Cinderella and the Masquerade Ball
An Erotic Fairy Tale
Copyright 2011 Leila Bryce Sin
Smashwords Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
“Aw, look at the pretty little princess!” Moira snickered, her shrill voice cutting my ears as her twin sister, Mayra, laughed at the clunky wooden shoes I was wearing and the sad drab grey dress they’d forced me to put on.
“Yes, she is a pretty little princess now,” Mayra agreed as she flicked lentils as me. I watched as the tiny beans bounced off of my corset and tumbled into the cinders at the hearth, causing small puffs of soot to rise in the air.
“Look at the mess you’ve neglected, Ella!” Moira yelled as she pointed a finger, sparking in greens and purples, at me. Her power shot out and struck me, wrenching a scream from me, bowing my back in pain. The twin witches cackled when I fell to the ground, twitching and trying to recover as I rolled onto my hands and knees and crawled over to the cinders.
“Pick every single one up; do you hear me, Ella?” Mayra demanded, a spark of power shooting out from her finger and striking me in the shoulder, burning a hole in my already tattered sleeve. I gritted my teeth, holding in my retort as I began sifting through the ash.
“Ella?” Moira snickered again, “more like ‘Cinderella.’”
“Oh, very good, sister!” Mayra laughed again and threw another handful of lentils into the pile of ash I had already sifted through. I closed my eyes and thought of my poor mother, imprisoned by their mother, knowing any outburst by me would only bring her more harm. The twins delighted in tormenting me and I could take it so long as they left her alone.
“Did you have something to say, Cinderella?” Moira asked, drawing out the new name. I kept my eyes on the hearth and my jaw set, refusing to rise to their bait.
“Come Moira, let’s have our tea in the garden,” Mayra said as she stood up, holding out her hand for her sister. Moira hesitated, I could feel her dark eyes boring into the back of my head, hoping that I would react and she could punish me again. Finally she huffed and stood up, taking her sister’s hand and walked out, but not before kicking a pile of the ash into my face. I coughed violently until tears stung my eyes.
“Horrible, horrible witches!” I cursed through gritted teeth, straining to keep my voice down. I dropped the handful of lentils I had already retrieved from the ashes into the bowl Mayra had thrown them from. It took over and hour but I eventually found every last lentil and as I was rinsing them in the sink the doorbell chimed long and loud through the house.
I rushed to answer it and was surprised to see a messenger from the castle standing on our steps. He bowed low to the ground before handing me a gilded scroll and turning to leave. I stepped back into the house and unraveled the parchment.
“Darling daughter, you know better than to answer the door,” my father said as he came up behind me. He smiled at me and I tried to smile back at him, but whenever I saw the blank look in his eyes it made my heart ache. The witch who had kidnapped my mother and enslaved me had cast a spell over my father, making him fall in love with her. My mother’s kitchen witchery was no match for her sorcery. My father thought my mother had died and that the shock of her death had driven me crazy, leaving me dumb and helpless. Now he had no idea how horribly I was being treated by his new wife and step-daughters and whenever I tried to break the spell over him either my step-mother or sisters would harm my mother.
“Sorry father,” I whispered and handed him the scroll.
“Ah!” my father said with a smile, “the prince is finally taking a wife! Girls!” My father called out over his shoulder and within moments Moira and Mayra were rushing in, their satin slippers and full skirts swishing over the marble floor.
“Yes father!” they called, smiling and batting their eyes at him. I felt heat rush to my face and had to clench my hands into fists to keep from striking out at them.
“Darling, did I hear you call?” my step-mother said as she descended the grand staircase that ended in the foyer we were gathered in. Her dark hair was pulled up on top of her head, spilling down in perfect ringlets around her fair face. Her equally dark eyes sparkled with power and her red, red lips curled into a small smile as she came to stand next to her daughters. The three of them were nearly identical in looks and height and if I hadn’t known what black hearts they had I would have agreed that they were quite beautiful.
“Yes, my love,” my father replied, making me cringe. “It seems there is to be a three day festival at the castle so that the crown prince may finally choose his bride.” The twins squealed in glee, jumping up and down, while their mother smiled, careful not to show any wrinkles as she did so.
“It says all eligible maidens in the kingdom are to attend and that it is to be a masquerade,” my father chuckled at the end.
“Why is that humorous, husband?”
“I just can’t imagine why the King would want to cover the faces of off the eligible maidens if his son is to choose one for a wife.”
“It is curious, but the King has always been a bit eccentric.”
“Yes, you are quite right, my dear,” my father agreed, moving over to her to kiss her on her soft cheek. “So I believe that means we will need to head into town to buy some costumes for you girls.” Moira and Mayra squealed again and ran upstairs to fetch their traveling cloaks.
“Father,” I said, clearing my throat when he didn’t look away from his wife at first.
“Yes, darling?”
“May I go?”
“You?” he said confused.
“Yes, well, I am an eligible maiden,” I pressed, taking a few steps towards him, but before I could reach him my step-mother moved between us. She sneered down at me though my father couldn’t see.
“Oh, Ella, dear,” she crooned, her voice melodic and soft. “I am afraid that wouldn’t be appropriate.” She turned, transforming her face into a mask of concerned sadness as she faced my father and whispered to him, “Husband, dear, the girl is not mentally sound, how could we bring her?”
“Yes,” my father agreed in a low tone. “I’m sorry darling, perhaps the next time.” He patted me on the head and kissed my cheek before he walked out to prepare their carriage.
“Don’t push it, Cinderella,” she hissed at me, her power snapping in her eyes, before she spun to follow my father.
When they were all gone I walked out into the garden, sitting under the hazel tree my mother and I had planted when I was a child and began to cry. My tears splashed onto the roots, slipping away into the dirt.
As I sat crying I heard a rustling overhead. I looked up into the branches of the tree and saw the leaves glittering and glowing with power. I had the strangest feeling the tree was looking down at me. I had a vision of my mother petting my head and promising to always be there for me, watching over me.
“Hello?” I called out tentatively.
“Hello child,” my mother’s voice echoed down to me through the leaves and branches.