Chương 2: The Thief and the Cage

I stood in front of my mirror, dead serious. I extended my hand, angling my wrist just so, imagining the Prince taking it to press a tender kiss against my knuckles. I practiced a smile—one that was meant to be both shy and mysterious. I looked at my reflection... not shy enough! I tried again. Oh, I needed to add more mystery, but how? Maybe I should think like a mysterious woman. A woman that traveled from a distant, exotic land to assassinate a handsome prince and steal his royal treasures... Yes, that worked!

The smile looked much more mysterious... but now it wasn't shy at all! Damn, this was hard! I tried a few more times. Yes... much better. Now, I just needed to somehow differentiate myself from all the other silly girls at the ball. Then, a cold thought washed over me. Cinderella! She wouldn't come, right? Mother intended for her not to. She gave her a mountain of chores and said she couldn't attend unless she finished them all. But... what if she actually managed it?! We had to give her more chores! But what?

Oh, whatever, I would just give her my old clothes and say they needed ironing. I searched my closet for garments fit for the task. This... and this too... No, I needed more. Maybe I should tell her to scrub the soot from the chimneys? Polish the silver until she could see her own miserable reflection? Re-string the grand piano! Good grief, it is utterly exhausting to invent so much manual labor! That seemed like enough for now.

"CINDERELLA!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. She had better not pretend she hadn't heard me.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," came her whining response. Then, I heard Anastasia and Mother's voices echoing down the hall.

"CINDERELLA!"

"CINDERELLA!" Good. They were giving her chores, too. And really, why was I even worrying? There was the condition about her needing a suitable dress for the ball, and there was no way in the world she had remotely such a thing! But still.

"CINDERELLA!" I shouted again, and waited. Oh... that idle waif. She wasn't coming this time. I needed to track her down and hand her this pile of clothing myself so she wouldn't have a way out! I followed Anastasia's shriek of endless complaining to the guest room. She was already piling tasks on her. Well, I needed to contribute my part!

"And this too Cinderella," Anastasia said, handing her a massive pile of dresses.

"My slippers. Now don't forget—""Cinderella," I said, cutting through my sister's endless chattering.

"Take my dress! Here, mend the buttonholes."

"Press my skirt as well," Anastasia continued, "and mind the ruffle. You're always—""And, Cinderella..." Mother said, her voice chill.

"Yes?"

"If you're through, and before you begin your regular chores, I have a few little things."

"Very well." Cinderella sighed and left the room, staggering under the sheer weight of our giant pile of perfectly fine, absolutely-not-in-need-of-mending garments.

"Mother," Anastasia called out in a distressed whine.

"I don't see why everybody else seems to have such nice things to wear, and I always end up in these old rags. This sash! Why, I wouldn't be seen dead in it!" She threw it on the floor.

"You should talk!" I scoffed.

"These beads! I'm sick of looking at them! Trash!" It was a bluish, old-woman type of beaded necklace that had gone out of fashion ages ago. I needed to look stunning for the ball, not like a dowager! I threw them angrily on the floor as well. I had to be at my absolute finest and didn't have a moment to lose!

"I don't see why I can't have something new!" I complained, following Anastasia out of the room.

"Come to my room," Mother told us.

"I have your dresses ready. We will make sure you look your lovely best." I stood shivering in my cotton undergarments as Anastasia lounged on the chaise, looking insufferably smug. She wasn't the one facing the torturous outfit laid out across the bed. Usually, a simple dinner only required a light corset, but this dress was a feat of architectural engineering. There was the bustle—a daunting cage of wire and tape—followed by petticoats of stiff taffeta that crunched like fallen leaves.

Finally, there was the jade-green bodice, so narrow and stiff it looked impossible to actually breathe in.

"Stop gaping like a fish, Drizella," Mother snapped.

"The Prince is scouting for a wife. You need to be the most imposing and eligible woman in that ballroom."

"But Mother," I whined.

"Must I endure the heavy cage? I won't be able to sit the entire evening!" Anastasia snorted from the corner.

"Look at her, terrified of a simple dress."

"Shut it, you potato," I snapped back.

"Your turn is next." Then, a knock at the door. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Yes?" said Mother.

"The carriage is here," Cinderella announced, her voice placid. Mother stepped out into the hallway to meet her.

"Oh. Why, Cinderella, you're not ready, child." Mother said. Anastasia and I crowded the doorway to take a look. Yes. She was still in her drab servant's clothing. Saying she was 'not ready' for a royal ball was the understatement of the century.

"I'm not going," she said, sounding somewhat resigned.

"Not going?" Mother asked, "Oh, what a shame. But of course, there will be other times, and—""Yes." Cinderella cut her off, clearly upset.

"Good night." She turned and went up the stairs. Cinderella's look was... defeated. Yes, that was the word for it. And I thought to myself that this specific attitude fit a servant like her perfectly. I smiled, but only until I turned back and looked at the torture device waiting for me on the bed.

"The carriage is already here!" Mother said.

"Come on, we must hurry!" Oh God, if I actually manage to marry the Prince, the very first thing I will do is outlaw this devilish clothing!

"Suck it in, Drizella!" Mother commanded, bracing her foot against my back. She yanked the laces, and the air left my body in a rush. Stiff whalebone stays crushed my ribs, forcing me to take tiny, shallow sips of air. The bottom of the corset dug into my hips while the top edge pushed my chest up so high I could barely see my feet.

"Mother, it hurts! I can't breathe!" I gasped, my voice thin and squeaky.

"Pain is a small price for a Prince," Mother snapped. From the corner, Anastasia giggled like a hyena at my plum-colored face. I shot her a venomous glare. Next came the bustle cage. Mother tied the heavy wire frame around my waist; it stuck out two feet behind me like an awkward shelf. To stay balanced, I had to arch my spine and thrust my chest forward. My lower back began to ache immediately—if I stood up straight, the weight would pull me over backward.

Finally, the layers began to pile on: a heavy yellow underskirt, then a jade bodice that pinned my shoulders back like wooden armor. The weight of the silk overskirt dragged against the wire cage, cinching the corset even deeper into my ribs. To finish, Mother tied a velvet choker so tight I could scarcely swallow. I looked in the mirror. I was pinched, poked, and squeezed in every direction. My ribs ached, my back was strained, and I had to walk in tiny, stiff shuffles to keep the cage from wobbling.

"Perfect," Mother said, looking at me with cold, appraising eyes.

"Anastasia, your turn." I let out a painful, wheezing laugh as Mother picked up the laces and moved toward my sister. I had to endure an endless stream of whining from Anastasia, but finally, Mother finished with her, too. Then we walked toward the exit—if you can call eerily crawling under the weight of a dress a 'walk.'

"Now remember," Mother instructed, "When you're presented to His Highness, be sure to—""WAIT!!" It was Cinderella's voice, calling from the top of the stairs.

"Please, wait for me!" Cinderella called out, hurrying down the steps. And Cinderella wore a dress. And it was a breathtaking, beautiful, dress! At that moment, my blood turned to ice. A princess stood in front of us. I could only gape.

"Isn't it lovely?" Cinderella beamed, executing a graceful little twirl that made the fabric flare perfectly.

"Do you like it? Do you think it will do?" She looked out of this world. The pale pink fabric cascaded perfectly, gathered with neat little bows and fitting her slender figure perfectly. By comparison, it made the rest of us look like gaudy, overstuffed peacocks. This exact moment was a nightmare coming true. I had imagined this, feared this—our servant in a pretty dress—but reality was a million times worse than my imagination.

She didn't just look fit to stand and dance among royalty; she looked like royalty herself. I knew the truth. I wasn't dumb. Compared to her, I was nothing. Compared to her, I was simply dirt. If the Prince saw her... and then looked at me... I pictured his face, his reaction. I wanted to cry, I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. Cinderella had done this to me. She made me feel this way. She made my own dream of winning the Prince feel like a pathetic joke. I despised Cinderella in that moment.

I admired her breathtaking beauty, and I despised her for it with every inch of my ugly self.

"Mother, she can't!" Anastasia whined.

"You wouldn't," I said to Mother, my voice dead serious.

"Oh, dear!" my sister sputtered.

"You can't let her!" I demanded. Mother could still fix this. She could stop Cinderella! If she let her come, it would doom us!

"Girls, please!" Mother said calmly.

"After all, we did make a bargain. Didn't we, Cinderella?" She then advanced slowly toward Cinderella.

"And I never go back on my word..." Stopping just inches away, Mother leaned in to observe her carefully.

"How very clever," Mother murmured.

"These beads... they give it just the right touch. Don't you think so, Drizella?"

"No, I don't! I think she's—" I started, but then gave the beads a better look.

"Ohh! Why, you little thief! They're my beads! Give them here!" I walked right up to her and tore the necklace from her perfect neck! Yes, the blue, old-woman, out-of-fashion beads I had thrown away looked mesmerizing on her.

"Oh, no!" Cinderella gasped in surprise.

"Oh, and look, that's my sash!" Anastasia shrieked.

"Wearing my sash! She can't!" Following my lead, Anastasia lunged forward and tore the sash away.

"Oh, stop, please!" Cinderella begged. But we couldn't stop now, could we? We were doing it. We were tearing Cinderella's dress to shreds.

"This is mine!" I snarled, ripping one of her delicate sleeves. It wasn't actually mine, of course, but I needed to say something.

"And my ribbon!" Anastasia screamed, grabbing at the dress. It wasn't her ribbon, either.

"Why, you thief!" I shouted at her.

"Kitchen wench!" my sister added.

"Please! Stop!" Cinderella continued to beg, shielding herself. We won't stop. This had to be done. It was the only way to ensure she wouldn't join us at the ball. Her going would ruin us; it was as simple as that. It was a horrible, violent act, but I needed to do it. If I'm honest, I wanted to do it. By wearing that dress, she took the only advantage I had over her. By wearing it, she exposed how ugly I truly was. She humiliated me. And so we tore, and tore, and tore at Cinderella's dress.

We didn't stop until her gown was nothing more than shredded rags, looking worse than a beggar on the street. I wanted to keep going—to rip the dress completely apart, down to her plain linen chemise, down to her naked skin. I wanted to humiliate her to her absolute core. And I would have, if Mother hadn't stopped us.

"Girls, girls!" Mother said smoothly.

"That's quite enough. Hurry along now, both of you. I won't have you upsetting yourselves." That was enough. Yes. There was no ball for someone looking like that. We went outside into the night air. I was hyperventilating, and not just because of my tight corset. I was shaking because of her. But Mother was right; I needed to calm down. Everything was going to be fine now. Cinderella wasn't coming. I was still dressed in my finest; I closed my eyes and drew in a long, steadying breath. Yes, I told myself.

I can still make this work. But there were many difficulties ahead, and it seemed my next ordeal was right in front of me: How was I supposed to get into this tiny carriage while wearing a grand piano of a dress?

"Move, Drizella! We haven't got all night!" Mother barked, shoving me toward the narrow carriage door. I grabbed the handle and hauled myself up, but the bustle cage on my backside hit the doorframe with a loud clack. Between the heavy weight of my overskirt and the corset locking my ribs, I couldn't bend my knees enough to climb gracefully. I had to hoist myself in like a sack of flour. Once inside, the real problem began: sitting.

"Ow! Anastasia, you're on my train!" I snapped as my sister squeezed in next to me. Her massive pink skirts filled the rest of the space, pinning my arms to my sides.

"I can't help it! My cage is squashed!" she shrieked.

"Quiet!" Mother hissed, taking the seat opposite us. She looked perfectly calm while we sat there like two overstuffed teal and pink dolls. I couldn't lean back. I couldn't turn my head. My lower back was throbbing, and my ribs ached, but I didn't care. I was a masterpiece of silk and wire, and I was going to find my Prince—even if I had to stop breathing to do it. And no servant girl in a princess dress was going to come and ruin everything for me!