Cinderella A Romantic Horror Story

A Maid is not a Guest

Author's note: Hello everyone! I hope you enjoy this first chapter of my Cinderella retelling. I am open to all sorts of comments, but please be kind. This is the first time that I post to Wattpad. I'll upload new chapters every Monday and Wednesday! 

It is an honor to be read by you! 

                                                                                                ...

"What do you mean, maid? A maid maid?" Ella's hand clutched the fork tighter in midair, her arm trembled. The spongy cake threatened to fall off, but somehow never did. Tea time used to be her favorite time of day before her mother died. Soon after, her father had married Geneve, and tea time mutated into a torture session.

Geneve pinched the bridge of her nose. It was easy for her to be exasperated when she wasn't the one to be sent off as a maid — even if it was at a fine castle.

"Well, what was your plan, my dear girl? Don't tell me you expected to live off our charity?"

Ella swallowed and slowly shook her head. She had to be careful on how to phrase her next sentence, in which she would tell her stepmother how she expected exactly that without sounding like she did. She said, "I expected to live like we always have. Surely, dear mother, where one can eat, two can manage." Before she could say anything else, she forced the orange cake into her mouth. Her face broke into a grimace at the unexpected moist in her mouth. It had looked dry from the outside.

"Dear Ella, you know you're like a daughter of sorts to me. That's why I have to put you to work. I would put any of my daughters to work as well if they were single."

There it was. Geneve had what was considered bad luck, for she solely procreated girls, but be as it may, she married them all. Griselda was the last single girl, and she had married off a fortnight ago. Not only had she married them, no, she married them well. Griselda's husband was Mr. Font, Ella's father's universal inheritor. There wasn't much else to say. The tea had grown cold; the cake was too wet, and the table had to be cleaned before the other guests arrived.

"I'll make myself scarce, mother."

Geneve opened her mouth and then closed it. She then faked a cough and said, "I expect to see you downstairs in an hour, tops."

"But the Hamiltons are coming over for tea." Her voice wavered. She had high hopes of seducing the widower, Mr. Hamilton the Second. He was a bald fifty-seven-year-old man who'd probably be delighted to be in the company of a young and beautiful girl.

"Yes," Geneve dragged the word. "That's why we have to go so soon. They wouldn't want to share the table with the maid. Nothing personal, sweet child."

Ella's stomach tightened. There were no more words to be pronounced. She ran up the spiral stairs. When she was face to face with the mahogany door to her room, she paused and ran a finger across the embedded figures that looked as if they tried to free themselves out of the wood. To think this would be the last time she would touch the mermaid that swam beneath the boat. Her room was hers no more.

Father said Geneve would take care of her. Somehow, she doubted this was what he had in mind. Her hand traveled down to the golden knob and when she pulled, she couldn't help but gasp at the empty space that welcomed her. Geneve had removed everything.

Steps clicked behind her, Ella turned and Geneve's red lips hemorrhaged into a smile. "I'm not your Godmother, Ella. The job at the castle was hard to find. There was a long waitlist. Everyone in town wants to work there. I had to blackmail the housekeeper, lots of money, for it is a castle, after all. I'm sorry, what I'm trying to say is—" she swallowed. "I sold your things."