Sunset in a Frame

Chapter 1

…

Dear Diary,

I understand I'm supposed to document my thoughts and secrets within these pages. What a great privilege that I'm able to do so. The only reason I'm able to have a diary at all is because the local shopkeeper was kind enough to give me this old, beaten copy. 'No one was going to buy it anyway', they said. How sad. The pages are crisp and clean, save for a few tears, and the cover may be busted but it's strong and firm. There is nothing inherently wrong with this little book, and yet people would be so quick to pass judgement on it. It's funny, if this book could emote, I'd treat it with the utmost empathy.

I guess I should explain my story. I was born into a very wealthy family. My mother, Ilene, died while giving birth to me, so I was left in the care of my father, Charles. He was such a kind and devoted man, I remember him very fondly. We lived together in a little stately chateau out in the countryside, just a short carriage ride away from the town.

Every morning he would make me the most wonderful breakfast, each one more exquisite than the last. He would take me horseback riding in the afternoons, and sit with me for tea and music in the evenings. At night, he would read to me, and always, without fail, pat my hair, kiss my forehead, and wish me pleasant dreams. And, unbeknownst to me, he felt empty inside because he missed his dear Ilene. For some reason, even though he had tended to my every need and had given me everything I could ever want, he felt that the one thing I was missing was a mother's care.

That's when he remarried Lady Tremaine. I remember meeting her for the first time. She was tall and thin, with piercing eyes and a delicate smile. When she talked, you always listened. She was, foreboding, to put it politely, but never unkind. Strict maybe. But she seemed to like me alright. And she had two daughters of her own, both my age, whom I could spend time with: Anastasia and Drizella. Though they were awkward children, they seemed to get along fine with me. We would play with our dolls, take walks by the riverside, and make up funny games. That was the last year that I remember being truly happy and full of childlike innocence.

Towards the wintertime of that same year, father became suddenly very ill. He was far from old age, and he never smoked or drank, so it was quite a shock to see him laying there in bed looking so cold and lifeless. The only sense of warm I felt was the way he patted my hair, kissed my forehead, and wished me pleasant dreams. He died soon after.

I miss him very much.

So I was left in the care of my stepmother. But she wasn't the woman I first met, not anymore. She had a callous and vain side to her that I had never seen before and she unleashed it upon me with such wrath that I had never known. Life quickly changed from then on. There were no more big breakfasts, horseback riding, or tea time. Anastasia and Drizella stopped playing with me, and really stopped talking to me altogether, unless it was to give me directions. Stepmother put me in charge of all the chores in the house, because, as she put it, 'her family was too good for lowly work'. Very quickly I had to learn to cook and clean and move heavy objects. There was no room for error, as I soon learned. Stepmother hurt me whenever I messed up, and sometimes she would hurt me even if I had done nothing wrong. I was never allowed to go with them to parties or vacations, I always stayed home alone working. Very soon the pageantry I held myself with was taken away too. Stepmother always had me wear old, dirty clothing. Practically rags. She gave some of my nicer clothes to Anastasia and Drizella, and the rest she threw away.

So this has gone on, even now, as I approach my 20th birthday. I still clean and cook and move heavy objects. Stepmother still hurts me. I'm still not allowed to go to parties, and I still stay home and work. I still wear old, dirty things. I like to think that I haven't let all of this get to me, that I've stayed strong over the years because I'm naturally kind. Father taught me about being kind for kindness sake, so I've continued to be kind, for him. And yet this is the hardest thing I do. Some days I'd rather clean a hundred kitchens than be kind.

I would do anything just to feel truly happy again.

…

Cinderella was practically sweating as she placed the kettle of hot water upon the table. She was in the basement preparing Lady Tremaine's favorite morning tea, white peony. Scrambling to pour the hot water in a leaf-filled mug, Cinderella was careful to avoid spills. Time was of the essence, she didn't want to be late but she also didn't want to accidentally burn herself by being careless.

As the tea was steeping, Cinderella picked up the small tray and quickly made her ascent out of the basement. She gently held the tray firm with her entire palm as she traversed through the halls and up the stairs. Just two doors down was Lady Tremaine's room.

As she arrived at the door, Cinderella took a deep but quiet breath. Using her free hand, she turned the handle and entered the room.

It was dark, save for the light that shone through the great window, revealing the sunrise. At the centerpiece of the room was an enormous canopy bed all draped in purple curtains and lined with purple sheets. And at the center, sitting up elegantly was Lady Tremaine.

"Good morning Stepmother." Cinderella spoke, her voice a touch chipper.

"You're 32 seconds late." Lady Tremaine piped rudely, giving a glare.

"I'm sor-" Cinderella began, only to be cut off,

"We've talked about this. You need to be punctual. I like my tea at exactly 7:00 am. Not a second earlier, not a second later. Do you understand?" Lady Tremaine continued, sneering.

Cinderella slumped her shoulders. "Yes Stepmother."

"Well… bring it here." Lady Tremaine waved her hand as Cinderella approached the left bedside, setting the tray on a small table and pouring the now-brewed tea into another mug. At that, she stepped back, allowing her stepmother to take a sip.

Lady Tremaine ingested the tea and gave a pleasant sigh. Cinderella smiled, hoping that her stepmother's reaction might spare her any more reprimanding.

"Congratulations Cinderella. For your tardiness, you get to skip breakfast. Clean the fireplace, and don't forget to dust the shelf above it. Go." Giving a flick of her hand, Lady Tremaine dismissed the girl, who quickly sulked out of the room with a soft "Yes Stepmother."

As Cinderella dejectedly moved down the hallway, Anastasia had just left her room to take a quick bathroom break. She took note of her stepsister's distressed expression and wanted to desperately to say something, but with her mother only a door down from hers, she feared the worst. Lady Tremaine made it quite clear that she didn't want her daughters associating with Cinderella in anyway besides giving instructions for chores. Anastasia and Drizella didn't like that rule, but their mother did more than enough to convince them to keep their opinions about it to themselves.

…

The afternoon was already dawning as Cinderella finished dusting away the soot and char. She wore only a rag wrapped around her nose and mouth to keep out the particles, but she still found herself sneezing and holding back a drippy nose. Add to that a grumbling stomach.

It took everything for Cinderella to forget her hunger pains. She barely ate anything for dinner last night because Lady Tremaine had her doing all the cooking and dishwashing. Granted, she did leave her leftovers, but she could only eat them if she finished her work. It was midnight when she finished and she was too tired to reheat the meal.

A loud wail erupted from her belly and Cinderella nearly doubled over, holding her stomach with her hands to dull the pain.

At least all she had left to do was dust the shelf and she could be free to eat, hopefully.

Taking her wooden feather-duster, Cinderella began to lightly bat away the dust from the surfaces and objects upon them. There were several vases and portraits on the shelf, including an etching of Lady Tremaine herself. She had it done at a fair many years ago.

Cinderella started to dust the picture frame when another ache tinged in her stomach, and as she started to move her hand to relieve it, her feather-duster knocked over the picture. The framed etching landed on the ground with a smash, glass falling everywhere.

"Oh no!" Wide-eyed, Cinderella bend down to observe the mess. She delicately lifted the broken frame only to find that soot from the chimney had already stained the drawing.

Then, a sharp, slow footstep emanated from another room, and again and again, until Lady Tremaine came into view. Standing poised with her hands pressed together in front of her, she towered over her step-daughter.

"You clumsy fool." She began, giving Cinderella an intense stare. The young woman looked up at her with fear, one arm over her stomach.

"Stepmother, I-"

"I was quite fond of that portrait. It captured my beauty. And now I see it before you, ruined." Lady Tremaine spoke slowly, deliberately.

"It was an accident, Stepmother." Cinderella whimpered softly.

"Am I to believe this was an accident? I deny you breakfast and so you destroy my things?"

"No! Please, I-"

Lady Tremaine ripped the feather-duster from Cinderella's hands and swiftly began beating her with the blunt, wooden end. This went on for about half a minute, 32 seconds to be exact, until Cinderella crumpled to the floor, her arms too sore to cover her head and eyes stained with tears.

Throwing the cleaning tool to the side, Lady Tremaine grunted with disgust. "Clean this up immediately. With your hands. You get to spend lunch AND dinner in your room. Maybe there you can think about your insolence." She turned and left, leaving Cinderella alone to recuperate. With heavy and broken breaths, she reached for her dustpan and began selecting glass shards.

…

Somehow, cleaning up the portrait took about as long as cleaning the fireplace. When the finished, Cinderella gradually made her way to her room, located up a winding staircase in a tall tower. She opened the door and made sure not to slam it behind her. Then she slumped to the ground with her back to the door.

Cinderella raised her hands close to her face, taking in the sight of all the cuts on her fingers and palms. It was sickening, because this time around she was forced to undergo her own torture by Lady Tremaine's will. It was bad enough she beat her again, but this was a doubly upsetting.

Just then, the pitter-patter of little feet signaled the arrival of her mouse companions. They had a near universal presence in the house, with access to all the rooms via a special system of shoots and ladders in the walls. These mice were practically invisible, averting detection from Lady Tremaine or the stepsisters for several years.

Jaq and Gus approached Cinderella, with their faces flush with worry.

"Eh… Cinderelly?" Jaq was the first to speak, "Cinderelly get hurt-hurt again?"

Cinderella looked to see her friends, placing her hands on her lap carefully (even then they stung). "Yes Jaq… twice this time."

"Aww, poor Cinderelly." Gus chimed in, frowning at the sight of her slashed hands.

Then, a stomach growl, which caught the mice's attention quickly.

"Food?" Jaq asked, scratching his arm.

"No. I don't get to eat today it seems." Cinderella replied, closing her eyes.

Jaq turned to Gus and the others. "Gus-Gus!" And that was all Gus needed, running off into the walls for a brief moment, only to return with two other mice holding part of a baguette roll and some camembert cheese.

"Zugk-Zugk! Here Cinderelly… snagga this earlier!" Jaq exclaimed, gesturing his arms towards the snacks.

The sight of this made Cinderella relieved for the moment. "Oh goodness… Thank you all so much." she said sweetly, taking the bread and cheese from the mice. She didn't hesitate to dig in, stuffing her face and not caring about crumbs or drool. As she finished the last few bites, Cinderella sat back and relished in the flavor of her first food in many hours.

"Feel better?" Gus asked, hoping up and down.

"A little… but only a little." Cinderella sighed, rising herself up to look in her mirror. She tore off her apron and shirt, and took to examining the welts all over her back and shoulders. She rubbed her hands over some of them, revealing quite muted pain. Cinderella's shoulders dropped as she saw her condition: she could clearly see her ribs.

Jaq, Gus, and the other mice hopped onto the table as Cinderella sat down, leaned forward, folded her arms, and buried her face into them. All they could do was pat her arms gently as she sobbed, her bruised back heaving with every cry.

To be continued...