A/N: I'm back! I just want to say a quick thanks to all you lovely people who have stuck with me through my mini break. For any of you wondering, I will be returning to The Matchmaker soon! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this Ever After AU!

Special thanks to Ashlanielle. Seriously, she is just the best. I've lost count of how many emails I've sent her basically begging her for help. She's amazing and patient and has the best ideas. In fact, all the credit for the title of this story belongs to her. Go read her stories!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Doctor Who or Ever After. *Some lines below are borrowed from the movie Ever After. Credit for those lines belong to their respective writers.*

"Once upon a time ..." ― Jacob Grimm

"Grandmama, tell us a story!"

The Grande Dame smiled indulgently at her granddaughter. "And what story would you like to hear, my pet?"

"A fairy story!" she exclaimed.

"Bleh," the little boy to her right proclaimed. "Fairy stories aren't real. I want to hear a real story!"

"Fairy stories can be real!"

"They cannot. They're all filled with magic and there's no such thing as magic!"

The little girl's lip began to tremble. "Is that true, Grandmama?"

The elderly woman took a moment to answer, wanting to make sure she chose the right words so as not to upset either of her grandchildren. "It depends on your definition of magic, my loves. Fairy godmothers and magic pumpkins, no I don't think those exist. Then again, I have not seen everything in the world, so I can never really be positive of that." She winked at the young girl. "But the are other types of magic, of that I am sure."

"Really?" the boy asked speculatively. "What kind of magic?"

"Well," she began, "there's the emotional kind. Love, sadness, even friendship can be very magical." Her grandson rolled his eyes as her granddaughter let out a squeal of delight. She continued, "Then, of course, there's the oldest and, what say may say, the strongest form of magic."

The girl's eyes grew wide. "What is it?"

"Words."

"Words?"

The Grande Dame nodded. "Words, names specifically. Oh, that's old magic."

The little boy shook his head. "How can words be magic?" he questioned.

"Words are powerful. You can arrange and rearrange them in any way you see fit. Words become stories and it only takes a single story, a single word really, to change the world."

Her granddaughter smiled. "Like a name?"

"Precisely, my pet." She bent down and kissed the top of the girl's head. "Now then, what story would you like to hear?"

"I still want to hear a fairy story!"

The young boy crossed his arms. "And I still want to hear a real story."

"Who says you can't have both? How about I tell you a fairy story that is very real?"

"Which one?"

"The little cinder girl." She held up a hand. "Before you protest," she directed to her grandson, "give it a chance. I think you might find my version, the real version, more intriguing than others."

The young boy shrugged as he sat himself next to his thoroughly excited sister. "We're ready, Grandmama."

"Some say the shoe was made of fur, other's insist it was glass," the Grande Dame stated as she collect the adorned wooden box that sat high on the bookshelf in her room. "I have it on very good authority that is was in fact, the latter."

"How do you know, Grandmama?" the girl asked.

Opening the box, she pulled out a small, jewel encrusted shoe and answered, "Because this was her glass slipper."

"Both children gasped. "Then it's really true? The story I mean," her grandson clarified.

Their grandmother smiled and settled herself on the large chair beside the fire. "Yes, quite. Now then, what is that phrase from your stories? Oh yes. Once upon a time, there was a young girl, who loved her father very much."

"Oh Sarah Jane, it feels just like Christmas, I get a mother and sisters all in one day!" young Rose Tyler of the Powell Estate squealed.

The maid tying the last ribbon on her dress smiled. "Yes it's going to be very exciting here, what with a baroness and all. Oh, hold still!"

Another, younger, maid entered and laughed at the excited child. "Well, Master Tyler deserves some happiness after all this time, bringing up the child on his own. Oh, she must be lovely!"

Rose suddenly paused and grew serious. Biting her lip she said, "I hope she'll like me." For as long as Rose could remember it had just been her and her father, her mother Jacqueline Prentice had died while in labour with Rose's little brother, Anthony, when Rose herself was on two years old. The baby boy only made it two days before he joined his mother in death.

"She will love you," Sarah Jane assured, "just be the little angel I know is in there somewhere."

The teenaged maid, Gwen, nodded. "And don't go chewing on the bones at dinner and give yourself away." She tisked when a rock hit the nearby window and the young girl sprinted towards it. "Rose, your father arrives any moment."

"Michael, I told you, not today!" the young girl scolded through the now open window. Down below a young boy, near the same age, crossed his arms.

"You look like a girl!" he shouted in clear disgust.

She rolled her eyes. "That's what I am, half-wit."

"I know, but today you look it."

"Boy or girl I can still whip you!"

"Ha!" the little boy laughed before taking off, knowing his friend's threats were very serious. Rose grinned in delight and went running past her maids, despite their protests, to capture the boy and prove to him just how capable she was.

Meanwhile the servants of the house prepared for their master and new mistress's arrival. As the small carriage approached, they all lined up, hoping and praying young Rose would soon join them. Stepping forward, Master Tyler's personal manservant warned, "Look lively it's the master. Welcome home" he greeted, helping the other gentlemen down. "I see you have brought us a baroness."

Peter Tyler chuckled as he helped his new wife and her two daughters out of the carriage. "I have brought you an entire household, Rhys. But I seem to be missing a daughter."

The Baroness put on a forced smile as she took in her new home. It wasn't quite what her husband had described to her, but needs must. As a recent widow, she was forced to do what was needed to provide for her daughters. "Oh... Peter, it's absolutely charming. Really."

Before he could respond a young, female voice shouted, "Papa!" Without warning, Rose came barreling around the side of the house and right into her father's arms.

"Oh ho, ho," he exclaimed, picking up his daughter, despite the fact that she was splattered with, what he hoped was, mud. "Look at you, just as I left. I wager Michael is around here someplace?"

"No, sir! I slaughtered him!" She grinned and pointed to the boy who was now covered from head to toe in mud.

"Well, so you did. Why don't you head on home now, Michael," Peter told him with barely concealed chuckles. Once the little boy walked away, Rose father sighed. "I had hoped to present a little lady, but I suppose you'll have to do. Rose, may I present the Baroness Cassandra O'brian and her daughters, Reinette and Lynda."

With careful and calculated movements, the Baroness smiled at her husband's daughter. "Hello, Rose. At last we meet. Your father speaks of nothing else. Ladies, say hello to your new stepsister."

Both girls curtsied and offered their greetings to a surprised and overwhelmed Rose. Never before had she seen other girls near her age acting so... proper. Their dresses were made of the finest materials and their hair carefully plaited and curled. The oldest of the two was tall and slender with blonde hair, slighter lighter than Rose's. The younger of the two sisters also had blonde hair, though her body shape was slighter rounder than the other's. Rose secretly thought she also looked the most friendly out of her three new family members. For the first time, Rose seemed very aware, and slightly ashamed, of her dirty appearance. After quickly cleaning up, Rose took her time observing the three women and how her father interacted with them. Rose had been worried that she would feel jealous of her new sisters and any relationship they could possibly build with her father, but it seemed to Rose that, while they were very polite, they weren't interested and being very close with him. That suited Rose perfectly. As for the Baroness, Rose was incredibly intrigued by how her father would interact with her. Over the years, Rose had heard many of her father's stories about her birth mother. How the two had met and fell in love, how they were wed and had Rose. As much as Rose loved those tales, she'd always struggled to picture her father in any sort of romantic relationship. What she saw was not quite what Peter had described his relationship with his first wife was like, but when Rose mentioned this to Sarah Jane, the older woman just patted her head and told her that it was still, "the early days." Whatever that meant.

After their supper, Rose was beyond thrilled when her father immediately followed her to her room. She was happy to know that their night-time traditions wouldn't change simply because there were more people in their house.

"Bad Wolf," she read allowed from the book her father had handed her as soon as they were alone.

"It's the story of a very brave young woman," Peter explained as he helped his daughter into bed. "This may be a bit thick for an 8 year old, but I thought we could add it to our library."

"Will you read some?"

"It's been a very long day..."

Rose lifted her hand and began tracing the planes of her father's face. "And you're a husband now," she said with wisdom far beyond her eight years.

He nodded. "Yes, a husband, but a father first and forever. We've been two peas in a pod, you and I, for a long time. I suppose this will take some getting used to."

"Did you see the way they ate they're supper? It was perfect, like a dance."

"Do you like them?" Peter asked, sensing the girl's hesitance.

"I suppose so. They're very different, but I should like to get to know them," Rose answered with the complete honesty her father expected of her.

"Good, good. Because I have to go to Akhaten in a fortnight."

She inhaled sharply. "But you only just got back!"

Peter looked properly ashamed. "I know."

"For how long?"

"Only three weeks."

"One," she demanded.

"Two," he countered.

"One."

"Two," he insisted, trying desperately to ignore the look he was getting from his daughter. A look her mother had perfected early on in their courtship. Unable to hold out he conceded, "Alright, one! Come on, time for sleep. Kiss," he pecked her lips, "sleep tight." Rose snuggled into her large bed as her father departed the room. As sleep claimed her, she began thinking about all the things she and her father would do together before he left for yet another business trip. Time passed too quickly for Rose's liking and before she could even blink, they were back in front of their home, seeing her Papa off.

Peter shook his head at the solemn group that had gathered to say farewell. "I've never seen so many gloomy faces around here. I shall be back in a week."

"Then go!" Cassandra insisted. "The sooner you leave, the sooner we can celebrate your return."

Giving his wife a gentle kiss, he moved on to his three daughters. "Perhaps by then the three of you will have gotten to know each other better, huh?" He knelt in front of Rose. "I'm counting on you to teach them the ropes around here. The Baroness isn't used to getting her hands dirty." With an extra kiss to her cheek, Peter rose to his feet and excepted the reins from his manservant. "Thank you, Rhys."

"Safe journey, Master," the young man wished as he helped his master onto the horse.

As Peter began to gallop away, Cassandra clapped her hands. "Come along, ladies, back to your studies."

Rose held up a hand. "Wait! Its tradition. He always waves at the gate." Ignoring her step-child, Cassandra continued to lead her daughters back inside the house. It upset her that the Baroness was choosing to ignore their family tradition, by Rose tried to put it out of her mind as her father turned around and waved one final time. With their tradition completed Rose turned to head back inside when she heard the most awful noise she had ever heard in her young life. A noise that would haunt her dreams in the years that followed. The sound of a carriage squealing, several grunts and neighs of pain from more than one horse, and the shout of a man. Rose knew instantly what man it was. Ignoring the protests from the servants around her, Rose took off at a run towards the awful noise.

Bile rose in her throat at the sight. A carriage on it's side, a man and woman, climbing out in a daze; two horses collapsed on the ground, two others struggling to escape their reins; And finally, her father lying supine on the ground in a puddle of blood from an unseen wound. With a choked sob, Rose collapsed next to her father. "Papa! Papa, please!"

Within seconds, Cassandra had raced from the house and fell to her husband's opposite side. "Peter!" she called out.

His eyes slowly blinked open, taking in his wife's form. Turning his head, he saw his daughter and smiled. Using the last bit of strength he possessed, he cupped her cheek and gasped, "My Rose. I love you."

"Papa!" Rose screamed as she watched the one constant in her life breath his last breath.

Cassandra grasped her husband's coat. "Peter! Peter, don't you dare! Don't you dare leave me here!" With a sob, she allowed Rhys to pull her to his feet and into his arms. The young man did his best to hold up her form and bring her any comfort possible.

For Sarah Jane and Gwen, their task was much harder. Both tried desperately to help their young charge away from her father's body, but Rose was having none of it. "Leave me! Leave me! Papa, please come back!"

"Poor Rose," the Grande Dame's granddaughter cooed.

"Poor Rose, indeed," she agreed.

The little boy who had been hesitant of his grandmother's story at first, now seemed thoroughly invested. "What happened to her next, Grandmama?"

"Many hardships, I'm afraid. It would be ten years before another man would enter her life. A man who was still a boy in many, many ways..."