In a great house with a cold hearthstone lived a young girl called Cinderella. By morning, her stepmother set a pail in her hands, and by evening, there was always another task waiting: water to carry, linen to fold, ashes to sweep, and kettles to shine until they caught a little light. Her two stepsisters rustled past in ribbons, speaking only of their own sleeves, their own curls, and their own place at the table. When the work was finally done, Cinderella sat on a low stool by the hearth, where the gray ash dusted the hem of her dress.
One afternoon, a royal messenger rode into the courtyard with a trumpet at his saddle. He unrolled a paper sealed with red wax and read aloud that the prince would hold a ball for three nights, and every noble household was invited. At once, the house changed its rhythm. Silk was shaken from heavy chests, and pearls were eagerly counted. The stepmother measured lace against the sleeves of her daughters, calling for Cinderella to fetch thread, warm the irons, and polish the buckles of their dancing shoes.
Cinderella held up a length of silver ribbon and asked, "May I go too, when all is ready?" Her stepmother did not even look up from the bodice she was fastening. "You have no gown for a royal ball," she said, "and there is flour on your hands besides. Stay here and finish the work." The stepsisters laughed softly as they turned before …
6 chapters
