loving, so said my father. My mother was everything Camille wasn't, and Camille knew it. She would never be as good as my mother, but I'll applaud her for the effort, she did try to be the perfect wife. Sadly, she made little attempt to be a perfect mother. I'll explain that later.    

   By the time I was nine, Millie and I had grow very much inseparable. She, Fee and I would spend hours up in my room, playing, reading, talking and gossiping, all the things young girls do. Gertrude and I, on the other hand, could not tolerate one another for more than a few minutes. We fought often, but to be honest, I only remember one of our fights. 

   "Givit back Gertrude! It's MINE!" The nine year old version of myself cried. 

   "Stop your foolish blubbering. You'll get it back when I'm done!" The fat-faced ten year old Gertrude replied smuggly.

   I sobbed as I struggled to reach my beautiful little doll, Ariana, from the clutches of that evil witch. The poor thing, her golden curls would be crushed, and her hand painted face would rub away by the time Gertrude took her grubby hands off of her.

   Amidst my own sobs, I didn't notice that Gertrude had suddenly become quiet and still, that is, until I had Ariana safe in my arms.  

   Once my precious doll was safe, I noticed the silence. Papa and Camille had just entered the room. Camille was crying into her hands, and my father own moss green eyes were shimmering, he was on the verge of tears as well. But for what reason, we still did not know. 

   "Fieren has declared war against Elendor." My Papa finally said, breaking the endless silence that filled the room. 

    Camille spoke shakily through her tears. "A-all men who are under thirty years and over sixteen are required to serve, buh-by the kings orders."

   The three of us children gasped, absolutely horrified. Papa was two months short of his thirtith birthday.   
 
   "But Papa!" I cried, throwing my arms around his waist. "You can't leave! You can't go!"

   He knelt down next to me, and forced my eyes to stare into his own. "Ellie, my sweet princess, everything will work out in the end."

    He was wrong. Things didn't work out. 

   A year had come and gone since the war started, and judging by reports, it was nearing it's end.

   We were setting the table for Millie's birthday dinner. The holidays were growing near, and the entire house smelled of warm, freshly baked cookies, burning wood, in the fireplace. It was almost perfect, except my Papa wasn't their to enjoy it with us all.
  
Millie and I retired to the living room after the table was set, as we waiting for our cook to prepare our meal. We had just made ourselves comfortable infront of the warm, crackling fireplace when we heard a harsh, sharp knocking on the front door. It wasn't my father, he wouldn't knock, he'd just enter. It couldn't be our neighbours. All the men were away, and the women didn't knock so harshly. 

   Camille knew who it was. I could tell by the way she collasped to the floor, hyperventalating, and crying. It was the soldiers. Papa was reported to be missing in action, presumably dead. 

   I don't wish to speak much of the loss of my father, it to this day is still a painful subject. I will however, tell you how things became the way the were after his death. 

   Something froze Camille's heart. She no longer lovingly plaited my hair, or sang my lullibies when I had nightmares. She increased my chores, and decreased her daughters. Slowly and slowly, she changed the way Gertrude thouht of me. Once, I'd been her sister, and now, I was just an orphaned servant, living in their house. 

   Now, where were we before the backstory? Oh, yes, I remember.