Different

A new take on a classic tale: a lesbian Cinderella story.

The gold draperies on the windows sparkled in celebration while servants whispered excitedly. Inside the estate, the smells of rich foods and freshly picked flowers wafted through the halls as preparations were made for the grand event. In the highest room of the house, the one with the most windows and the brightest walls, a woman was screaming in agony.

"Just one more push!" the midwife was insisting, "it's almost here!" The woman strained, drawing blood as she dug her nails into the hand of her queasy-looking husband.

"That's right, dear... keep going..." he attempted to cheer as the room spun around him and his stomach turned. The closer he came to being a father, the less qualified he felt. He silently thanked the heavens for his wife's death grip as it kept him from fleeing in fear.

And finally, with a gasp from the midwife and a moan from the mother, the deed was done. A baby's cries filled the air as the midwife handed the tiny daughter to her mother, whose face was wet with tears. With one look at the child, the warmth that flooded the father's heart left little doubt that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Suddenly, disaster.

The mother's eyes were closed. Her breath had become shallow, and the blood seeped deeper into the bedsheets. The man gave the elderly midwife a panicked look, the baby screamed, the midwife stammered, and the mother was no more.

* * *

Elle was only thirteen when her father remarried. She knew almost nothing of her mother; just that she had, as women of her time were apt to do, died on the day Elle was born. Elle's father, Laurence, spoiled her, as if sweets and dresses could replace a mother. This evidently misguided notion mattered little to Elle, who knew nothing of mothers and thus wanted for none.

Laurence was a merchant, fairly wealthy, with a large estate. His work took him away, transporting spices and furs from the farthest reaches of the land. As Elle began to grow more and more, Laurence worried for his daughter. It was unhealthy for her to be alone, he thought; it was time she had some companions. When Laurence met Maureene, who had two daughters and a husband six feet under, he congratulated himself and swept her off her feet.

The hustle and bustle of the house after the wedding was such that no one could sit still. Box after box was moved in, filled with dresses, trinkets, shoes; soon, the emptiness was replaced by women. Elle's new sisters, Andromède and Marguerite, appeared to Elle as excitable chatterbirds, fussing over her hair and clothes as if she were a doll. She did not mind; she laughed as they braided her blonde locks and gasped as they fastened ribbons at her waist.

And Elle tentatively allowed herself to be happy. She was no longer alone; her stepsisters were kind, and Maureene was an inoffensive presence. Her father almost burst at his seams with contentment; his estate was full and his family was large. Elle continued to grow, and the next few years were filled with the warmth of her new life.

The sisters loved boys. It was only to be expected; young and beautiful as they were, they attracted many a youthful male eye. Marguerite would prattle for hours about the young actor who would smile roguishly at her at the opera, while Andromède preferred the neatly-combed barber's son. Elle would giggle and smile bashfully, enjoying their passion and excitement.

Andromède and Marguerite would tease her endlessly, smiling slyly as the attempted to coax a trace of lovesickness out of Elle, but she relentlessly gave them nothing. It wasn't that she didn't trust them; she desperately wanted to share in their clandestine attractions, but she had none of which to speak.

It was known that the family was wealthy. Now, with Maureene and Laurence's combined wealth, they were more affluent than ever; in fact, the girls felt that they were just short of royalty.

"Just short" was a phrase that ate at Marguerite. She was an avid reader, devouring novel after novel filled with cheap romance between a handsome prince and a peasant girl who was secretly a princess, or a lonely young queen who fell for her dashing knight. Marguerite lived among the courtiers and royals in her mind, drifting through gargantuan castles and sumptuous palaces.

At night, Marguerite would recount the stories she read to her sisters, or she would dream up far-fetched and fantastical scenarios of terrible villains who captured beautiful princesses, and of strapping young men who rescued their loves. Andromède listened rapturously, her heart pounding through the suspense and warming at the inevitable ceremonies that seemed to terminate every adventure.

Elle, alternatively, found herself oddly disconnected from the characters with which Marguerite and Andromède so strongly identified. She adored the adventure and the danger, and yet, never quite understood the eternal love. It seemed forced, disingenuous, and slightly... wrong.

It was for this reason that Elle began to feel alone. Was she the only person who felt this way? She spent more and more time by herself, wishing she could see what her sisters saw and longing for an adventure of her own. Every day, she ventured deeper into the woods, hoping to find an injured knight or a witch's house that would show her the light.

It was on her fifth day of exploration that Elle met Luce. She appeared rather gradually; a shimmer in the corner of Elle's eye, or a muffled giggle from behind. Elle became increasingly wary, the last straw being a brief glimpse of a foot disappearing behind a tree as her mysterious follower fled her gaze.

Elle stopped in her tracks, and looked around herself wildly.

"Who are you?" she demanded, trying to sound intimidating.

"Relax," came the teasing reply. Out if the shadows emerged a girl, barely older than Elle. She was breathtaking. It wasn't her beauty that was dazzling, however; it was her shining face, her glimmering dress, her inviting bluish glow that baffled Elle's mind and reduced her to muteness.

"A fairy," Elle whispered stupidly. She could think of nothing else to say.

"A girl," answered the fairy lightly. "I'm Luce."

"Elle."

And a friendship was born.

Marguerite continued to pine for adventure. In her eyes, fabulous stories and true love came only to the royals, to the fortunate princesses, to the powerful. The more she yearned for excitement, the more convinced she became that becoming royalty was the only option.

It was for this reason that she and Andromède concocted a plan. Their mother had married rich, twice; it was clear that she wished the same for her daughters. Evidently, she would support their efforts to raise their status, and receiving permission to travel to the capital city of the kingdom would be a trifle.

For the prince was of age. He was entitled and spoiled, but he was princely and royal, and his wife would one day be queen. When the ball in his honor was announced, the intention was clear; this was their chance to marry into royalty. It was agreed in hushed whispers in the night that Marguerite would marry the prince and rule the kingdom, while appointing Andromède and Elle to the positions of a duchess or marquise where they would live the rest of their days in luxury.

Elle was unconvinced. She did not want to marry a duke or a marquis, and she certainly did not want to leave the woods where resided her dear fairy. But the idea of a lavish ball was too good to refuse, and she soon agreed to attend the party, if nothing else.

Elle snuck Luce into her room that night to prepare. After endless rifling through closets and doors, the capricious Luce deemed none of Elle’s clothes worthy of a royal ball.

“Then what should I wear?” Elle finally asked, falling into a deep chair in frustration.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

And immediately, Elle found herself draped in the most glorious of dresses, with sparkling jewelry and immaculate dancing shoes. She was ready.

*  * *

Luce sat alone on the forest floor, cursing herself. She had wanted to make Elle happy with her gifts, but now she felt regretful. Elle was certain to be the talk of the ball; every young man would be sure to fall for her, the prince included. What if he chose her for his wife? Of course Elle would accept. Why wouldn’t she? He was handsome, wealthy, and royal. Luce stifled a sob and curled into herself.

* * *

The ballroom was luxurious, the food delicious, and the guests beautiful. Elle, herself, was flooded with attention on all sides due to her dazzling adornments and fresh-faced beauty. It was a mind-blowing experience, and Elle had never felt this kind of appreciation. Six young men  asked her to dance, the last of which was the prince himself.

He asked her for dance after dance, and seemed absolutely captivated by her. Elle found him perfectly charming, and yet, felt no desire to spend any more time with him than that.

When Elle finally found a quiet moment to steal away from him, she shot right to Marguerite and Andromède’s side. Panting, she turned to them to laugh at her fortune and the irony of her lack of appreciation. Instead, she found herself facing two pairs of accusatory eyes.

It was obvious; she could see the betrayal in Marguerite and Andromède’s faces. Before she could say a word to explain herself, they were gone.

Elle fled to the garden, feeling completely abandoned. The only thing she wanted at that moment was to feel Luce’s arms around her, comforting her and letting her know she was not alone. Instead, she heard a man clear his throat behind her.

Elle whipped around, surprised to have been followed into this remote corner of the garden.

“I thought you might be here,” he said, sauntering toward her, “did you need some air?”

“Yes, your majesty, it is a lovely ball, but this garden is too beautiful not to explore.”

The prince wasted no time in stating his true intent.

“You could explore this garden every day if you were the queen.”

Once the words left his mouth, everything fell into place.

She did not want this. She did not wanted to marry the prince, or be queen, or live in a castle, or rule a kingdom. She did not want to be stared at in awe by royal guests, and she did not want to see envy and resentment in her sisters’ eyes.

“Your majesty, I am honored, but I am afraid I must decline, for you see, I would be unfit to rule.” Then, thinking quickly, she added, “my step-sister Marguerite would be a wonderful match for you. Go find her in the ballroom. I have had a wonderful evening, but I must go.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She knew that it was a bold and dangerous move to reject a prince in this manner, but at this point the danger meant nothing to her; all she wanted was to run to Luce, to hold her in her arms, to tell her everything she now knew she had always felt.

Elle watched as the shock in the prince’s expression turned to indignation, and then to contempt.

“A bourgeois girl like you thinks she is above marrying the prince? How dare you refuse royalty! You will see your impetuousness for what it is!”

From behind the hedges emerged three guards.Of course; the prince went nowhere without them. They fanned out, one on either side and one behind her.

“Are you ready to change your mind?”

Elle’s heart was in her mouth. Were these her only choices? Marry this man, or spent her life in his dungeon? She attempted to back away, only to be grabbed by the guard behind her. She closed her eyes.

From behind her closed lids, Elle sensed a curious blue light. It seemed to flash and illuminate the entire night, like a lightning strike directly before her eyes. She opened them to see the prince enveloped by it, screaming, and hurtling backwards into a fountain. He fell to the ground, unconscious. Elle looked around her, finding all the guards splayed out in similar conditions. She gasped, looking around desperately for this attacker, fearful for her safety.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of arms gently embrace her, and blinked to find herself back in her forest, the one in which she had shared so many moments with Luce.

She almost laughed aloud. Of course! Luce’s eyebrows were raised in amusement, as if silently mocking Elle for ever thinking her dear fairy would have left her alone. Elle rushed forward, opening her mouth to thank Luce, and finding no words. Luce stopped her, holding her shoulders.

And with one kiss, there were no more words to say.