CINDERELLA PART 2

Rhea stumbled through the book’s shimmering portal into a world quilted with contradictions. The air, thick with the scent of perfume and desperation, buzzed with a feverish excitement she immediately pegged as ‘Ball Season Panic.’

She took her time walking through the town, a cynical observer in a kingdom-wide melodrama. The evidence was everywhere. A noticeboard was plastered with frantic posters: ‘Don’t Fumble Your Fairytale! Last-Minute Dance Lessons!’ next to a much sterner one from the Royal Cobbler’s Guild: ‘Shoe Integrity is a Moral Virtue! Counterfeit Glass Slippers Will Be Shattered On Sight!’

A town crier stood on a barrel, his voice cracking. ‘Hear ye, hear ye! Two nights of the Royal Ball have passed, and the prince remains… unimpressed! One final night! One final chance to secure the royal dream-life contract! Don’t be the one who stays home and regrets it forever!’

Rhea rolled her eyes. ‘Subtle.’

She finally arrived at a modest house nestled behind a hedge trimmed with inhospitable sharpness. The door was flung open by a young woman with a sour expression and a dress so tight it seemed to be plotting to overthrow her.

            ‘What do you want?’ the woman snapped.

            ‘Name’s Rhea,’ she said, trying for an air of weary competence. ‘Here about the servant position. Heard you might need an extra pair of hands, what with all the… festivities.’

The woman—clearly one of the infamous stepsisters—huffed. ‘Mother did say we needed another drudge. Look at you, all pointy and smudged. You’ll do.’ She stepped aside. ‘Get in. And don’t touch anything. I’m Drusilla. You will refer to me as ‘Mistress Drusilla.’’

Rhea bit back a sarcastic reply and entered a house that smelled of floor wax and resentment. Drusilla led her to the back. ‘The kitchen is through there. Cinderella handles the… cinders.’ With a final, dismissive sniff, Drusilla flounced off to practice a pained smile in the mirror.

The kitchen was warm and dominated by a large, soot-stained hearth. And there, scrubbing a pot, was Cinderella herself. She was smudged with ash, but her eyes held a quiet, defiant light.

Rhea cleared her throat. ‘So, I’m the new help.’

Cinderella looked up, offering a small, tired smile. ‘Welcome to the madhouse.’

            ‘The whole town seems to have lost its mind over this ball,’ Rhea said, leaning against a flour-dusted counter.

            ‘It’s all anyone talks about,’ Cinderella agreed. ‘A silly fantasy.’

            ‘The Prince, though!’ Rhea pressed gently, feigning excitement. ‘Where I come from, princes are less fashionable, if not completely outdated. Aren’t you tempted?’

Cinderella stopped scrubbing. Her voice was firm. ‘I’ve been right here, in this kitchen. Some girls have better things to do than chase princes.’

            ‘Such as?’

            ‘Cleaning.’ Cinderella gestured to the mountains of pots and pans.

            ‘An audacious goal,’ Rhea quipped. ‘What’s the plan after that? A wild night of… darning socks?’

Cinderella paused, a log held in her hands. A rebellious spark lit her eyes. ‘No,’ she said, her voice a low and thrilling whisper. ‘I have zero interest in the ball.’

            ‘What about a girls’ night out?’ Rhea insisted. ‘Happiness is a good look. And less greasy than this pot. I already have a dress in mind for you.’

            ‘A night out? The kitchen must be clean before they return, or I’ll be punished.’ Cinderella’s smile grew smaller. ‘We would need a bit of magic.’

            ‘A bit of magic, you say?’ A slow, dangerous grin spread across Rhea’s face. ‘What about a lot of it?’

That was the trigger.

            ‘In fact,’ Rhea declared, grabbing two brooms, ‘the cleaning arts are the first to be taught.’ She tried to remember a simple tidying spell. ‘Okay… Scrubbus Maximus! By Suds and by Soot, let this kitchen be clean!’

For a glorious second, it worked. The brooms began sweeping dust into neat piles. The dishes rattled and began scrubbing themselves.

Then, the chaos took over.

One broom seemed to decide the other wasn’t sweeping with enough enthusiasm and whacked it with its handle. The second broom, deeply offended, retaliated. The dishes in the sink, interpreting this as a threat, began launching themselves out of the water like a soapy counter-offensive.

            ‘Uh oh,’ Rhea said.

The brooms, now armed with pot lids for shields, began to joust. A mop, seemingly of its own accord, joined the fray as a noble steed.

            ‘What’s going on?’ Cinderella said from under the table.

            ‘It’s totally under control!’ Rhea stretched her hands out. ‘My public performances get emotional sometimes, but I’ll fix it!’

She did not.

From a crack in the wall, two cockroaches peeked out. One, wearing a thimble helmet, began to narrate. ‘Gus here, alongside Tavo for technical analysis. A daring charge by Sir Bristleworth, but he’s parried by the formidable Baron von Mop! A stunning defensive manoeuvre!’

            ‘Indeed, Gus,’ Tavo added. ‘Baron von Mop is famous for his upper-handle block. He did not disappoint.’

            ‘Rhea, this is brilliant!’ Cinderella cheered. ‘Who needs the ball?’

            ‘Me! I need you to go to the ball! It’s not supposed to be this brilliant!’ Rhea yelped, dodging a flying saucepan. ‘Stop it! Everyone just, uh… be clean and polite!’

Her magic, sensing her panic, obliged in the worst way. The sink erupted upwards in a massive wave of foam, which then exploded, filling the kitchen with a mountain of iridescent bubbles. The jousting brooms and cockroach commentators were lost in a sudsy avalanche.

Rhea, dripping with soap, gestured wildly. ‘It’s fine! This is just… advanced cleaning! It’s a magical technique that uses kinetic agitation and hydro-foam suspension to lift dirt!’

She tried one last, desperate spell. ‘Bubble-us Recede!’

The bubbles began to pop, releasing tiny, mournful musical notes, like a soggy tuba playing a funeral march. The cockroach Gus, utterly dejected, squeaked, ‘And that’s a technical knockout, folks. A stunning turn of events here at the Kitchen Coliseum.’

The room was silent, save for the sad plink-plonk of the last few bubbles. Cinderella, still smiling, found two sponges and tossed one to Rhea.

            ‘Well,’ she said, her eyes twinkling. ‘I guess it’s back to the old ways.’

With the last plate dried, a grandfather clock in the hall chimed half past ten.

            ‘Ten-thirty,’ Rhea groaned, slumping against the doorframe to the moonlit garden. ‘The ball is in full swing, and we look like we just survived a naval battle with a soap kraken.’

Cinderella followed her out, wiping her hands on her apron. She gazed towards the distant glow of the palace, her earlier excitement fading into a quiet resignation. ‘It was a nice dream, though. The jousting brooms were a highlight.’

            ‘But you said we were going,’ Rhea insisted, hating the flicker of disappointment in Cinderella’s eyes. ‘The girl, the night, the dance, the sweats, some cocktails.’

            ‘Rhea? What do we need cock tails for?’ Cinderella gestured to her simple, soot-stained dress. ‘Rhea, I can’t exactly show up looking like this. They’d mistake me for a chimney sweep and hand me a brush. Then I’d have to clean the whole palace. At least you look like a witch.’

They stood in silence. A lone pumpkin sat by the wall, looking entirely un-magical. Rhea thought of her chaotic power. It had made a mess, but it had also made Cinderella laugh. For her new friend, she had to try again.

            ‘Stay right there,’ Rhea said, her voice full of a confidence she didn’t feel.

She walked to the centre of the garden and looked up at the moon. She didn’t think about textbooks. She thought of her grandmother’s hands braiding her hair, of the surge of power that came not from words, but from feeling. She reached up and began to weave her hands through the air, gathering threads of moonlight.

            ‘Noctis Fabricum, shimmer and gleam,’ she whispered. ‘Stitch in a star, sew with a moonbeam.’

The air around Cinderella began to sparkle. Strands of silver and indigo light spun around her. Her rough work dress dissolved, replaced by a gown the colour of a deep twilight sky, with tiny, glittering stars pulsing across the material.

Cinderella looked down in disbelief. ‘Rhea… really?’

Rhea, just as shocked, pointed to a pair of dandelions. ‘Aurum Terrae, light and so true, fashion yourself into a golden shoe.’

The dandelions glowed, their petals reforming into exquisite golden shoes. The magic had worked. No explosions, no pudding. Just pure, beautiful magic. Cinderella slipped on the shoes, a perfect fit.

            ‘You’re a real witch,’ she whispered in awe.

Rhea grinned, a broad, triumphant smile, as a delicate veil of moonlight settled over Cinderella’s face. ‘I could have turned you into an octopus, but that’s a different story. Now, shall we go to a ball?’