Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales (pt. 4)

Summary: Cinderella chooses a dress. It means more than she thought it would.

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Helga lied when she said there’d be a dress set out on the bed for her.

There are actually three.

The room is empty except for Cinderella’s soft footsteps. She clutches the robe around her throat as she approaches, eyes flicking from gown to gown in disbelief. Each is beyond what Cinderella has ever seen before in her life, the colors more vibrant that the most expensive fabrics in the seamstress’ shop, the lacing more delicate, the beading more opulent.

The first dress is a pale blue, the color like her mother’s eyes. Cinderella trails her fingers along the neckline. There are glittering clusters of jewels scattered along the skirt of the dress like flowers. It reminds her of the meadow she met the boy in on the clearest day.

The second dress is a rich red. Something in Cinderella shivers at the depth of the color, hungry and wanting. It’s a powerful dress with severe lines. The neckline is encrusted in rubies and the accents are so dark red that they appear black.

The third dress is the simplest of the three, though simple seems an ill-fitting word for it. It’s a comforting light green, like new growth and warm summers. There are no jewels on this one, but gold embroidery loops and curls near the hem and sleeves.  Cinderella traces her finger along one furl of embroidery, enjoying the tight knit stitch in comparison to the velvet of the fabric.

“He asked for me to pick something you’d like,” Helga says from the doorway.

Cinderella jumps. She didn’t hear her come in, so lost was she in the dresses. “They’re beautiful. You did a wonderful job.”

“He asked me to,” Helga says. She comes up beside Cinderella, running a critical eye over the three gowns. “But I didn’t know about you until two weeks ago, so how could I pick a dress? I gave him a style catalogue and told him to do it himself. In the end, he didn’t know what you wanted either. So he had three made. One for each night of the ball.”

Cinderella starts. “What?”

“Most women and men will wear the same clothes each night,” Helga says. She props her chin on her hand. “It’s very standard practice. They may change a layer or two, but gowns like this are works of art. Many take pride in wearing the same one.”

“That’s not what I’m surprised about,” Cinderella says, pressing a hand to her forehead. “The ball is three nights? Three?” Her stepmother and stepsisters never mentioned that.

“For some,” Helga says. She leads Cinderella to a small vanity and sits her in front of it. She pulls out a comb. “The purpose of this ball is for the Prince to find a bride, after all. A second invitation will be sent out after tonight for tomorrow’s ball. Then another on the second night for the third. After the third, the Prince will have made his choice.”

Cinderella doesn’t think she’ll get invited back for the second night, much less the third. “It’s a shame I’ll only be wearing one,” she says without thinking. She sighs. “That makes choosing even harder.”

Helga pauses combing out Cinderella’s hair. “Pardon?”

“Nothing,” Cinderella says. She hopes Helga can’t see the heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m just being selfish. All the dresses are so beautiful, I’m a little sorry I won’t be able to wear each one.”

“Oh, dear,” Helga says. She looks like she’s biting her cheek. “How you two remained friends all this time with his communication…”

Cinderella frowns. “Yes?”

“Never you mind,” Helga says. She sets Cinderella’s hair down with a pat. “Just take one day at a time, hm? Now, we’ve got three hours to get you dressed.”

“Three hours still?” Cinderella asks. She starts to rise. “If that’s the case, I can wait to--”

Helga gently pushes her back down into her seat. She meets Cinderella’s eyes in the mirror of the vanity. “Barely three hours,” Helga says. She whips out a thin, wooden stick. “It’s time for a little magic.”

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Magic is real. By the end of the first hour, Cinderella has no way to deny it anymore. Somehow she’d been able to block the teleportation from her head very easily, but what Helga does-- well.

Magic is real.

With a wave of her stick - “It’s a wand, dear.” - Helga produces a gentle, warm wind to dry her hair. A bottle of lotion and hair oil floats out of the bathroom into Helga’s waiting hands. The entire time, Helga talks.

“Rose-scented, very popular in the Capital, but my lord hates it--” she throws the bottle over her shoulder “--he wasn’t allowed to make a request, so it’s really up to you. Perhaps orange blossom? Here, give it a smell--”

Cinderella obediently follows Helga’s directions, smelling this and that and rejecting the orange blossom in favor of vanilla, the mint in favor of lavender, the sugar over the spice. Her head is spinning faster than the collection of bottles rapidly growing above them. She can’t stop herself from grinning with each new feat of magic Helga absently performs. This is fun. This is interesting.

This is magic.

“Of course it is,” Helga says when Cinderella voices her thoughts. But she’s not calling Cinderella stupid. She sounds fond when she says it. Affectionate. “I’m very, very good at it. One day, I can teach-- well, that’s in the future, isn’t it? And we are focusing on one day at a time.”

“One day at a time,” Cinderella echoes obediently. It’s a strange mantra for Cinderella who has always looked so far ahead. One day, Father will come home. One day, they’ll love me. One day, I’ll be free. There is something liberating in only focusing on tonight. Something magical. “What’s next?”

“Next is makeup and jewelry,” Helga says. She straightens a curl in Cinderella’s hair and hums with satisfaction. “Which means it’s time for you, my dear, to choose a dress.”

“The green one,” Cinderella says immediately. She flushes when Helga raises her eyebrows. “It’s-- Have you ever seen an oak tree at the beginning of spring?”

“There are many oak trees in the Capital,” Helga says.

“New leaves are the same shade of green,” Cinderella says. She bites the inside of her cheek and looks at her hands twisting in her lap. Normally, she wouldn’t share so much but she likes Helga. She thinks it’s safe to say it here. “The first time he called me his friend, it was spring. That’s when it became my favorite season.” When she looks up, Helga has one hand pressed over her eyes. “Helga?”

“Spring is my lord’s favorite season as well,” Helga says. “I’m going to get cavities.” She fetches the dress from the bed, suspending it thoughtlessly in the air with magic, and continues before Cinderella can respond. “The gold goes well with your hair, so it must be gold jewelry. I’ll fetch some options.”

Helga bustles out of the room, sniffing loudly. Cinderella watches her go. She doesn’t understand what’s made Helga so emotional. She knows the boy’s favorite season is spring, but it’s not for any heartwarming reason. It’s because he’s no longer forced to keep the meadow from freezing over, freeing up more of his magic for the pranks he liked to pull.

But why did he need to keep the meadow from freezing over?

Cinderella reaches out and touches her dress. Almost like it has a mind of its own, it floats down to the exact height where she can examine the detail on the bodice more closely. She often thinks about questions like this and even asks them. She never receives an answer. Normally it would upset her, but her friend has always given her more than she can ever repay. The only way she can even attempt to is to not ask.

Maybe it’s time to ask. Not asking is kind. Not asking is easy. Not asking hurts--

Cinderella crushes the voice again. She’s focusing on tonight. She’s going to wear a beautiful gown in a beautiful room where nothing needs doing and nothing needs done. Hopefully her friend will be there so she can thank him properly - Is he human? Or is he in another tree? What is--? - and maybe she’ll even get the chance to dance.

As if in response to her thoughts, the dress swishes across the room, swaying and dipping in a phantom waltz. Cinderella watches it, entranced. The fabric catches on the candlelight, shimmering like the rainbows in the meadow. How would she look doing that? How would she feel?

“Oh,” Helga says as she closes the door behind her. The dress shudders to a halt and then rushes back to Cinderella’s side in approximately the same position it had been. “You really like this dress, my lady?”

My lady? “I’m excited to wear it,” Cinderella says instead, smiling with closed lips.

“Then we best get you ready,” Helga says. She’s still eyeing the dress from the corner of her eye, but she returns Cinderella’s smile. “There are some bigger necklaces to choose from but, after talking, I think you’d prefer something more delicate?”

“Something light,” Cinderella murmurs. Her heart is racing in her chest, the image of the dress dancing through the air bright in her mind. “Light enough to wear all night.”

“Very good.”

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Helga won’t let Cinderella look at herself until everything is done. She weaves pins with golden oak leaves into her hair and clasps a chain of gold so fine it feels like spiderwebs around her neck. The bracelet they decide on is a gold loop with strange symbols on it. Cinderella doesn’t know what they say, but the bracelet is warm in her hands, almost purring.

“My lord picked that one,” Helga says. She helps Cinderella slide it over her hand and adjusts the sleeve of her dress so that the bracelet falls atop it. “He’ll be thrilled you like it.”

When Helga finally allows Cinderella to look in the mirror, Cinderella doesn’t want to. She’s worried that her image will ruin the illusion. She feels cared for and pampered. She feels…warm and helpless with gratitude. Helga has made her feel so seen for the first time in a very long time.

Then she does see herself and the world drops away.

Cinderella is beautiful. So strange to call herself that! She is not in her body because this can’t be her. Her yellow hair is shining gold, coiled and looped around her head like a crown. The oak leaf pins catch the firelight and seem to glow. Her skin is not dry and unhealthy from waking too early and going to bed too late. There’s an inner glow she’s never seen before that makes her look radiant. The dress is beyond words. It sweeps along Cinderella’s body like art, the embroidery shining as brightly as the pins.

“Oh, my dear,” Helga says softly. She reaches out with a handkerchief and blots under Cinderella’s eyes. “Don’t cry! It’s alright.”

“I never wanted to be pretty,” Cinderella says, voice trembling. It comes out wrong, but how can she explain to Helga a lifetime of only wanting to be loved? Of never desiring fame or wealthy or beauty? A lifetime of giving services and patience in hopes for affection? It feels shallow of her now to realize that she never needed to earn love. She deserved it, as any child did, and she has grown into such a beautiful adult without it entirely.

Cinderella looks at herself as if seeing a stranger and thinks, She deserved to be loved. Not because she is pretty, but because she is human.

Cinderella tests that thought like a child might test a flame. It stings when she touches it, but it’s a good pain. A healing pain. I deserved love. I deserved more. And then, It wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t her fault. She is not the villain for running away. She is not bad for not being more patient, for not being more kind. She is alive and she has always been looking for more than what she was allowed. She needed more. She would have given any child more.

There is nothing evil in allowing herself this one night or, perhaps, even the next.

“Thank you, Helga,” Cinderella says, still staring at herself in the mirror. The older woman is concerned, worried eyes on Cinderella’s face, but Cinderella is smiling through her tears. She feels…good. Magical. There is a bubbling relief in her chest as warm as the bath she’d taken. “You’ve done more for me than you could ever know.”

“No thanks, my dear,” Helga says. She takes Cinderella’s hand. “Come now. Your carriage awaits.”

Cinderella follows her out of the bedroom and to the waiting world outside.

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A/N Sorry for the late upload guys! I've never experienced an illness like this and it's not Covid! Can't wait to hear what the doctor thinks of this one, hahah. There will be a Patreon Exclusive post this Wednesday, so I'll see you all then!