Cinderella: The Cinder from the Ash

Chapter One

Ella glared at the little pots on her table. Each one of the round clay containers represented a person she wasn’t; someone, according to her stepmother, not even her own father had loved.

“Cinder, are you up yet? The sun is nearly risen!” Evangline’s voice grated along Ella’s spine, as did the nickname her older step-sister had given her.

“I am nearly ready!” Ella called out. It would not do her any good to procrastinate any further. She lifted the lid on the first pot, and stared down at the green make-up. It would take her all of fifteen minutes to apply the make-up she would need to look normal. Her porcelain skin had to be darkened so she more closely resembled the rotting flesh of her step-sisters and her thankfully already black hair needed a fresh application of ash.

The door crashed open. “You cannot go out looking like that!” Evangline shrieked. “You will shame us all!”

Ella turned away from the single mirror in what used to be the upstairs storage closet, but was now her only room. “As you can see, I have not finished applying it. I pledge I will not go out until I am done.”

Her step-sister smiled, showing blackened teeth. “See that you do not.” Her nostrils flared. Ella noticed a tiny bit of flesh fall at her feet and marked it for later removal. “Your unblemished skin would terrify our neighbors.”

“I would not dream of it.” Ella turned back to the mirror, and began smearing black make-up over the already applied green. The more rotten she looked, the less noticeable she was.

“And do not forget to wear your gloves. Your nails are not the proper shade of corpse gray.”

“Yes, Evangline.” Ella replied.

“Mama and Esmae are waiting for you downstairs,” her step-sister continued. “We need you to purchase new ribbons. Mama has a list.”

Ella closed her eyes on the pretext of adding a bit of purple shadowing. There was always a list, and the longer she took applying her make-up, the longer the list grew. “How do I look? Have I missed any spots?” While Evangline definitely wasn’t Ella’s favorite person, she was at least marginally better than Esmae and Celina.

“Your hair is clean,” Evangline raised one gray hand to her hair and attempted to brush the tangled mess behind one ear. Bits of skin flaked to the ground. She sighed. “Good grief, Cinder, where is your fireplace ash? Do I have to do everything?”

“I can dirty my own hair, Evangline,” Ella snapped. “Just…go tell them I will be down shortly.”

“Do not get snippy with me. Mama would not be pleased,” her step-sister snapped back. “Remember your place.” She flounced out the door, not bothering to shut it behind her.

As if Ella could forget her status. It was at the very bottom of the very tall social ladder her step-mother lived by. Why her father had ever married such a woman, Ella could not fathom. With her perfectly decaying teeth and blue-gray skin, she was the epitome of standard beauty. And Ella, with her unmarked pale skin, was not. Maybe her father had simply wanted someone in his life that did not make strangers scream in fear, but she had no way of knowing the truth. Her father had left for parts unknown when Ella turned five, a year after his marriage to Celina. The note he had left had instructions for Ella’s care. It was the only stipulation to Celina collecting the money in his accounts. And collect it she did, as soon as the abandonment period passed.

Ella shook off the old memories and pulled the fireplace pot out from under her twin sized bed. Flipping her hair to one side, she dipped her hand into it and pulled out a handful of ash. With a flinch, she smeared it onto her head, root to tip. This final stage was the worst part of the day. Even Celina’s unreasonable demands for ‘ribbons that exactly match my purple bruising’ could not compare to combing ashes into what was clean hair.

As if the very thought summoned her, without warning her step-mother strode into the room. “Cinder, I do not approve of needless delays!”

Ella pulled on the dark purple gloves Esmae had, upon the promise of new ones, passed down to her. The gray ashes settled between her fingers. “I am just now ready, Mama,” she replied.

Celina sniffed. “At least you look, and smell, like fresh decay.”

“The perfume you graciously added to my make-up and my mud was much appreciated.” Ella smoothed her lavender gown. It looked hideous on her, but it was the best one she owned.

“I shall purchase you some more.” Celina sounded positively magnanimous. “The girls and I have received a notice that the queen is hosting a ball in Prince Timothy’s honor. He has reached his majority and the king has demanded he find a bride.” She glared at Ella. “I will not have you ruin your sisters’ chances to become a princess.”

A rush of relief coursed through Ella. At least Celina did not expect her to attend the ball and catch the prince’s eye. She was sure her powers with make-up would not stand up long to the scrutiny of the prince, or his court. The next thing out of her step-mother’s mouth dashed her hopes.

“You will, naturally, attend your sisters as their maid.”