They kept a close eye on her, never leaving her alone for more than a few minutes at a time. Suddenly they had an interest in her cooking. Ella had even heard the door to her dilapidated attic room open in the dead of the night. The more time they spent with her the worse their taunting became.

Even Annie had started to throw soft jabs when the food was overcooked or when Ella stumbled over a task. Her sudden shared interest with her family would have been heartwarming if it had been anything besides an interest in tormenting Ella.

The worst of it came from Lady Tremaine. There was no time of day that she did not find something to criticize. Her new hobby was standing in the kitchen while Ella prepared a meal and noting every way that her stepdaughter had veered from the original recipe and ruined the dish.

That day she'd woken up early to observe breakfast and joined her again for lunch. "And of course there's the dirt under your nails from playing with those filthy animals," she scoffed.

"I was feeding them so that we'd be able to eat over the next few weeks," Ella snapped back.

"Impudent girl," Lady Tremaine huffed. The hem of her dress cut a path through the thick dust that coated the floor. She circled the open door to the cellar to stand directly behind Ella. "You are filthy to your core, Cinderella. I hate to think of the shame you would have brought down on this family if the prince had seen you." The marchioness waved a hand in front of her wrinkled up nose.

"That is not my name," Ella said through grit teeth. The ache in her jaw was becoming unbearable. How long would it be before it cracked, teeth and all? There wasn't much more she could take.

Lady Tremaine grabbed Ella by the arm and forced the girl to face her. "Don't speak to me with that tone, Cinderella. You should be used to your place in life by now. You will always be nothing, an insignificant speck in the wide world."

Over the years Ella had done all manner of chores around the house. First it had been small things like mending clothes and waking the girls in the morning. As more and more servants were sent away or left to find work that would actually pay, the task of keeping the household up and running on a day to day basis fell to Ella.

In the winter, she handled gathering wood for the necessary fires they would need to survive the harsh cold. Ella had gotten good at finding trees small enough for her to chop down on her own and then drag back to the house. The result was a strong body most noble women would never be able to surpass. They could keep their corsets and tiny waists, Ella would gladly take the comfort of being able to defend herself.

Shoving Lady Tremaine into the cellar wasn't a conscious decision. One minute she'd been praying for a moment of reprieve from the constant berating, the next she was watching her stepmother tumble backwards into the open hole behind her. There weren't stair leading down to the cellar, just an old ladder that Ella had pulled up to lean against the kitchen wall just a few minutes beforehand,

Her stepmother was quiet when she hit the ground, either from shock or pain. Ella didn't give her a moment to adjust, she shut the cellar door and stood on top of it. The beginnings of a scream were cut off by the heavy door and further muffled by the sack of flour on top of it. A thick silence filled the larger kitchen.

Ella dropped to the floor behind the counter, facing the fireplace. The glass slipper was still there as far as she knew. That damned slipper, damn magic, that stupid ridiculous night. She should have known things would never go right for her. How was she going to explain all of this to the authorities when they came to take her away?

The panic swirling in her head came to a sudden stop. Ella could count the people who knew about what she'd just done on one hand and half of them were trapped in a cellar with no way out. No one was coming for her and no one was keeping her in the house. Her heart sped up suddenly.

"I'm free," she whispered, looking at her callused hands covered in flour. The nails were brittle and chipped where they'd managed to grow past the tip of her finger. Her middle finger on her left hand was ever so slightly crooked thanks to a heavy sack of potatoes she'd thought she could lift alone. They were the hands of a serving girl.

They were the hands of a serving girl.

In just a little while they'd be the hands of a princess.

She would take the horse now that her stepmother wasn't there to stop her. Hell she could take the carriage at this point and all the money. "Slow down, El-" she stopped herself, touching a hand to her lips. "Gabby. I'm Gabby." The words tumbled from her mouth without end like a mantra.

Ella was a maid.

Gabby was a princess.

Ella was trapped.

Gabby was free.

Hot tears streaked down her face as she stood. All around her were the memories of her mother and father, almost completely faded from memory. Images of herself sleeping by the fireplace, slumped over the small table in the corner, and all the winters she'd struggled through the snowstorms to get back inside with the firewood from out back.

It all felt so silly now, lowering herself to serve them out of some broken sense of duty to the memories of her parents. They weren't there to see if she'd done her best to honor them and the life they'd given her, they had left her there alone. It was time to make her own life.

Gabby wiped the tears from her face and straightened her apron. Ricky wasn't going anywhere. She could take another day or two to make sure everything at the chateau was settled. There were family heirlooms to find, animals to see to, and a stepmother to handle. Where was that fairy godmother when she really needed her?

Heavy footsteps hurried towards the kitchen and Drizella poked her brunette head around the door frame. The tight curls bounced off her high cheekbones like the little vines on a pumpkin. "Where is my mother? She's supposed to be watching you."

"I haven't seen her in a while," Gabby answered. Her eyes, the color of sea glass, widened slightly. Long lashes brushed against her cheeks. "She would have told you if she was going out, wouldn't she? I was sure she told you everything."

"Just do your work, Cinderella," Drizella snapped. Wood creaked under her fast steps back of the stairs. A door slammed.

"Oh, I will," Gabby answered in the empty room. The dough under hands stretched and bunched with her expert kneading. As she worked, she hummed the song she'd heard at the ball. When she paused she could just hear a muffled shout from the cellar.

They'd built the house well, hired the best stone masons and carpenters. Every wall was built to last for generations. No room was as well designed to withstand the elements than their cellar where their precious food was housed. Her father had once said the man who designed it was the same who built the palace dungeons.

Gabby wiped her hands clean slowly. In a few days she'd know just how similar the mason had made the rooms. Another muffled scream made her laugh. "The royal family must sleep well even with the cells full of prisoners. Maybe I'll find a way to put you there."