Cinder was sweeping up the kitchen hearth, because Ella, the cook, hurt her back, lifting one of the dogs who had a bad leg from chasing a bunny down the hill in the back yard. The bunny was fine, the dog barely rolled over him.
The kitchen was alive with talk about the upcoming ball. None of the housekeepers, kitchen crew, or other servants, were invited, of course, but they did love to go on and on about it.
"What are you wearing?" asked Megan, the serving girl.
"Me?" asked Cinder, pointing to herself. "I'm not going to that meat market. Why any girl would go to a ball so one guy could look her and CHOOOOOSE which side of beef HE wanted to be with, is beyond me. Screw that," she said, dumping the contents of the dustpan into a bag. "Have you seen the prince? He can barely sit his horse. The poor mare. She has to lead him everywhere."
"I thought you would be going with your sisters."
Cinder shook her head. "They're more into that kind of thing. They believe in fairy tales and I don't. I'm sure they'll look beautiful and have a wonderful time, hoping to be the chosen one."
"What about your Fairy Goddess Mother? I thought she wanted you to go."
"Megan, have you ever smelled the inside of a pumpkin. It's so gross," said Cinder, stealing a cupcake off the table.
"Well," said Ella, "I'm sure the girls will be unhappy that you're not joining them."
Cinder shrugged. "I have a stack of books waiting to be read and I can stay right here and have the perfect evening."
"It used to be that any girl would be happy to marry a prince," said Ella.
"You mean the bad old days?" asked Cinder. "When girls were forced to depend on a man to take care of them, or die?"
"Yes, those days," said Ella, smiling.
"Would you marry the prince?"
Ella broke into giggles and covered her mouth with the hem of her apron. "Me? Oh, my goodness," she laughed. "Me, marry a prince."
"Well, would you?" asked Cinder.
The kitchen grew quiet.
"Maybe not this prince," she said, tears of laughter running down her rosy cheeks. "Even I'm a better rider than he is."
"What's with all the laughter?" said Cinder's step-mother, walking into the kitchen.
"We were just talking about marrying the prince. It seems that no one here wants to do it."
"The man can't even ride a horse," said her step-mother. "I don't know what's happening to princes' nowadays. They used to be so handsome and strong. They could ride and fight. They were brave and...well, those days are obviously over. I just hope one of your sisters isn't chosen. That would be a nightmare. You're a smart girl, staying home, although, you will be missed."
"Thank you," said Cinder. "You're a great step-mother, nothing like the evil one's men write about."
"Well, men do lie, my child, never forget that."
"Why don't you all stay home?" asked Cinder.
Her step-mother waved her hand. "Would that I could, but you know how flighty your sisters are. Any chance to play dress up is a chance they would never pass up. I wish I would have known your mother. You must be just like her. Independent, clever and marching to your own drummer. I think I would have liked her very much."
"Thank you. I'm sure you would have been good friends, but girls in stories almost always have dead mothers, so there's never anyone to protect them from evil."
"You don't have to worry, daughter. I'm here for you."
"I know. Thank you," said Cinder. "No daughter, or girl, should have to worry about evil. But they always do."
"They always do," said her step-mother, sadly.
"By the way, do you ever see my father?"
"No. Fathers aren't important in stories. No one sees them. Stories are all about torturing young women, and men who think everyone is dying to marry them. That's how you can tell men write the stories, to begin with. So egotistical. Women dying to marry them. Oh, for Goddess sake, how ridiculous and right out of a coma, sometimes. What are they thinking? They leave women helpless, with nothing, so they HAVE to marry them or die, and they think it's love. Well, you can do as you please and if you want to open your own business, as you've often said, I will give you the money to do it."
Cinder hugged her stepmother and thanked her.
"I'm off to help the girls get ready. If you want to participate, you are certainly welcome to do so, but be warned there will be a lot of silliness."
"I'll be there in a few minutes," said Cinder.
Ten minutes later, Cinder was drowning in ball gowns and twittering sisters.
"Which one, Cinder? I want to be the most beautiful."
"I'm going to be the prettiest one there," said the other sister, pushing her sibling onto the bed.
"I told you," sighed Cinder's stepmother. "How they got this way, I'll never know," she said, staring at her children.
"They were written to be stupid, vapid females."
Her stepmother nodded. "I was written to be evil, but I refused to play that disgusting part."
"I can't tell you how happy I am about that," said Cinder, putting her arm around her step mothers shoulders. "They'll calm down, eventually."
"You think so?"
"Maybe."
"In the end, one sister worn yellow and the other pale green. They both looks gorgeous and hugged Cinder on their way out, asking once again, if she was sure she didn't want to join them.
She told them to have a good time and to try and avoid the male gaze from the inept prince."
More laughter and they were gone and the house was quiet. Cinder drank in the silence.
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