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Here, by special request, is the blog I wrote of our trip around America last year.

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ďż˝ Settling in in Hollywood
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Feb. 23, 2009 - Cinders and Ash

At last - the long awaited Cinderella retelling! I have written about three different versions in the last couple of months, and at last, thanks very much to you guys, I have found one I'm happy with!

Your suggestions were all actually very inspiring (even the dancing mice!), and the fact that I was up to 5:30am last... I mean this morning typing it up is thanks to you.

The whole thing is rather stream of consciousnessish and might be a little disjointed... tell me if there are any lines you stumble over. And also tell me what you think about the ending, as I'm still not sure about it.

Well, here it is...

*nods off to sleep on her keyboard*

---

I

It began with the invitation. It was gilded with gold and wreathed in red roses, the dark script elegantly waltzing across the creamy parchment. It was like a fairytale from the beginning; red for the lips, white for the soft skin and dark for the ebony hair, and gold to crown it all, because she would be, of course, a princess. They were always princesses by the end.

All the ladies of the household, it said. She held it in fingertips that were hard and calloused from work, and it felt like a promise.

Come, it said, this is what life is about. All your life you have been waiting waiting waiting for this. This is what you were born for. You will go to the ball and be beautiful at last. You will be a princess, and find Love. This is your fairytale.

Maybe it was right. She deserved a chance, after all. Maybe this would be her ball. Maybe she would step in the door and all heads would turn and she would float across the smooth floor in the arms of her handsome prince. Maybe it would all be magical, like the fairytales said.

She stood still in an empty room, captivated by the way the dim light touched the gilding. In the hall a mechanism turned and whirred tiredly, and the old grandfather clock rang out once.

II

She arranged dresses and she arranged hair and she arranged perfume and soaps and powders for her stepsisters. She said nothing, but inside she was burning with longing. She wanted to be beautiful too, to be soft and delicate and elegant and dance lightly and go to the ball-

But her time would come. She would get her fairytale, she was sure of it.

She just had to wait for the fairy godmother.

Upstairs one of her stepsisters – who she said looked ugly even made up in all the finery – called down to hurry, time was passing, they couldn’t be late. And she hurried away.

III

The shoes caught her eye as she walked past, and then they stopped her in her tracks, and then they drew her right in.

The lights glinted off the tiny, finely worked glass prisms encrusting the shoes, so they shone and sparkled and glimmered blindingly. They seemed to catch every piece of light and twist it and glow with it and make it sparkle over everything that came near, dazzling her eyes. For a moment she saw dancing figures in the moving rainbows of light flitting across the walls, herself dancing in the midst of them with the bewitching shoes on her feet and the arms of her captivated prince about her. Just for one beautiful night.

Those shoes could make a fairytale come true, she knew they could.

Maybe things were different now. Maybe the days of fairy intervention were over. Maybe girls had to make their own fairytales. Maybe they just had to reach out and believe in themselves and follow their hearts and live for their dreams and the world would be theirs.

And reach for the stars. That too.

She reached for the stars.

The shoes blinked in the light as she lifted them, and sent frantic little shimmers over the heavy gold clock presiding over the shop. Its round face peered back at them as they were muffled in a girl’s dirty jacket. Its arms moved, but it said nothing.

IV

She never thought she would feel so happy as a criminal, especially when she was being chased by at least twenty burly men.

But she was possessed by insane, bubbling happiness.

She had come to a grand old staircase and they were right behind her, and she had eyed the wide, curving banister and known she couldn’t get down without dropping the shoes. So she slipped them over her dirty bare feet and they had fit perfectly, and then it buzzed right through her, and suddenly she just knew. This was how it was supposed to be. And she had slid down the banisters so fast that she thought she was flying, and landed so fast that she thought she must have broken every bone in her body. But somehow she found she hadn’t, and scrambled to her feet again.

She had lost a shoe, but one would do, and she laughed over the rhyme. Maybe her Handsome Prince would find the other one. So she slipped off her shoe and clasped it tight and ran with it, far away, dancing and twirling around lampposts.

They were all looking for her, but they couldn’t find her because they were all stuck on the ground and she was dancing on the clouds.

A clock struck somewhere, and the chimes were sweet and pure and utterly young, and she danced to them.

V

It was tiring, this joy and energy. She found a quiet seat in the furnace behind a potter’s shop, and sat down there amid the cinders. She put on her shoe but she was too tired to dance, so she took it off again and put it in her lap. Somehow it didn’t seem quite so magical anymore. Or maybe she was just tired.

Or maybe she was remembering that it wasn’t really hers. It was stolen. She had stolen it. And it was probably horribly valuable and she would be arrested when they found her. But that didn’t matter, since they were magical shoes and once they found her she would be a princess and they could do nothing to her.

It really didn’t matter.

She was probably supposed to go and look for her handsome prince now. Her feet ached, though, and she didn’t know if she would want to dance with him at that moment even if he was right here. Besides, what would she say to him?

Maybe she should just wait here for a bit. Maybe when she got her breath back she would go to look for him.

Or maybe not. Maybe he wouldn’t want to dance with her anyway, when she had only one shoe.

All across the land clocks chimed and young ladies climbed into their carriages, hoping to find a Handsome Prince and wondering what to say to him if they did.

VI

She sat and watched.

Six white mice scurried along the top of a wall, and they ran backward and forward and up and down and sniffed each other so their whiskers jiggled absurdly.

Once she would have been enchanted. Once she would have laughed and made friends and danced up and down the wall with them. Once she would have sewn them little jackets and taught them all to sing.

Now she just sat and watched them until they all went way again, because she didn’t really care about mice anymore.

All she wanted was her Handsome Prince.

Far away a Handsome Prince placed a gold circlet on his dark hair and proclaimed himself perfect. He listened to a clock strike and the chatter of guests give way to an expectant silence, and set off to a ball.

VII

She didn’t regret it. She didn’t. Because girls had to find their own fairytales now. Because she had to take control and make her own life and find her own truth.

Because she could have sat in her empty home and cried forever for her empty dreams, and the fairy godmother would not have come.

She wouldn’t have.

Would she?

No.

So she sat in the ash as the world grew colder and she leaned against unwelcoming stone, and far above a clock began to chime and some girl laughed gaily, and she hated them. And she listened to the chimes go on and on and hated them all, and she tried to ignore them but she couldn’t keep some detached part of herself from counting the chimes like she always had, right from the days she was a child and had been happy just to listen to fairytales. And she hated that, too.

VIII

It was all a bit sad really.

She sat all alone and watched the world grow darker and darker until nothing seemed friendly anymore.

She felt in her lap and touched the shoe again. It was hard and cold against her fingers, the cut glass sharp, and she drew her hand away. It was too dark to really see it, and it didn’t sparkle away from the lights anyway.

She drew up her legs and the shoe felt cold against them, so she picked it up and set it down beside her.

Then she shivered and wrapped her arms around her knees, because she was still just wearing her rags.

And the chiming seemed dark and ghostly.

She covered her ears.

IX

It was funny, actually. Not funny in a haha way, funny in a so utterly wrong that you have to laugh or you’ll just cry and you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to stop sort of way.

She had done all this because she couldn’t bear to sit and wait for her fairytale to begin.

But it had all circled around while she wasn’t looking, and now all she did was sit and wait for it to end.

Then she wondered how long she would sit, and if morning would come soon, and she strained her ears to listen for a clock.

But, perversely, she heard nothing.

And that was funny too.

X

At last the Prince arrived. She knew it was him because he was the Handsome one, and he wore a crown, and she was glad he had come because she was going half mad with the cold and the quiet. It wasn’t really how she expected to meet him, though. Especially since he was leading a crowd of soldiers and one of the glassmaker’s guards.

They all carried lights and lit up the darkness and bustled away the night as if it had no right to be there. She watched them silently and just sat and blinked at them as they shone their lights on her. She was too tired and cold to run, and she had nowhere really to run to anyway.

So she just sat on the cold stone step and watched the lantern light glitter on the single shoe that sat beside her, and then she watched how the darting little reflections played over her Handsome Prince’s face.

And then she watched the surprise in their faces as they stared from her to the shoe and the sound of the glassmaker’s guard yelling that she was her (of course she was her – who else would she be?) and all their noise drowned out the sounds of the night.

XI

Her Handsome Prince had hold of her arms and they were all staring grimly at her and asking why she was here and what on earth was she playing at?

And suddenly she could hardly keep from laughing, because here she was with the Handsome Prince and the glass slippers and the romantic moonlight, just as she had dreamed. And she wondered what he would say if she asked him to dance.

So she did.

He didn’t even answer, he just looked at her with her dirty hair and shapeless clothes and servants hands, and that was enough. There was disgust on his face, and his hands loosened as he backed a pace away from her.

And suddenly she pulled herself free from him and turned and ran, and even now she was half expecting the Handsome Prince to call after her.

But he didn’t. He just stared after her with disgust and confusion mingled on his Handsome face, and the glass slipper sat forgotten in the shadows.

And she told herself that she shouldn’t be disappointed.

After all, he hadn’t recognised even Cinderella without her shoes, had he?

XII

The clock began to strike as the first of the thundering soldiers reached her. She tried to count the strokes, but the men filled the air with their clanking and shouting and rough hands and voices, and she lost count.

“I guess,” she said, “that I just spoilt my fairytale.”

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Comments

Feb. 23, 2009 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Equestrienne21

My, goodness, Gaby, that was AMAZING!!!! You are soooo talented! I love it! Your blog says that you posted that on Feb. 23. It's still Feb. 22 here. I guess it's cause we're halfway across the world from eachother.

The main reason I'm over here is to tell you that I have invented and given you a new name!!! After looking at the names you showed me (that people call you), I decided to call you Gabygator. But I still like Altari...oh well. That's it for now.

Aradelle (heh heh, you could call me 'deli'...*winces*)

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Feb. 25, 2009 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Equestrienne21

My goodness, you are the sweetest thing! I love your comments! And if my comments help keep you active on here, then I'll comment you every 5 minutes, if that helps...*smiles*

I need to write. Mah dear muse is now happily chained to my brain (did I already tell you that?), but I haven't been employing her much lately. Here's a tip for you: If you can't seem to chain your muse (the one who won't tell you his name) to your brain by yourself, bring a friend over to help. Your muse will find the chains inevitable. *is happy for Gabygator*

Then again, I guess you can't very well bring one of us home for dinner, 'cause we're all here in the U.S....*muses*

*buys airplane ticket and flys to Gabygator's house*

I am here! *paws dirt* Where's that old muse? Where is he? I'll teach him a leason! *swings writing notebook menacingly* There he is! *tackles muse and chains him to Gaby's brain* There ya are, mah dearie! All set and ready to go! *brushes hands off* And I need to fly home to bed...

Aradelle

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Mar. 15, 2009 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Tinuviel

My word. This was a treat to read from beginning to end, and the conclusion you chose was just perfect. Don't you love when stories end with a final piece of witty dialogue? You, dear Altariel, are a genius.

I assume you're just recovering from the shock of seeing a comment from me. It's been awhile, yes, but to tell the truth, I needed the time away from the blogosphere. I'm sure you know what that's like.

However, I'm back now and have begun (or endeavored, anyway) to make my rounds once more. How long it'll last is still unclear, but I'm determined to make use of this very untypical burst of determination while it's still fresh.

So what's been going on in your life? Goodness, we need to catch up! I do miss your comments...

-Tinuviel

P.S. Previewing this comment, it strikes me as pathetically short. Oh, well.

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The Lady

Gabrielle is brilliant, beautiful, talented, sweet and good, yet marvellously humble. Haha... No. Let's try that again...

Gabrielle has a wicked sense of humour and far too much pride for her own good. She loves to write, and has spent a good portion of her life buried in books. She loves old English literature, anything Tolkien, and well-written humour.

She loves blogging, fanfiction, and spends a good portion of her day on her computer. Pretty active, she enjoys climbing, swimming, running, and sitting up trees, yet does not enjoy most ball sports.

At sixteen, she is still far more immature than she should be and enjoys the fact far too much, yet she can be serious at times and ponders deeply on many issues. She takes her faith very seriously, and strives to make becoming like her Lord her greatest wish.

She enjoys talking about herself in the third person.

Dol Amroth

Dol Amroth was a coastal city in South Gondor. Built on a hilltop overlooking the Bay of Belfalas and crowned by Tirith Aear - the seaward tower - it was the Jewel of the Southern coasts. The Princes of Dol Amroth were prominent in Gondor and ruled much of the land about Belfalas.

Dol Amroth was the home of both sailors and mounted knights, yet they were also renowned for their harpists. The people of Dol Amroth were of Numenorian decent, and also accounted to have had elvish blood - passed down from Mithrellas, one of Nimrodel of Lothlorien's handmaidens. They were tall, dark haired and grey eyed, and spoke, for the most part, Sindarin.

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth fought in the battle of the Pelennor Fields with many of his knights, and won renown for his deeds there, which included saving the life of his nephew, Faramir. Imrahil's sister, Finduilas, was the wife of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and the mother of Boromir and Faramir. Imrahil's daughter, Lothiriel, later married King Eomer of Rohan.