Glass and Ashes

Glass

and

Ashes

An OWS Ink Fiction Anthology

If The Shoe Fits

By Rebecca R. Pierce

ONCE UPON A TIME, A motherless rich girl gains a stepmother and two stepsisters. And then her father dies and the little rich girl becomes the poor little rich girl, she muttered to herself, scrubbing the floor of the basement in a mixture of bubbly suds and dirty water.

Lisette sighed, surveying the only part of the mansion relegated to her after her father’s death. Poorly lit, the dark stone walls were bare of any decorative paper or paneling. A lumpy mattress piled with moth-eaten quilts lay in front of a small hearth. Boxes stacked to the ceiling with knickknacks, old clothes, books, and holiday decorations. Her old dusty crib stood dismantled in a corner nestled next to a hobby horse and her other toys. Lisette was shoved here along with all the other unwanted things.

Certainly a prison or an oubliette would’ve served better if they wanted her away from their sight, though a convent would’ve suited her station better. There were many ways to getting rid of an unwanted relative. She had no idea what she’d done to deserve such treatment. Lisette could only assume it was because they were too cheap to use her father’s money for real servants and forced the task upon her instead.

Already, their greed set their sights on nobler goals, the noble in question being the prince of Alchorean, no less. And then it’s ‘Cinderella this’ and ‘Cinderella that’ all day and night long, like I’ve got nothing better to do, Lisette grumbled, recollecting the year leading up to Prince Florian’s Love At First Sight Ball. It was a stupid charity stunt and she cursed his name for it.

Girls from all walks of life are welcome, she had overheard Faustine, her stepmother, reading the invitation to her daughters, Augustine and Babette. With a chance to catch the prince’s eye, you two could become princesses.

Lisette had scoffed as she served their tea and the girls were too busy squealing like delighted pigs to pay her any mind. After that, her life became a manifestation of hell. She was sent off to the store for bolts of fabric. Endless were the hours of sewing and fittings, facials, manicures, and even pedicures, though their feet would be hidden by shoes.

When at last the night of the ball came, Lisette thought she would know some semblance of relief. An hour before their departure, Faustine fixed a stern eye to her and said, After you complete your chores, you may come to the ball with us.

Come? Lisette said, uncertain if her ears deceived her.

Well, yes, Faustine replied as if to a simpleton. Every girl in the kingdom has been invited. How would it look if we left you behind? I’ll not have you shame the family and ruin my daughters’ chance at a good match over your selfish needs. Now go.

Lisette hurried, but it was an impossible request. She had the daunting task of attending three ladies and by the time she finished, she had only a few minutes to prepare herself. Dashing to her mother’s closed-off chambers, she threw open the armoire and grabbed the first gown. The garment hung loosely on her form, but Lisette didn’t have time to worry much less make alterations. The brush ripped through her hair twice before she rolled and pinned it in place with combs from her mother’s jewelry box. Slipping on shoes a size too big for her, Lisette hurried downstairs hoping she was presentable enough.

She didn’t expect the scene that followed.

What are you doing wearing my gowns and my jewelry? Faustine shrieked.

I, Lisette started. They’re my mother’s.

Well, they’re mine now and you look ridiculous. When I said you could go, I meant as my servant, Faustine sneered. Did you honestly think I would have you appear in society as yourself, as the rich heiress Lisette Renaud?

Augustine and Babette giggled behind her.

Maman, look at her dress, her hair. She looks like a stuffed scarecrow, said Babette.

Augustine rolled her eyes. She didn’t even bother to wash.

I’m sorry, Cinderella, but the driver is waiting. Faustine sucked her teeth. Not that I wanted you there to begin with. I suppose I’ll excuse your absence by saying you caught the ague. After you are properly attired, you may join us at the ball if you can walk there in time.

When her mother’s back had turned, Augustine leaned in and whispered, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Since everyone knows the name of famed Lisette Renaud, I’m going to pretend to be you. You don’t exist except as Cinderella. Even your identity is ours.

Babette stepped behind Lisette. By the time Lisette heard the tearing sound it was too late. She turned and Babette smirked at her with a pair of scissors in her hands. Oops.

Her mother’s gown ... she wedded her father in this gown.

While Lisette stared in shock, Augustine grabbed the newly made flap and snatched it violently toward her. The fine muslin ripped like a spider’s web. When Lisette twirled to face Augustine, Babette laughed and made another cut. Augustine jerked one of the combs out of Lisette’s hair. Lisette grabbed for the scissors crying for them to stop.

Come on, girls, the driver’s not going to wait forever, Faustine said.

LISETTE WEPT WITH HER face buried in the garden bench. The horses’ hooves clopped down the cobblestone lane as the driver pulled away. They were gone. She couldn’t believe they were gone, that they’d leave her behind. She hadn’t wanted to attend the ball in the first place, but now, she wished with all her being that she could go, if for no other reason to catch the eye of this prince that seemed so important to her stepmother and stepsisters.

That would show them, she sniffed. I’ll get the prince and have my h-happily ever after.

She thought back to the day she first met her stepmother. Faustine had a chilly disposition even when her thin lips crooked into a smile. Her dark eyes gleamed as she appraised everything from the cost of her father’s home to the price of his napkins, but never once wondered at love’s worth. Lisette’s father married this vulture after a brief courtship, believing her occupation as a governess would make for a fine mother. As proof, she brought her two magpie offspring with her. Her father was sure he secured Lisette’s happiness and then promptly died, leaving Lisette to inherit his bad decisions.

She didn’t even know how she ended up in the basement. Like mice, the problems came as a small thing at first and a full on infestation later. Shortly after the funeral, Faustine accused the bookkeeper of embezzlement and sent him packing. The household staff, likewise, couldn’t be trusted with silverware or fine jewels. And that was when she transformed Lisette into a servant. Faustine had arthritis. Augustine and Babette, who were supposed to help with the cleaning, intentionally did a poor job of it and Lisette would get the blame. Faustine used to at least swaddle her manipulation of Lisette in compliments, thanking her for her servitude. But over time, like a shawl worn threadbare with use, the ruse disappeared altogether.

Music drifted faintly to her ears and Lisette dried her eyes. A soft glittering light drew her to lift her head. She inclined her eyes to follow a glowing speck that spiraled toward her and grew into a sizable orb as it approached. A flash of light later and a radiant woman with gossamer fluttering wings stood smiling down at her. Go to the ball, Lisette. I’ll help you.

Who are you? Lisette stared.

I’m your fairy godmother, Lisette, sent by your mother to watch over you.

Her brows furrowed. Where was this godmother when she was abused by her stepsisters? Where was she when her father married her stepmother?

As if in answer to Lisette’s unasked question, the fairy extended a hand. I’ve always been with you. But we must hurry if you intend to go. We haven’t got much time.

Lisette, realizing she still clutched the wet scissors to her, placed them in the fairy’s open palm and allowed her godmother to help her to her feet. Wiping her damp hands on her tattered gown, she cast a dubious glance at this creature. What can you do?

I can turn you into the belle of the ball, she giggled, waving the scissors about, with magic.

A spray of sparkles rained over her dress and Lisette gasped under the enchantment. The ruined skirts floated on the wind, catching moonlight. The shredded pieces stitched together and settled as full and beautiful as white rose petals.

The fairy tapped her lips with her fingers. With her head tilted to one side, her eyes narrowed at the gown with some scrutiny. The tips of the gown deepened to scarlet until the whole gown was swallowed in a crimson hue.

The loveliest of roses are always red, the fairy explained with a dreamy sigh. Your gown is sure to turn every head.

THE MUSIC STOPPED UPON Lisette’s entrance. A few glass goblets shattered to the floor. She blushed under the weight of so many stares. Her bodice could hardly contain her shimmering bosom as they heaved for breath. The multitude of candles illuminated the sweat off her body like diamonds and her gown clung stickily to her womanly features. She panted. She had time for one waltz before midnight and had raced up the stairs.

The other guests continued to gawk at how her hair stuck out at odd angles, the raggedy condition of her gown and the drying blood that soaked over her entire dress. She looked to them like the victim of a rape and murder.

I’ve come to dance with the prince, Lisette boldly declared in the gathering silence.

Is this some sort of political statement? A man eyed the scissors tied to her waist like a fan and an annoyed expression crossed his face. You working class girls—

Lisette recognized him and curtsied. Ah, the prince. Your Highness, do indulge Your Lowness this one dance and I’ll be gone.

He looked hesitantly at his guards who immediately stepped a pace forward. He looked toward the court who looked on, mumbling out of earshot. If he snubbed one poor seamstress, he snubbed everything she stood for—the merchants and peasants upon which every civilization depended. The prince lifted a hand and shook his head. His guards stepped back in line. The prince cleared his throat before addressing Lisette, As is your right.

With a nod to the orchestra, the music swelled around them. The prince bowed to Lisette, she curtsied again and they twirled to the center of the ballroom. She didn’t like the way he scowled at her nor how he turned his face away like he found her repugnant.

What’s the matter, my prince? Isn’t this love at first sight? Aren’t you supposed to be madly in love with me? I’m ready to start my happily ever after now. Sweep me off my feet, she said.

Why are you here?

I’m here because you invited me. Out of the kindness of your heart, you planted an idea in our heads that we can hope for a better life if we were just ... pleasing enough. If we work hard, if we’re good, if we suffer in silence, life would be wonderful. But sometimes, it doesn’t end up that way. Her eyes squinted as the realization occurred to her that not even the prince looked happy. Not even for you, I see. Or perhaps you’re just uncomfortable with the idea of facing someone less fortunate than you, someone beneath your notice. This is your kingdom, after all. We’re a reflection of your rule. Your castle sits on the graveyard of the poor.

The prince threw her hands from him and they stopped dancing.

Get out, he said through gritted teeth.

What happened to your heart to make you stop caring? she asked.

Get out, he repeated more forcibly.

You just need a little magic. Magic mends all. Lisette ripped the scissors from around her waist and rammed it into his heart.

Screams pierced her ears, women fainted, and guards rushed her. Lisette ran shoving people out of the way. She dashed down the stairs and through the courtyard, losing her pursuers somewhere in the maze of the gardens. It wasn’t until she arrived home that she realized one of her shoes went missing.

SOMEDAY, MY PRINCE will come, Lisette sang as her eyes scanned through the accounting books. Taxes were up to date. The milkman and the butcher had been paid. Everything seemed to be in order, so she closed the log and slid it into the desk.

The doorbell sounded. She sipped her tea and nibbled on her biscuit. The bell rang again. With a heavy sigh, she rose from behind her desk, wiped her hands free of crumbs and headed to the front door. The door chimed a third time a fraction of a second before she opened it.

A group of six soldiers from the palace guard stood on the threshold. Each man wore grave expressions on their faces.

Yes? she asked.

Sorry, mademoiselle, for the intrusion, said the man in front, tipping his hat. I am Captain Martel of the King’s Guard. I was wondering if I might speak with the members of your household staff, in particular, the ladies.

Well, I am sorry to tell you, it’s just me here. Since my father’s death, I saw no reason to retain any servants.

Just you in such a grand house? he asked, incredulous, before he collected himself. But that must mean you are Lisette Renaud. My condolences for your loss. I did not know your father, but I heard he was a good man.

He was. Thank you.

The captain stared at her black taffeta gown. With reluctance, he asked, Might we come in?

I am in mourning, monsieur, she reminded him.

With respect, it has been five years, mademoiselle, and nevertheless, it is of utmost importance that I speak with you.

Very well, Lisette sighed with resignation and held the door open to let them pass. Only please tell your men to wipe their feet first. As I said, it is just me here.

She showed the men into her parlor and waved them into the velvet sofas. Please excuse the draft. Should I start a fire? I’d offer you gentlemen some refreshments, but I’ve just finished breakfast.

Only the captain sat. The rest of the men remained standing.

No, that won’t be necessary. We won’t be here that long. We only have a few questions to ask, the captain said. He looked around. Didn’t your father remarry?

Lisette nodded. He did.

Where is your stepmother? Didn’t you also have sisters?

She sighed again and folded her hands in her lap as she looked up at the ceiling. My stepmother and stepsisters left the night of the ball and haven’t returned since.

The men exchanged looks and the captain shifted uncomfortably in his seat. And did you attend the ball that night?

Monsieur, she gave him a pointed look, her voice thinned with her patience. As I said earlier, I am in mourning.

All the same, if you would indulge me a little longer, mademoiselle. May I see your foot?

Pardon me? Her eyes widened. Surely you must be joking.

I’m afraid not. No doubt you heard by now Prince Florian was murdered at the ball. The only clue we have is a pair of scissors and one shoe.

But didn’t you get a look at the murderer?

Captain Martel shook his head. The crazed woman was covered head to toe in blood and no one recognized her. We suspect she’s an angry spinster who hates her wages. I know that someone of your standing is unlikely to be the culprit. Nevertheless, I have been instructed to match the shoe to the foot.

And how many other feet might fit the shoe? Will all the women found to be of like size be tried for murder?

No, but it does narrow it down. Please, mademoiselle, I am just doing my job. Your foot, if you please.

Lisette rolled her eyes. "Tell your men to glance away. It is scandalous enough I must show you my ankle."

The captain nodded to one of his officers and he approached bearing a long wooden box in his hands. The officer handed it to the captain who opened it and withdrew a bloodstained glass slipper. Lisette frowned when she saw it. The shoe also once belonged to her mother. She swallowed hard and tears filled her eyes.

Someone ... died? This blood...? she trailed off, unable to say more. Gulping, she averted her gaze.

The captain nodded. You do not have to look. I will only be a moment.

Lifting her skirt an inch, he gingerly took her foot in his lap. His fingers traced her delicate ankle before removing her shoe and setting it aside. Then he slid the glass slipper with the coating of dry blood on her foot. An inch of space existed between her heel and that of the shoe. He exhaled in both frustration and delight. You’re not our woman. Mademoiselle Renaud, my many apologies for this inconvenience.

Well, that’s a relief. Lisette only looked again after she heard the box click shut. She replaced her shoe and she and the captain stood at the same time.

She walked them to the door and Captain Martel paused. Your stepmother and stepsisters ... they disappeared the night of the ball, you say? Do you have any idea where they headed afterward?

No, I’m sorry I cannot help you there, Captain. I was never very close with my father’s wife and her daughters. The only thing I knew about them was that my stepmother was a governess. Her name was Faustine Marchand, if that helps. Her daughters are Augustine and Babette.

A strong gust of wind blew through the house and with it, an even stronger odor. The captain made a face and then squinted as he heard the buzz of flies.

What is that stench? he asked, holding his nose.

Dead raccoons in the attic. Lisette shook her head at herself and shrugged in embarrassment. I’m sorry. It’s just me here and I wasn’t expecting company. I was on my way to tend to them when you rang the bell.

Good day, mademoiselle. Thank you for your cooperation. Repulsed, Captain Martel waved the rest of his soldiers out with him. Let’s try and find this Faustine Marchand. Surely one of her daughters is the suspect.

Lisette closed the door after them. After locking it, she leaned against the door, shut her eyes, and let out a long, slow exhale. Soon, the house would require some thorough cleaning and that meant a trip to the market to purchase vast amounts of lye. If the captain thought the house smelled rank, her stepmother was sure to complain. She resolved not to tell her about the visit.

Cinderella, where are you?

Coming, Mother, she said, though she hated calling Faustine that.

Is breakfast ready yet?

I’m getting it now. Lisette hurried into the kitchen and threw on an apron. She placed biscuits spread with jam and cups of tea on three different trays and carried them upstairs to Faustine’s room. Opening the door, she smiled. Serving them was so much easier now that they’ve agreed to sleep in the same bed together.

She set the trays down on the cart near the window. Her smile broadened at the three corpses propped upright in bed together. Her eyes dropped to the spoiled food in their laps.

You didn’t even touch your dinner from last night. No wonder you’re hungry for breakfast. What’s the matter? Was it not to your liking? She removed the old trays and replaced it with the new. Well, here’s to hoping you like your breakfast better.

Who was at the door, Lisette? Faustine gave her a suspicious look.

Faustine called her by her name and a tear of happiness stole into her eye. She knew then she couldn’t tell her stepmother the truth and worry her needlessly.

Just some soldiers from the palace, she replied. They ... were looking for a mystery girl. The prince is in love with her, but she dashed away before he could even get her name. She left behind a shoe so now the prince is sending all his men to look for her. He’s going to make her his princess if the shoe fits. Isn’t that romantic?

Was the ball nice? Augustine asked with a sulk.

I didn’t stay very long, but I think so, Lisette answered, swatting at the flies. I met the prince and, not to boast, but we even shared a dance together.

And then what happened? Babette pouted, clearly jealous. Did you steal his heart?

Lisette gave the question serious thought. Yes, I think I did. I wasn’t like the other girls. They fawned and flattered him, but I gave it to him straight.

Will we be moving to the castle now? Babette asked and hope lit up her bulging eyes.

Not yet, Lisette said.

Faustine scowled. Or perhaps the muscles in her dead body relaxed. It was hard for Lisette to tell at this level of decomposition.

But I promise you we’ll all live happily ever after, Lisette said. We’re family, after all, and I’m here to take care of you for now and always. Now eat up. Tonight, I’ll give the three of you dears a good lye bath soak and all of your troubles will dissolve away.

Rebecca R. Pierce is a published poet and author of short stories. She lives in Atlanta, GA with her husband and daughter, and dotes on one good-for-nothing pug. She is currently working on a paranormal fantasy horror novel The Huntress of Rosefell Hall.

What Happened After Midnight

By Elle Saline

THIS WAS BAD, VERY bad. No Fairy Godmother in history had ever messed up their fairytale so dreadfully before. But Cinderella lying in the arms of some strapping innkeeper the morning after she’d danced with the prince was a very, very bad thing.

She was supposed to be home when the clock struck twelve, not just leaving the castle! So, right on schedule, the magic left while the pumpkin-turned-coach was still moving at breakneck speed and tossed her aside as it returned to its original form. I was lucky she didn't break her neck. I had no idea what this meant for the rest of her story, but I’d be in serious trouble if I couldn’t figure out how to make this the Happily Ever After I’d guaranteed the Fairytale Council.

I could choose when to be seen, and as I watched the aforementioned innkeeper pick up my unconscious charge, it was definitely a time I didn’t want to be seen. I sighed with relief as he carried her limp body towards his inn.

Inside, he laid her down on his bed as his aging mother stepped into the room.

My goodness, Dylin! What happened? She went to the bedside and felt Cinderella’s forehead, checked her pupils, and lightly fingered the back of her head. Good Heavens! Feel this lump.

Dylin slipped his tanned, calloused fingers into Cinderella’s fair hair and grimaced, That can’t be good, mother.

My own fingers itched to feel the mentioned lump. Had she been more injured than I’d assumed? If I thought the Fairytale Council would be upset by Cinderella’s detour, they would be livid if my charge ended up with any serious damage.

His mother shook her head, No, it’s not. She pinned her tired gaze onto her son. What happened?

Dylin worked his fingers through his shaggy black hair looking unused to not knowing the happenings in his own backyard, I was walking back from the blacksmith when some children came running saying they’d found a dead body. I told them to take me to it and there she was, just lying on the side of road, like someone had tossed her out of a carriage without a thought. I saw she was still breathing so I brought her here.

Poor thing. His mother stood. I’ll get a cold compress. I fear there’s nothing more to do until she wakes. In the meantime, the guest in room three requested more hot water while you were out. She looked back at the bed, Can’t imagine such a beauty is not being missed. Her family must be so worried. She patted Dylin’s shoulder as she left. I know you’ll take care of her. You take such good care of everything.

With his mother gone, Dylin scooted closer to Cinderella and pushed her damp, tangled hair off her cheek. There was something dangerous in the way his dark eyes looked at her, the warmth and concern. If I wasn’t careful, this boy could easily fall in love with my young heroine.

After all, not just anyone was offered a fairytale. The Council only chooses the purest of heart, the kindest and most worthy. If the young innkeeper had any merit at all, he would recognize these traits in Cinderella and want her for his own. And that would really be an inconvenience as her scripted story clearly stated she’s intended for the prince.

Oh! The prince!

I POPPED AWAY FROM the inn, confident Cinderella was not in danger (of physical harm at

least), and landed, still invisible, in the castle’s study where Prince Trystan was pacing before his father, blonde hair rumpled and blue eyes filled with purpose.

Son, please, this anxiety is unseemly for someone who will be king one day.

I don’t care. I must find her, father. What kind of woman runs from a prince? Right when I was about to offer her everything she could ever want—me. He paused to look at the king. We’ll track her down. He banged the glass slipper onto the desk.

I gasped at the noise, but thankfully they didn’t hear me. Invisible I may have been, but not inaudible.

You stole her shoe?

Of course not, Trystan scoffed. She left it. Her tantalizing little hint she wants me to chase her. She likes the game. Well, I’m willing to play. Look at this. He pushed the shoe across the desk. It’s made of glass.

Glass? The king’s eyes widened as he picked up the delicate slipper.

As I too, stared at the slipper, an idea came to me. Those slippers were magicked to only fit Cinderella, they would grow or shrink to make them impossible for anyone else to wear.

I stepped next to