Cinderella: The Cinder from the Ash

Chapter Four

Ella looked around her, but the only thing she saw was a simple tinker’s cart, covered in a tarp. A man peered from around it, gesturing her over. “Yes, come this way. Hurry!”

She had met the tinker once before, though only briefly. Stepping over to his cart, she leaned against it. “Can I help you with something?”

The short, wizened man shook his head. “No, no, but I have something for you; something you could use.”

Ella frowned. “My list does not mention any of the goods you carry. I cannot fathom what I might gain from you.”

“It is not for your step-sisters. It is a gift for you.”

She took a step backward. “I—I do not—I do not receive gifts from strangers.” Nor from anyone else, but she was not about to give such information to a virtual stranger.

“Ah, but the royal court has not held a ball in your lifetime, Ella. Such a special occasion demands that the unusual become usual.”

“You speak in circles, tinker. Why would you gift me with anything? I have not received an invitation to the ball, and I will not be attending.”

The old man bared blackened teeth at her. “But you will be attending, for I have your gown.”

She blinked in astonishment. “Excuse me? You have my what?”

“Your gown,” the tinker replied. “Come closer, Ella, and see what I have. I promise you have never felt anything so fine.”

“I am already here. If I come any closer, I will find myself inside your cart.”

His burst of laughter startled her. “That would not do. I do not transport beauties such as you. No, my goods are only those of a simple man; baubles and whatnots for your hair and ears.”

“And mysterious gowns fine enough for a prince’s ball,” Ella retorted. “Why are you so insistent I go to court? How does it benefit you?”

The tinker tilted his head to one side. “Why are you so insistent you do not? All the young women have been invited.”

“I have no desire to be paraded in front of a prince so horrific he has never been seen,” Ella said. “And, as I told you, I have not been invited.”

He dug into one pocket, pulling out a wrinkled and creamy piece of parchment. “I believe this belongs to you.”

She took it from him and saw her name, her real name, penned across the surface: Ella Rose Adler. “How could...this makes no sense.” Ella turned the parchment over and over. She already knew what the interior said. After all, her step-mother had read her step-sisters invitation aloud to all of them. “This cannot belong to me.”

The tinker placed one rotting hand on her shoulder. “It can. It does. How else would I receive it?”

Ella frowned. “Why would you receive it? My home is across the square and down the path.”

“The how and the why do not matter.” With his free hand, he lifted a corner of the tarp. Ella caught a glimpse of black lace so delicate she was not sure it was real. “Go ahead,” the man urged. “Touch it.”

Ella pulled off one glove and stretched out a trembling hand. No matter that she had said she would not attend the prince’s ball. The idea of wearing such a gown was overriding her common sense. “Are you sure it is safe to touch? I do not wish to damage it.”

“It is spiders silk, woven through with the dreams of a thousand broken hearts.”

“That is dreadful!” Ella exclaimed, drawing her hand back. “I am not wearing something that has been steeped in such sadness.”

“You misunderstand me,” the tinker said. “The gown is made of pure hope, Ella, and it was created for you.”

Her hand reached out of its own volition, pulling the material off the cart and holding it up. Yards of black silk cascaded downward, culminating in a train of the fine spider silk lace. It was the midnight of a moonless night, sewn into a gown so dazzling she was stunned into silence.

“I will wear it,” she whispered. “I do not know how I will hide the gown from my step-mother or my step-sisters, but I will wear it.”

The tinker took the gown from her reluctant hands, tucking it away into the depths of his cart. “I will hold it safe and bring it to you when it is time.”

Ella could still feel the touch of silk on her fingertips. “I am not sure what to say.”

The man leaned close. “Put your glove back on.” He winked. “You wouldn’t want someone to see your beautiful hand.”

She gasped at the implication behind his words, shoving her hand back into the safe confines of the purple glove. “My hand is no different from any other hand, and it is none of your concern!”

He grinned again. “Go on now, Cinder Ella. You have errands to complete and I have goods to sell.” He raised his voice. “White powder, hair combs, baubles for sale! Show off your decay with fine amethyst earrings! They are perfection for even the most discriminating undead!”

As a few people emerged from shops and started toward the tinker’s cart, Ella eased away. The tinker was correct. She still had errands to run, and her stomach was beginning to rumble. If she delayed much longer, she would not have time to visit the seemingly abandoned church garden and gather the vegetables she had planted. Refusing to look back at the tinker, she hurried toward the butcher’s open door.

“Cinder Ella, what brings you into my fine establishment?” The undead man behind the counter rubbed his flaking hands across his apron.

Ella consulted her list. “I need one sheep brain, one cow brain and one monkey brain, please.”

“And for you, what can I get for you?” He smiled in anticipation of her order.

She shook her head. “Oh, nothing, thank you. I still have what I need at the house.”

“You do not eat enough, my dear. Why, I can hear your stomach from here.” He bustled around behind the counter, pulling the selected brains from the display case, and wrapping them in oiled brown paper before he placed them into a small woven basket. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No, thank you, maybe next time.” She paused, her heart palpitating at the question she had to ask. It was so humiliating. “Is my step-mother’s credit in good standing here?”

He frowned. Her heart dropped into her shoes. “She did not give you coin to pay for the brains?”

Ella bit her bottom lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to rise in her eyes. If they fell, her ruse would be found out, and there would be consequences when she arrived home. “I was not aware our credit was not what it should be.”

The butcher sighed, his shoulders sagging downward with the motion. “It is nothing to concern you. I will take it up with your step-mother when she graces my shop again.”

Ella was beginning to see the pattern. Her step-mother, by avoiding the light and sending Ella out on her errands, could avoid her creditors. It did not appear to worry Celina that she was blackening the once good name of Adler, her former husband. She picked up the basket and stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to say next. “I will tell my step-mother you look forward to seeing her again.”

It was with great relief that she stepped out into the afternoon. Wishing she could do what she used to, and tilt her face upward to catch the sun’s rays, Ella bent her head towards the ground and hurried toward the long abandoned church. Before her father had abandoned them all, she used to embrace the sun and did not care one whit for what the undead thought of her. She had had her father’s love and that was all that mattered. Ella avoided the stone steps leading up to the church doors, instead following the curve of the tower around to the back of the building. No-one ever came to the church, so she knew she was safe from scrutiny. After all, the undead did not pray. She pushed open the little wooden gate, being careful to close it behind her. Three more steps took her into the garden itself. And that’s when she saw him.