What did the house and gardens look like when I was younger? Leaning on the window ledge, I stare out over the gardens. They're almost unrecognisable now - the once green grass has now withered and turned black, and despite the fact that it's been raining for weeks, the flowerbeds are devoid of any life. If I try hard enough, I can almost picture the multitude of colours and scents, the butterflies and bees dancing around them. The sun is shining, high in the sky - it's almost time for lunch, and mother will call me back in, but for now, I just look up from my place on the grass and watch the clouds float by... Maybe if I picture it hard enough, it will actually come true.
"Ella! My corset! Ella! Where are you?" I sigh. Adelaide was... trying, in the least. She wasn't as bad as Aemilia, though - she openly insulted me: my hair, my clothes (As if it were my fault - how am I supposed to have nice clothes when they won't get me any?), even my lack of speed while cleaning! Adelaide was a little better; she was prone to tantrums if she didn't get her way, but she never openly insulted me. Ermelina - well, the only time I ever saw her was mornings, when she gave me my list of chores for the day, and at meals, where I serve the food. My delightful stepmother had her own personal maid, Becky, and a cook, Cathy. That left me to serve food, wash-up, help Adelaide and Aemilia, and try to keep the house in order.
As I step through the slightly rotted doorway, Adelaide comes into view. She's not ugly - her dark hair and hazel eyes create an unusually beautiful picture, but there's just something about her that's empty. Rotted.
"Come on, then!" As I obediently slip forward to tighten her corset, I can't help thinking that I should be like her - discussing my surely imminent marriage, visiting balls and dancing till dawn, spending hours with my maid working on my hair, clothes, and make-up. Not acting as a maid for my stuck up stepsisters. At first, when my father brought his new wife home, it started with little things, like not being included in conversations, or becoming the butt of jokes. I was fine with that - I don't want to be friends with stuck up pigs like them. But then , Father's gambling became too much to employ a full household, so almost all of the servants were dismissed. We were all to "help here and there where we can", but in the end, it was all me. If ever I tried to argue, my darling stepmother would remind me how powerless I was. I realised a long time ago that Father would be no help - perhaps he would, if ever he were sober.
"Ow! Too tight!" Adelaide squeals, and I almost laugh. She can't bear pain - Aemilia's corset would be at least four times tighter. With another little tug, I tie the ends off. She gasps, and a few tears actually roll down her face. Having to re-apply her make-up is almost worth it. She simpers through the entire thing in a revolting manner. Ugh! I would kill her if I could! Well, actually... no. I wouldn't. I'm just annoyed that she gets treated like a princess, while I'm her maid. It hardly seems fair, all things considered.
She waves me off, and though I would prefer to be treated as a person, I leave gladly. Adelaide is a pretentious idiot - one time, I even caught her whispering to Aemilia about how the prince couldn't fail to fall for her! As if! Adelaide may be beautiful, but there are many beautiful girls in the kingdom to choose from. At least Aemilia is more realistic - she knows that, though there is something rather charming about the curve of her lips and the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, that she really is very plain. She knows that while some minor nobility might notice her, no one more important that that will.
I glance down at my hands and internally sigh. They're callused from having to work for years, and chapped where the cold water has wormed its way into the cracks in my hands. They don't look how a lady's hands should, and probably never will again. My nails are short - I learnt the hard way that long nails snap while scrubbing floors. I sigh, externally this time, and press my forehead against the cool glass of the window. My head aches and my back is cramped, and I'm just so tired. Oh - if only someone could rescue me, take me somewhere better... but no one knows I'm here; Ermelina had made quite sure of that.
Is that a carriage? No one visits, and it's too early for Father to be home and yet... There's a carriage, right there, driving up the driveway! I let out a gasp, and open the window, just a little, to hear what could possibly be going on. Ermelina glides out in her purple silk, graceful as always, and stands before the carriage as if she were the queen, all regal and judgemental. I squint to get a closer look. Gosh! That's the royal crest! What would royalty want with us? Not caring about the raindrops landing on my hair, I poke my head out so as to better hear.
"My dear lady, you and your daughter's presence is required at the royal ball, held in honour of the prince's birthday." My dear stepmother goes on about the honour, and so on, but my mind is racing. A royal ball. Not one run by some minor lord, but a royal ball. One that anyone who would object to me attending will already be at. I may not be rescued any time soon, but I can get myself out.