Catelyn Winona
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Cinderella Doesn’t believe in Fairytales (part 3)
🕑 Added 2022-10-15 13:23:51 +0000 UTCSummary: Cinderella has one thing right. Magic doesn’t solve anything.
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A/N Hey, ya’ll! Sorry this is a day late. I’m traveling and the time zone shift really messed me up. This section is a little short but has some much needed information! It’s all set up for the next addition which I’m very excited to share!
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There is an old woman standing in front of the door.
Cinderella is tucked under a thick duvet, her hair splayed around her head so she can see her own curls from the corners of her eyes. She keeps her breathing even and smooth. The old woman is whispering out the door, hand cupped over her mouth as if to catch the sounds before they can disturb Cinderella.
The room is warm and dimly lit. There’s lavender in the air and the gentle smell of smoke from the small fire on the opposite wall. Cinderella feels clean cotton against her skin. The bed is soft and warm, the crackle of the fire soothing alongside the woman’s hushed voice. A part of Cinderella wants to fall back asleep and enjoy these creature comforts that she hasn’t experienced in so long.
That part of Cinderella doesn’t care that she has no memory of how she got here.
The old woman closes the door softly and sighs. “…hours…a favor? A miracle, more like…”
Cinderella closes her eyes as the woman drifts towards the fireplace. There’s the sound of metal against stone. She’s stoking the fire and doesn’t seem to know that Cinderella is awake. She doesn’t speak aloud again.
There isn’t anything else Cinderella can glean while pretending to be asleep.
Cinderella sits up.
The room is larger than she expected. Three towering windows take up most of one wall, covered in thick, velvet drapes. What she thought was the ceiling is actually the canopy of the four poster bed. The actual ceiling is like a dome, a complex mosaic of color laid into it to look like the night sky.
“Oh!” The old woman beams at Cinderella. “Well then! That’s very timely of you, isn’t it?”
No greeting? Cinderella somehow feels more wrong footed than she did when she first realized she didn’t know where she’d ended up.
“I do try,” Cinderella says. Her fingers are tangled in the sheets. She does her best to smooth the wrinkles. “I suppose you’ve been taking care of me then? Thank you.”
The woman’s eyes fall on Cinderella’s hands knowingly. Her face softens in the glow of the firelight. “It’s been my pleasure, dear, but there’s no need to be so polite. I know you must have questions. It’s alright to ask.”
It’s never been alright to ask. But the woman is smiling gently and her hands are clasped in front of her as if awaiting an order. She doesn’t seem terribly strong and Cinderella didn’t hear the door lock when she closed it.
Cinderella breathes in through her nose. “Who are you?”
“My name is Helga,” the woman says. She seems to take Cinderella’s question as permission to come closer. She sits on the edge of the bed. “I am an attendant.”
“What do you attend?”
“Whatever my lord needs me to,” Helga says. She laughs at Cinderella’s furrowed brow. “I know it sounds vague, but you’ll find that that is the only way to describe what exactly my role is. When there is a function, I organize it. When a book is needed, I acquire it. When magic must be done, I cast it.”
Cinderella’s gaze sharpens. The woman doesn’t smell like magic, but she doesn’t sound like she’s lying either. “Like a mage?”
“More of a scholar,” Helga says. “I don’t have any magic of my own. But I am employed by people who do and it is often my job to assist them.”
“So you know how I came to be here,” Cinderella says. It has not escaped her notice that the only name Helga has revealed was her own or that she has not asked for Cinderella’s. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A week,” Helga says. She presses a weathered hand to her cheek and sighs. “The teleportation was rushed and, therefore, hard on the body. I would have preferred a longer casting, it would have been gentler…but you were in a hurry, weren’t you?”
Hurry doesn’t begin to describe the state Cinderella was in. She remembers her frantic journey through the woods like a fever dream. She doesn’t recognize herself in the memory, not the desperation that fueled her nor the impulsiveness that led her to this moment. She had a plan, a good one, and she threw it all away. She’s somewhere she doesn’t know without her rations or her sewing kit or a map. Rather than the liberating departure from her family’s manor she had envisioned, she is at the mercy of this woman and whoever it is she serves.
“Now, now,” Helga says. She’s watching Cinderella with that same knowing look as before. She takes one of Cinderella’s tense hands between her own and pats the back. “You aren’t in any danger here, dear. Some things I may not be able to tell you right away, but nothing bad and nothing that won’t reveal itself in due time.”
“…my friend brought me here,” Cinderella says. She stares at her hand held in Helga’s. It feels like a mother’s touch. “Can I speak with him?”
“Technically, we brought you here,” Helga says. “He’s unfortunately busy today, but I have strict instructions to take care of you.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” Cinderella says. She retracts her hand from Helga’s grip and hides them under the covers. “I apologize, ma’am. What I need right now are answers.”
“You have to ask questions to receive answers.”
“Usually,” Cinderella says, exasperated, “but - excuse me for speaking frankly - there are certain situations where the sort of questions that need answered are clearer than others. Where am I? Who do you work for? Why was l brought here? What is expected of me? Can I leave? If I were able to leave, where would I find myself? Are there clothes other than this nightgown? Where are my clothes that I came in? How am I still so healthy after a week of sleep? Who were you speaking with earlier? Why did you mention a miracle? Why have you not asked for my name? Do you know who I am? Do you—“
“Yes, yes, I see your point,” Helga interrupts. She waves a hand in the air. “You and him are so alike! So practical. Where’s the magic in having all the answers, hm? Can’t a young man save a young woman and then they both live happily ever after?”
Cinderella stares at her. There are many things she could say to that. She could explain that it’s too late for her life to be such a beautiful fairytale. She could tell Helga that she’s always had to be practical because it was the only way to survive. She could argue that magic isn’t very useful unless it is an answer, otherwise it’s a mystery and not very helpful at all. Instead she says, “He’s a human?”
“And here I go running my mouth,” Helga mutters. She sits back and looks up at the mosaic on the ceiling. “Let’s see… you’re in the Capital. You are in the Emerald Castle which sits just east of the King’s dwelling. I work for…your friend and for certain high ranking persons here. Do not give me that look, I am telling you as much as I’m able. Your clothing is in the bathing area over there, though new ones will be provided for you, with your permission. Teleportation magic leaves a stench that my lord detests. Nothing is expected of you, though there are several opportunities that you must make a decision about soon. As for your name…well, my lord has refused to give you his, hasn’t he? I think it’s only fair that you refuse to give yours. Come on, up you get. Might as well get ready for the day while we chat.”
Cinderella mutely allows herself to be pulled up from the bed. The stone is cold against her feet, but it’s a bracing and welcome sort of cold. She regrets asking Helga so many questions now. She may not be able to keep up with all the answers.
Helga pushes her into the adjoining room. It’s a small bathroom with a tub set into the floor and a whole cart filled with oils and perfumes. Helga taps the faucet and water pours, hot and steaming.
“I’ll brush your hair while we wait for the tub to fill,” Helga says, beckoning Cinderella to sit on the stool in the corner. Again she sighs, the sound blending into the cascade of water. “As for what’s expected of you, it would be more accurate to say what is hoped for from you. You’re free to make your own decisions regarding where you will go and who you will meet. However, it's my understanding that you and my lord discussed the upcoming ball?”
If I could get you to the ball without your family knowing, would you go?
Cinderella presses a hand to her forehead. That conversation seems so long ago now. “I— We did.” Helga pulls Cinderella’s hair over her shoulders, hands gentle and methodical as she begins separating the tangles. Cinderella closes her eyes against the sensation. “Everything happened rather quickly. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Understandable.” Helga combs the end of her hair. “You’ve shown remarkable patience, considering the circumstances.”
Cinderella can’t help it. She laughs. Helga made being teleported a full week’s travel away, falling unconscious, and then waking to all of this seem normal. “Considering the circumstances.” There are still so many questions left unanswered. “What about the ball?”
“We hope that you’ll enjoy it,” Helga says. “A dress has been prepared for you. I’ll have it set in your room for after you bathe. However, if it is too soon, I will make your excuses to my lord if you need to rest another day.”
“Too soon?”
“You’ve been asleep for a week,” Helga explains. She strokes Cinderella’s hair. “The ball begins in six hours.”
Six hours?
Cinderella quietly begins to panic.
———.
It is only after her bath that Cinderella is able to calm down a little. She can’t blame herself for being overwhelmed. This past week has been ridiculous. No, this past month has been ridiculous.
“Or,” Cinderella murmurs, drying her hair with a towel, “perhaps my whole life has been ridiculous.”
It’s an awful thought and it might be a sign that she’s really not alright that she finds it a little funny. A week ago, she was raking leaves out from under the oak tree and worrying about whether or not the gardener's recommendation would be enough to get her a job. Now she just finished soaking in a rose scented bath in a room so ornately decorated that she can’t look at the walls for too long without breaking into a cold sweat.
She’s had a lot of things to think about since Helga left her to her own devices. There is the long term - what will she do for work in the Capital? Where will she stay? She isn’t naive enough to think she’ll be able to stay here. She’s in the Emerald Castle and, while Helga was very clear that she’s welcome to stay as long as she like, Cinderella knows it’s not possible. She’s the daughter of an absent baron and daughters of absent baron’s simply do not stay in a building meant for guests of the kingdom. If she thinks too long on that, Cinderella starts to panic again so she shifts her attention to the short term instead.
The ball is in a handful of hours. Many of the people attending will have been getting ready since morning, primping and preening before emerging into high society. Cinderella doesn’t have any time at all to prepare. On top of that, there’s the very real chance that she’ll run into her stepmother and sisters if she does go. She shouldn’t be entertaining the idea, but she can’t help the way her eyes are drifting to the door.
A dress has been prepared for you.
Cinderella wants to go. Her heart jumps in her chest. It’s not smart to go. She’s not prepared, she could be recognized, she should use the time instead to focus on finding a job…but she’ll never again have an opportunity like this. She remembers the dresses her mother used to wear, long and shining, and she wants. For one night, she could dust off those ancient dancing lessons and be someone else. She could— she could see everything her mother once told her about. She could eat delicious foods and watch beautiful people she’s never seen before.
For one night, Cinderella could live a different life.
“Plus,” Cinderella says, “I promised him, didn’t I?” She said she’d go to the ball if he could get her to the Capital, find her a dress, and help her avoid her family. The first two he’d done already. Couldn’t she trust him to fulfill the last as well?
Cinderella pushes open the bathroom door.
She’s going.
