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Chapter Two

I wait in eager anticipation for the night to come. Thankfully, both Aemilia and Adelaide are much too self-obsessed to notice, and Ermelina never paid her any attention to start with. 

"Imbecile! Even someone as stupid as you should be able to brush hair!" In answer, I give Aemilia's dull brown hair a sharp tug. "You bitch! You did that on purpose!" I grind my teeth, but stop myself from answering. I hate Aemilia. She places her hands on her waist, made tiny with the corset, and scowls at me. "Get out of my sight! Now! Mother will be hearing about this." 

"Gladly." I'll be punished for that later, but it's worth it. Isn't it odd the way that one reply like that can exhilarate you? I almost laugh, but that would spoil the moment somewhat. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk out, head held high. I almost expect Aemilia to stop me, but she just stands there. If I walk out of the house like this, will they stop me? Or will they just stand there? That would be silly, though. Stay here, keep my head down, be low key until the ball. Well, as low key as I can manage. I can't be expected to be perfect, now, can I?

Getting clothes will be easy - it's not that I'm worried about. Adelaide sleeps like a rock, so it was easy to take one of her many lavish dresses - pale gold, with light pink embroidered flowers twining up the skirt, until, eventually, they thin out and disappear. From a distance, it will look like The dress merely fades from one colour to another, but up close, intricate pattern the flowers create will be clear. With my blonde hair and russet eyes, I'll be sure to stand out. I don't need such an advantageous marriage, just one to get me out. Admittedly, though, money would be nice. And having very little to eat has an unforeseen advantage - my waist is now incredibly slim without a corset, so with one... I smile slyly. It will be enough. It has to be.

Of course, it won't fit - Adelaide's  much larger than me, but I can alter it. Ugh! So much to do! With the ball coming, Ermelina has piled on the workload, and I can't help but bend under its weight. No one will care that I'm beautiful if I look like a servant.

"Ella." A command, from Ermelina. Only she would sound so calm. I hate it - she's always so collected - nothing ruffles her. Though, to do with Father, she would have to be. I'm not surprised she caught his eye - with her gold hair and sky blue eyes, she's stunning. And not too picky. She knows she's stunning, too, and knows how to enhance it. Better than her daughters, anyway. 

"Yes, Stepmother?" She prefers it when I call her that - to preserve some twisted sense of a together family, I suppose. Even though she looks nothing like her supposed daughters - which, honestly, are probably illegitimate. She was never married before Father, so they almost definitely are. No one would ever say it, though - it would be so improper! - but I know that's what everyone thinks when they see them together. Especially since the sisters don't even look like each other. 

"I would like you to answer me truthfully. Did you, or did you not, pull Aemilia's hair?" I burn with anger - it was such a petty thing, and there's no reason to take it so far. "Answer me, Ella."

"It was an accident!"

"But after she scolded you, you answered back, yes?" 

"She yelled at me and insulted me. That's not just a scolding."

"Did you answer back?" I bit my tongue, forcing myself not to say something that makes Aemilia's insult sound like a compliment. 

"I'm sorry, Stepmother."

"As you should be. Now, as your punishment," My head whips up. This is the part that matters. "You will be given extra tasks to complete while we are at the ball. Of course, I expect them to be completed by the time we return." No! My only chances for freedom disappearing...

"But -"

"May I remind you, Ella, that nobody knows that you are here?" I want to kill her. I want to take the  feather duster she gave me and stick it through her throat. I want to...

"I'm sorry, Stepmother." I don't know what part of me let's me say it, but it comes out, and hopefully sounds sincere enough. 

"Now, return to your chores." I turn away so she won't see the scowl across my face. "And Ella?" I force a smile as I turn. Maybe she's decided the punishment was a little too harsh. "Do get that ash off your face." I spin, and leave, not letting her see how red my face has become as Aemilia laughs.

"Ashes on her face! Ha! Oh - I know! Cinderella! It's perfect!" Cinderella. The name sounds alien in my head. A creature of ash and cinders. Cinderella. My Mother said used to say, before she died, that names have power. I laughed it off then - what could a name possibly do to hurt me? - but I understand it now. This name has reduced me to a servant, to a creature. I am Ella. My name is Ella. And I will never let them forget  it.

But that's not what really matters. What really matters is that I can't go to the ball. I will never escape, never be free of this horrible place, of the death that surrounds it. I will never have my fair chance to be happy, to be free. What really matters is that I'm stuck here forever.