the basket in Nurse Fairgem's hands. "What is that you
carry?" she asked, though she knew well. "Are those your
flowers?"
"No, my lady." Cinderella
recalled the slow sinking feeling in her heart as she mutely
watched the conversation unravel before her.
"So you acknowledge that you are
taking that which is not yours"
"No my lady-"
"That it is theft to pluck the
flowers of my garden without consent"
"No-"
"Excellent. We are in agreement.
You shall pack your things, communicate with Cinderella no more and
be gone of this house. Before afternoon tea, without papers and
this weeks salary as compensation for damages. Is this clear?"
"Deceitful woman! I have done
nothing wrong by you. You cannot separate me from my daughter"
"She is not your daughter" her
words harsh and formidable. "You will quit this house immediately
before I alert an officer to your insolence and he assists you in
quitting this house. Good day." She hadn't seen Nurse Fairgem in
four years. Often, when Cinderella was given the task of purchasing
ribbons from in town, she would imagine happening upon her old
friend again so that she could ask her to take her away and be rid
of this house.
Cinderella's journal was hidden
in the forest, for fear that her stepmother might find it in the
house. At the base of an old oak tree was a small burrow, just
large enough to store her journal and a pen. Every morning, before
she prepared breakfast and her family was up to order her about,
she would sneak out to record the events of the previous day. She
hid it meticulously, every morning. Except once.
CHAPTER
ONE
Prince Mark was blessed in many
ways that Cinderella was not. He had an abundance of wealth,
respect and the ability to do as he pleased without a care for
others. The only times in which their lines crossed was when it
came to companionship. The Prince wasn't lonely, rather he had too
many people around him and not enough that he cared for or trusted
particularly. As he led his platoon into the depths of the forest,
he listened to them all joking with each other. Laughing and
shouting, actions they'd never consider doing with the Prince.
There seemed to be some type of impenetrable wall between himself
and everyone else.
They came across a particular
area that offered them shade enough to be protected from the
glaring sun, sparse enough to be able to conduct movements without
fear of bumping into a tree. Mark positioned himself in front of a
great oak tree, his small platoon organising themselves into three
orderly lines of six. He led them in new military moves, relishing
the morning exercise and the level of coordination between him and
his men. They didn't question his orders nor did they say anything
when he pushed them beyond their limits. They took his orders and
implemented them. When Mark grew weary he allowed his men to rest
and walked over to sit at the base of the oak tree. He sat there
silently, controlling his breathing, refusing to show weakness or
fatigue, when a glimpse of blue caught his eye. Almost directly
beside him sat the corner of what looked like a book. It was almost
fully immersed in soil and took him more than a minute to dig out
of a small hole that reached underneath the tree itself.
Dear diary , it read.
Immediately it occurred to Mark how unethical it was to read the
thoughts of another, but as he flicked through the pages he found a
drawing that stopped him immediately. It was quite possibly the
poorest drawing he'd ever seen. He chuckled as he looked down at
the image. It depicted a robust cow with a sharp nose, dressed in
red and with straight hair that reached the floor. Behind her stood
two sheep, each fouler than the last. The Prince sat there laughing
until he made a decision.
"I wouldn't suppose there's any
chance one of you has led on their person?" He was faced with the
blank looks of fifteen of his men and a chorus of "No, your
Highness" as a reply. He groaned and looked down at the journal
again. Perhaps it was
carry?" she asked, though she knew well. "Are those your
flowers?"
"No, my lady." Cinderella
recalled the slow sinking feeling in her heart as she mutely
watched the conversation unravel before her.
"So you acknowledge that you are
taking that which is not yours"
"No my lady-"
"That it is theft to pluck the
flowers of my garden without consent"
"No-"
"Excellent. We are in agreement.
You shall pack your things, communicate with Cinderella no more and
be gone of this house. Before afternoon tea, without papers and
this weeks salary as compensation for damages. Is this clear?"
"Deceitful woman! I have done
nothing wrong by you. You cannot separate me from my daughter"
"She is not your daughter" her
words harsh and formidable. "You will quit this house immediately
before I alert an officer to your insolence and he assists you in
quitting this house. Good day." She hadn't seen Nurse Fairgem in
four years. Often, when Cinderella was given the task of purchasing
ribbons from in town, she would imagine happening upon her old
friend again so that she could ask her to take her away and be rid
of this house.
Cinderella's journal was hidden
in the forest, for fear that her stepmother might find it in the
house. At the base of an old oak tree was a small burrow, just
large enough to store her journal and a pen. Every morning, before
she prepared breakfast and her family was up to order her about,
she would sneak out to record the events of the previous day. She
hid it meticulously, every morning. Except once.
CHAPTER
ONE
Prince Mark was blessed in many
ways that Cinderella was not. He had an abundance of wealth,
respect and the ability to do as he pleased without a care for
others. The only times in which their lines crossed was when it
came to companionship. The Prince wasn't lonely, rather he had too
many people around him and not enough that he cared for or trusted
particularly. As he led his platoon into the depths of the forest,
he listened to them all joking with each other. Laughing and
shouting, actions they'd never consider doing with the Prince.
There seemed to be some type of impenetrable wall between himself
and everyone else.
They came across a particular
area that offered them shade enough to be protected from the
glaring sun, sparse enough to be able to conduct movements without
fear of bumping into a tree. Mark positioned himself in front of a
great oak tree, his small platoon organising themselves into three
orderly lines of six. He led them in new military moves, relishing
the morning exercise and the level of coordination between him and
his men. They didn't question his orders nor did they say anything
when he pushed them beyond their limits. They took his orders and
implemented them. When Mark grew weary he allowed his men to rest
and walked over to sit at the base of the oak tree. He sat there
silently, controlling his breathing, refusing to show weakness or
fatigue, when a glimpse of blue caught his eye. Almost directly
beside him sat the corner of what looked like a book. It was almost
fully immersed in soil and took him more than a minute to dig out
of a small hole that reached underneath the tree itself.
Dear diary , it read.
Immediately it occurred to Mark how unethical it was to read the
thoughts of another, but as he flicked through the pages he found a
drawing that stopped him immediately. It was quite possibly the
poorest drawing he'd ever seen. He chuckled as he looked down at
the image. It depicted a robust cow with a sharp nose, dressed in
red and with straight hair that reached the floor. Behind her stood
two sheep, each fouler than the last. The Prince sat there laughing
until he made a decision.
"I wouldn't suppose there's any
chance one of you has led on their person?" He was faced with the
blank looks of fifteen of his men and a chorus of "No, your
Highness" as a reply. He groaned and looked down at the journal
again. Perhaps it was
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