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weirdthoughtsandideas · 1 year

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Writing advent calendar

Day 4

Prompt: Christmas wishlist

AKA: The 5 main Violetta girls make wishlists and then discuss who's gonna buy what gift (+ planning on buying stuff they didn't write on their list)

Read on ao3 in the link above or here under the cut.

"Alright, have you finished your wishlists?"

Violetta, Ludmila, Natalia, Camila and Francesca had decided to make a fun thing this christmas - a secret santa, but with a twist!

Instead of one secret santa, they all would get each other something. Everyone would get a small thing from someone. But of course, it was sometimes hard to know what people wanted. Therefore, they all would write a wishlist. It wasn't going to be clear if they'd actually get something from their wishlist, but the others at least could base it off from that.

The plan was simple - when everyone had finished writing, one person goes to another room while the rest stay, read the wishlist, and discuss who's gonna buy what.

The first one going out was Violetta, while the other four sat in her room, looking through the wishlist.

"Alright," Francesca said, holding up the paper, "She wishes for new coloring pencils, a new dress with pockets, a piano book with new songs to learn, the same but with a guitar book instead, a new notebook to write her songs in... and a new diary."

Ludmila gasped, "Her diary is finally running out of pages?"

"Apparently."

"Immediately," Camila said, "I say I can give her the coloring pencils. I know the brands."

"I can fix a notebook!" Naty said.

"Yeah, and a dress with pockets..." Ludmila said, "That's on me! This can be my chance to get her clothes that actually look good!"

Everyone chuckled at that.

"You know, I both want to and not want to pick the diary." Francesca admitted, "A diary feels so... special, especially for Violetta."

"And she'd be so grateful," Camila said. "You should to it, Fran."

"I... it just feels so personal."

"I think you're the most qualified to get her a new diary," Naty said.

Francesca smiled, then nodded. "Ok. Yeah. I'll do it!"

Next, it was Ludmila's turn to go out.

"Ok, her list is quite long," Camila said unsurely, "But... let's hope things aren't too expensive. Let's see here... star shaped necklaces, star shaped bracelets, a guitar with stars decorated on them, t-shirts with stars..."

Everyone started to chuckle.

"I don't think there's anything on this list that doesn't have stars on it," Camila admitted.

"So I guess everyone just buys whatever star related thing there is for her?" Francesca shrugged.

"Actually..." Violetta said, "There is one thing she didn't put up on her wishlist, but I still am thinking of giving her..." She watched everyone staring at her in anticipation, before she continued, "Do you remember Isadora Starfighter?"

"The book or the movies?" Camila asked. "I read like one book and then I watched all the movie adaptions."

"Well... even if they are kids books, Ludmila is... obsessed with them. She thinks the movie adaptations don't hold up, though... anyway, she doesn't actually own any book because Priscila told them they were silly. But yesterday, I found... there's a full collection box of all 14 books. And I know she would never admit it, but she... would be so happy if she got them."

"How do you know?" Naty asked.

"... I found her secret fanfiction account."

"She has one of those too?" Camila asked, shocked.

"Everyone knows yours isn't a secret," Francesca scoffed, grinning at Camila who gave her a light elbow hit.

"Yeah, and she has written... a lot of fanfiction about these book franchises," Violetta said, "I've read some and her notes are always filled with "Sorry it's inaccurate, I haven't read book 6 for a while as I don't own them", "I wish I had the books close but I can't own them" and all that."

"Imagine the power she could have in her fanfictions if she had the books at close," Naty said and smiled mischeviously.

"Yeah," Violetta said, "That was what I was thinking."

"Can you tell me her fanfiction account?" Camila asked.

"No."

"Please?"

"No, you need to find out on your own."

"Anyway!" Francesca said, "We buy her star related things, Violetta buys her that collection box."

Next up was Natalia. Her wish list was the opposite from Ludmila's - very short.

"All that says on it is 'new flannel shirts' and 'black bracelets'," Camila said.

"She's hard," Francesca said, "We can't all give her bracelets and flannels."

"I mean, two of us can give one thing each from her list, but you other two need to find something else," Violetta shrugged.

"You know what I saw the other day that I think she'd like?" Camila asked, "An ad for the ABBA museum."

"The one in Stockholm?" Violetta asked, confused.

"Yeah!"

"...So you're gonna give her tickets to Stockholm so she can go to the ABBA museum?"

"Ooh, I've heard it's next to an amusement park!" Francesca exclaimed, clapping her hands, "I wanna go too, I wanna check out their rides."

"They have rides at the ABBA museum?" Camila asked.

"No, at the amusement park next to it."

"Well, it might be a little... expensive to send her across the world, Cami," Violetta said, smiling.

"True..." Camila sighed, "But... I can give her a..." She snapped her fingers, "A gift card!"

"A gift card for what?" Francesca asked.

"A gift card for the second hand store downtown."

Violetta raised her eyebrows, "They have gift cards there?"

"Yep! And Naty loves more or less anything from there. Everything from clothes to old items. Ooh, it's gonna be so fun!"

"You know what I wanna give Natalia?" Ludmila asked.

"A picture of yourself?" Francesca asked teasingly.

Ludmila laughed a little too loudly, "No, dummy! A pair of roller skates!"

Everyone looked at her with frowns.

"Trust me! She needs roller skates!" Ludmila was grinning so hard you could barely see her eyes.

"...why?" Violetta asked.

"Because she'll look so good skating around! And she would be faster! And I saw some online the other day that really fits her style!"

"Ok, if you say so," Francesca said, "You give her roller skates, Camila gives her a gift card, I'll give her bracelets I guess and Violetta can try to find flannels."

Camila was the next to go out. Francesca read her wish list carefully.

"Ok... more flower headbands, a new notebook, a new sketchbook, roller skates..." Naty was the only one not understanding why she had reacted to roller skates, but Francesca continued reading, "A gift card for the retro store and... a flute?"

"I hope she doesn't want a flute to hypnotize people with," Violetta said, "She's been into hypnotism lately."

"Well, I can buy her roller skates!" Ludmila said happily, "I know some that would fit her style!"

"I'd love to ride roller skates," Naty admitted, "It seems so fun."

Francesca and Violetta exchanged looks.

"Well, I can give her a gift card!" Naty said.

"I can find a good notebook for her," Francesca said.

Violetta nodded, "And I can find a sketchbook."

"So no one's gonna give her a flute?" Ludmila asked.

"We're only four people and there was more than four things."

"Oh well."

Last but not least, there was Francesca. Violetta smiled as she read her wish list.

"New bows..."

"Of course!" Camila chuckled.

"A new book by her favorite author, new dresses, a cookbook with argentinean dishes, a diary... and a ukulele! Aww! She would look so cute playing a ukulele!"

"Then you buy her a ukulele if you think she would look cute," Ludmila said and gave her a teasing smile.

"Actually," Camila said, "I think you should buy her a diary, Violetta."

"Why me?"

"Because... I think you would be best suited to give her a diary!"

Ludmila and Naty nodded in agreement.

"Well... ok!" Violetta shrugged. "Who's gonna get the ukulele?"

"Me!" Camila exclaimed, raising her hand.

"I'll get the bows!" Naty said.

"I'll get her a dress!" Ludmila said.

"Then it's settled!" Violetta concluded, slamming the floor.

All five of them then went to eat dinner in the kitchen, curious about what they would get as christmas gifts from their friends.

It would certainly be an interesting and fun christmas.

#this was the most fun to write this far #also ludmila canonly writes fanfiction #writing advent calendar #violetta

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 10 months

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Decided to take the leap and post the little fanfic I wrote at the start of the month to AO3. The Yiling Laozu takes a break in the burial mounds. Also, there is a worm.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #writing #No obligation to read if you're just here for the silly comics!#They will be back tomorrow!#This was my way of re-engaging with a creative outlet that I put aside for a long while.#and while my style leans into the experimental side - I always find I have the most fun that way.#If you do read - I hope you enjoy it! No issues at all if it is not your cup of tea B*)#This whole blog leans into 'And now - time for something entirely different'! but this is the biggest departure from my usual far thus far.#I have so many thoughts to share about my thought process with this one...alas #I also want to let people have their unbiased thoughts about it. Such is the pain of authourship.

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hellspawnmotel · 11 months

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terranigma, a cool game

#terranigma #terranigma ark #terranigma elle #terranigma meilin #art tag #im going to write a little review in the tags bear with me #first the negative:#the magic system is weird to use and basically useless apart from one boss thats almost impossible without magic #it has some weird racism like most old games where you travel around the world. a little more egregious since its supposed to be real earth #i found the main character to be slightly insufferable for about 3/4ths of the game. i came around on him by the end tho. he grows up a lot #and i found whats by far the largest section of the game (chapter 3) to be the least interesting #im not really into helping cities develop and trade quests tho so it might just be me #oh also it is STUPID easy to permanently lock yourself out of like 15 sidequests #and theres a lot of mandatory things that are really hard to figure out. you need to use a walkthrough for this #anyway thats what i didnt like #what i DID like tho. i dont want to get into too much detail but #its a genuinely beautiful game for so much of it #there were so many moments that left me speechless #its high-concept and thoughtful and fun to play #you dont really need to do much grinding either #at its worst its obtuse and cliche but at its best its breathtaking #and i really recommend more people check it out #special shoutout to my friend seona who modded my 3DS and downloaded a bunch of roms including this one #so in conclusion. terranigma is an underrated gem. play it if youre a 90s jrpg junkie like me #just have a walkthrough open also lol

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twistedappletree · 10 months

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love them ✨

#mdzs #the untamed #jin ling #lan jingyi #fic preview #quote from my fic not official stuff just so ppl know and don’t go off on me lmaoo #mdzs juniors #I think this fic is actually the most fun I’ve had writing them so far bc of these two 😭😭💀💀💀#they’re big boys now 😭😭😭😭#LSZ in the background like #I literally just got manhandled by a supercorpse can we pls go home now #lmfaoooo my babies 🥺💞🌸

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13eyond13 · 3 months

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the only gay rep I truly care about is

1. countless lives are destroyed because two proud people can't fully admit their gay crushes on each other

and

2. someone hides being a murderer as a metaphor for also hiding being gay

#miss me with that perfect wholesome gay rep stuff #in theory like yeah its good to have that too but does it resonate with me no #like is it probably homophobic to always make the obsessive weird villains creepy and gay yeah #but is that also by far the most fun yeah usually it is #theres this lesbian couple with basically opposite taste to me in my book club #and we read something with a shitty queer coded villain and im like yay #and they're like thats homophobic #and im like youre not wrong but id rather die than give 5 stars to the h/ouse in the c/erulean sea #i feel the 'bad rep' feels different when its a gay person writing it too... like clearly it is complicated #p

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oshiawaseni · 11 months

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My sibling, who is an anime only said they would not be surprised if BKDK became canon considering the depth of their relationship, their interactions, and their character development regarding each other ... despite how Bones added in Izuocha scenes and cut out some critical BKDK moments in most of the seasons so far... And, seeing how one-sided the "love" is between Izuocha, which I believe is deep admiration as of reading the manga- I have to say I agree.

Izuocha, is fine on the surface but is unhealthy. Izuku would not pay attention to Ochaco they he would need to if they were in a relationship. And Ochaco only saw "Hero Deku" rather than all of "Izuku", which would cause her to unknowingly encourage Izuku's reckless self-sacrificial behavior.

BKDK is different because not only they know each other beyond the surface level, but they also have their sights on each other and the mere presence of their partner inspires them to become better and stronger people at heart because they have genuine love for each other...

I honestly do not understand what is in the Dudebros' mind other the fact that they are lacking emotional intelligence and critical thinking... but I will just enjoy what they are missing. (Sorry for rambling...)

Hi anon! Sorry it took me a bit to get back to you (reason in tags). Let me just reply to your ramblings with some ramblings of my own :)

I actually really enjoyed Season 6. The only thing I faulted Bones for, was creating that jarring opening that made out like Ochaco was the hero of the retrieve vigilante Deku mission (which sadly only fueled izuochas more on mhatwt), when it was 1000% Katsuki's doing and there is one panel which proves this beyond a shadow of a doubt.

See this? Who is the one standing in front of Shoto and Tokoyami, addressing the whole class? It's Katsuki! Not Ochaco! She was seated with everyone else. This is why it's so frustrating when they say she was the reason Izuku was brought back to U.A. That arc was all about Katsuki's feelings for Izuku and wanting to return his smile.

He was even so worried he lost sleep over it, wondering where Izuku was, if he was okay… he must have stayed awake in bed, thinking and thinking about Izuku and how he could get him back. Katsuki was used to Izuku being by his side, and it was the first time Izuku had willingly left it. It provided him clarity about how important* Izuku was in his life, which only made him worry even more. (*see also: crucial, vital, imperative, watch me emotionally die slowly inside if you aren't around me anymore.)

Katsuki losing sleep, at a time Izuku was not sleeping was such a symbiotic soul mates power move Hori added in for flavour. I love it SOOO freaking much. There are no lengths this man won't go, to prove how in sync they are with each other, how much they need each other, the empathy they share with each other, even on a completely spiritual level where they share in each other's sufferings, *without even knowing it* such as right here, just like Katsuki wants to share all of Izuku's burdens so that he's not crushed by them.

But with that said, though Bones really dropped the ball on the opening (and 5 previous seasons...*ahem*), there were a lot of curious changes that happened in season 6 that I did love, like Izuku dropping the "tachi" in his sentence which turned his line into "He hurt the person I love…" (instead of people)

and as we saw more of these additional changes Bones made, it got us wondering, did Hori have some regrets with the manga that he was unhappy about and wanted their romance to be more obvious? Was it only natural to get anime viewers up to speed before season 7, because they were going to find out through manga spoilers that Katsuki and Izuku are actually in love? I'd like to think so.

Changes I remember off the top of my head:

Reaching out for little Izuku's hand during Katsuki Bakugou Rising

Katsuki waking up and thinking "Deku…" and remembering his Rising sacrifice and being still hurt from it.

Izuku waiting until he was in Katsuki's arms before he apologised, which made their words of "I'm sorry" and "I know" more intimate and personal to each other. Like Izuku needed Katsuki's forgiveness the most, and Katsuki needed to let Izuku feel that he understands him the most.

Izuku's little "Ka-..." (the English dub did not catch it but I know other dubs did) as he was passing out, which made the entire hug scene feel so much more romantic.

"I'm gonna say your name when I wake up" vs "I'm gonna say your name when I fall asleep." BkDk: Always on each other's minds. All the time.

And one of the most interesting changes of all…

So get this, Ochaco gets a hand hold grab in the opening which canon-wise holds about as much weight as an "illustration" … and in the actual anime content, she grabs his wrist area instead of his hand like in the manga. Making her hand hold IN THE CANON CONTENT so impersonal. Almost as if to make up for the horrible opening they made. Why this was done still remains a mystery to us today… but I hope it's because Horikoshi asked them to make Izuocha stop being seen like a couple, and more like the friends they are.

And then, about the "brothers" "friends" comments antis love to make about bkdk. Well yeah, they're coping. In fact, Hori has shied away from labeling them friends several times when he could have! "Midoriya-kun is our friend" says Iida - with multiple people from the class, including Ochaco, presented in the panel… and Katsuki is nowhere to be found.

Or like when sAFO called Katsuki "Izuku's closest person" (motto mo naka ga ii) where it would have been WAY more natural to call him "shinyu," aka, "best friend." But that's the thing, Hori runs away from calling them friends like it's the plague LMAO

Really makes you wonder… was sAFO (I'd rather just call it AFO at this point because it's his personality being dominant vs Katsuki) alluding to hidden romantic feelings Izuku hides for Katsuki that his secret gaydar quirk picked up? Could be. In a way, at the time it happened, it felt to me like Horikoshi himself was talking to us through him, telling us very explicitly, "You're damn right. They're gay."

Either way, skirting around this label for them is being done on purpose by Hori. Like his hidden way of saying "Yeah they might be acting a bit more like the best friends they were always meant to be as kids, but their feelings for each other are not 'friendly' AT ALL. Because platonic friendship is not where these two are headed." And there are STILL hidden feelings they haven't managed to say to each other yet! The content Horikoshi has been itching to draw for YEARS that he is finally getting to. All that soft bkdk romance we've been waiting for is coming SO SOON!!! and I am HERE for it anon! 🔥

2023 will forever be known as the year of BkDk canon... these are very exciting times. <3

#asks #bkdk canon #kana writes #bakudeku #I had to write this almost completely twice over bc tumblr editor decided to delete my whole post XD fun (and I was so frustrated I'm sorry #this ask was getting a bit long so I will stop here but all your ramblings about bkdk were true anon you got a good understanding of them!#togachaco anon I'll try to briefly answer you soon but look for my togachaco meta it's not that far down on my blog - though...#my feelings are still a bit conflicted now because #I am coming around to the jealousy/envy theory as well so it's anyone's guess however what I will say is that OCHACO HAS REALISED THINGS #and those things WILL be revealed #And it's most definitely not going to be she's got a crush on Izuku #but I will write about what I WANT to see happen soon as a lover of shoujo myself :D (it just might not be what will actually happen...)

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dallonwrites · 7 months

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i do think as writers and creatives we would all benefit from letting ourselves embrace and enjoy being a beginner at something. and not just in a "because one day you will improve and see how far you've come" way but actually enjoying being an amateur at something in the moment. embracing the fun and excitement of something new even if you don't really know anything yet. like i'm making a worldbuilding bible for the first time and do i have any idea what i'm doing? no. am i having fun? absolutely

#what's that thing where it's like it can be harder/less enjoyable to be intermediate than a beginner #because becoming aware of your improvement makes you more hyperaware of where specifically you're struggling #anyway being a beginner is so fun i think all of us should be beginners more often #don't think about your lack of experience or knowledge compared to others just have fun because yayyy shiny new thing to play around with #also i dont believe in the scale of beginner to advanced writer really!!!#like yes i would say i'm 'experienced' but only in some ways! like litfic and flash and character development #im absolutely a beginner when it comes to proper novel writing or speculative worldbuilding #that's not to diminish anybody's hard work or progress it's just to say that beginner and advanced are not too far off separate entities #they're things you can be simultaneously and i think its actually very beneficial to be simultaneously #because you should never believe you are Too Experienced or Too Knowledgeable to keep learning new things #trying a new angle of writing as a beginner will teach you things about writing you won't learn from #and staying where you have the most experience etc #and also its just fun! mix it up!! try new things!! be free #even if its just a silly little side project

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retroautomaton · 6 months

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✨ Metropolis Cocktail ✨

Here’s the first few pages of my first full-length comic with the crew, to close out the Halloween season! 🎃

pg. 1, 2, & 3

#aAH #sry I’ve been so quiet all month #with work and commissions and trying to get this out remotely close to halloween #but now it’s out!! and getting back into the swing of making comics has been so gratifying #that makes it sound so clinical haha I’m trying to say it’s like the most fun I’ve had drawing in awhile #I love LOVE doing fast paced loose lighthearted comics so much #and being able to get all my funny little creatures together and being able to write them aUGH #and backgrounds slowly starting to have more fun with backgrounds and coloring #more to come hope y’all enjoy it so far!#Metropolis Cocktail #(and just to clarify that’s the name of like. the overall comics/the group of characters)#(I haven’t figured out a name for the actual single comic/episode yet haha whoops)#comics #Halloween

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becauseplot · 7 months

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i feel i should preface this with saying that this relationship analysis "takes place" before qcellbit's emotional exhaustion and motivation crash---

---but i have been having SUCH crazy thoughts abt the archivists (qcellbit n qphilza). guy who needs evidence of Everything 🤝 guy who takes pictures of and hoards Everything. two-cars-passing-each-other meme whenever cellbit (practically nocturnal at this point) makes a late-night run to the Ordo to grab some notes he left there and bumps into phil (trouble sleeping ever since the birdhouse incident) who's sitting in one of the evidence rooms organizing a new backpack of photos to hand over to cellbit.

"oh. hey phil." "hi mate."

their conversations and interactions center mostly around cellbit's investigations---the ones cellbit lets the public know about, anyway---and whatever new info phil managed to scoop up since the last time they saw each other. theories are exchanged, and photos are passed between them as easily as pleasantries. "how're you doing?" "oh, doin' alright, doin' alright. you?" "eh. busy, you know?"

they don't talk about much else.

see, they both understand secrets. intimately. things you did you would much rather leave behind you, if you can, or thoughts, worries, doubts you would much rather keep to yourself for fear of speaking them into existence. sealed lips; a tight lid. they look at each other and know they're only seeing what the other wants them to see, but that's okay. they get it. sometimes, it's just easier to focus on what is directly in front of you. what you can see, what you can touch; what you know is true, what you know is real.

what you can do.

so cellbit generates and bounces his theories off of phil, and phil is more than happy to be a sounding board. phil fills up a backpack with photographs, and cellbit is more than happy to take it off his hands. they focus on The Work, on the spiderweb of red string and loose ends and grainy pictures and scrawled notes pinned to the wall, madness-incarnate sprawled out before them. they trust each other's judgement, and they trust each other's skills, and they trust each other, and neither asks too many questions. they both appreciate it.

#like seriously most of their conversations thus far have been about everything and everyone BESIDES themselves.#and that!! makes for such an interesting relationship!! bc they trust each other despite it!!#btw i rly tried to format this so that the concepts/ideas touched on this relationship study usually came in pairs-#-the first of each pair being mostly and cellbit and the second being mostly about phil-#-with the exception of the bolded sentence which is supposed to have different meanings depending on whose perspective-#-you read it from. idk i had a lot of fun formatting this. me when parallels me when mirror images <33 #dont mind me im just rambling #qsmp philza #qsmp cellbit #q!philza #q!cellbit #also phil acting as cellbit's rubber duck is so important to me actually.#shout out to every friend of mine who has put up with my wall of texts abt an au or writing idea or incoherent mess of disjointed thoughts.#shout out to every friend of mine who's been there hanging out or on call with me as i lose my mind on a problem im whiteboarding.#u keep me sane and u help me more than u know. ily.#archivists #archivist duo

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darlingpoppet · 2 months

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Where The Dead Forget — Chapter 7: Known

Hades Gameverse Memory Loss AU | Achilles/Patroclus | E | Chapters: 7/22 | Words: 71,247 (Ch 7: 10,825 words)

Chapter 7 Summary: Achilles & Patroclus have a second meeting which goes somewhat better than the first. Patroclus is curious, and goes on a fact-finding trip where he sees some familiar faces.

Excerpt:

“A servant of Hades…. He comes all this way, only to return where he belongs after a brief chat… quite curious. Am I really worth the trouble? How is someone like him even given the privilege, I wonder, to simply walk back and forth between realms as he does… who even is he?”

The statue continues to appear thoughtful, pondering this carefully, and does not answer.

Patroclus sighs. “My friend, I must admit as good as you are at keeping secrets, I find it to be rather inadequate in a situation such as this. Dare I say I can find someone else around here with a tongue a bit looser than yours. After all, this realm is hardly lacking in rambling gossipmongers and blowhards… I should have no trouble at all.”

Making up his mind all at once, Patroclus rises. He has not moved from this spot since the last time he stood to watch Achilles’ previous departure. In this place where time is imperceptible, he is uncertain if it has been been thirty minutes, or thirty years, or indeed even thirty hundred years since then. He wonders if his folded legs might feel stiff and sore from disuse—miraculously however, they feel as light and springy as if no time has passed at all.

He takes the staircase down, crossing the bridge over the river, making his way to the gate opposite from the one Achilles passed through. It is a bit irrational perhaps, to worry that they might stumble upon one another again out there, in a realm that already seems alive, and enjoys playing tricks on its inhabitants, shifting its paths and holding familiar spots as well as destinations out of reach. It is this which makes Patroclus wonder with some trepidation if he will be able to find his way back again once leaving. Still, his curiosity has made the imperative of an errand like this too great to ignore, and he allows himself to have faith that he will be able to return.

He turns, and looks up to the statue once more as his hand grips the latch of the gate. It ignores him as it stands there, dignified and imposing—the largest presence in this space.

“Watch things over for me while I’m away, please,” Patroclus calls to it softly before passing through the gateway, the hem of his cloak whispering after him.

Read the rest here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43292178/chapters/137115583

#where the dead forget #patrochilles #hades patrochilles #achilles #patroclus #hades game #hades fanfic #the iliad #tsoa #the song of achilles #my fics #one of my fav chapters to write so far!#I like how this one turned out #the 2nd meeting had me blocked for most of nanowrimo #but the second half I had been dying to write since the beginning #we’re having fun now >:3c

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oreegaanoo · 2 months

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Character reference sheets and two frames from the animatic! :3

#work in progress #sketches #my art #a #qsmp chayanne #missasinfonia #qsmp #have drawn this kind of sketchy bits for like... maybe three scenes so far? like most of the frames for three scenes I mean #there's at least 20 scenes with their own moving bits and stuff so that'll be fun #but this is a nice start! and I really like the song and I like looking at my sillies so it's nice to draw too :)#started going crazy a bit after like two hours of drawing so I'm stopping for now and will continue next week again. Hopefully get another-#-- scene properly sketched out then #In other news I completed a small section (like less than a quarter of a page long) of my thesis and oh the feeling of accomplishment!!#it was a daunting part because I didn't know how to write it out but I did it!! Finally!!#and also had some trouble with translating my thoughts to english so I asked my mom for help and we brainstormed it :D #she's a great help with language stuff; both bc she's like generally good at english and also she's not dyslexic like me so that helps :D

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confetti-cat · 2 months

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Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

#Well this wasn't my first Cinderella retelling idea that I was excited about BUT -#since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it)#I tried this one instead!#pros: I think I actually wrote myself out of writer's block? Which is AWESOME #And I feel like I'm starting to notice what needs fixed and mended about my writing; which is very helpful!#cons: due to having the additional pro of a very socially growth-filled few weeks IRL; I did not do much about that fact #please excuse the general lack of editing thus far #I have also learned that I may want to be at least a Level 5 Fairy Tale Reteller #before I tackle stories with hundreds of years of popular retellings and versions?#Although this one came much more easily than my first idea; it still felt more difficult to write than my Nix Nought Nothing story.#So another pro - I learned that I enjoy writing about lesser-known tales the most! Next time I might try a fun obscure one.#All in all this was a ton of fun!! Thanks for running the challenge! Apologies for being nearly late - I had a wonderful time!#I hope you all enjoy! <3 #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale retelling challenge #love: philia #love: agape #Cinderella #story: complete #basil writes #salt and light

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