Heathcliff stood there, watching her retreating silhouette, until she disappeared inside the house. He watched her look back towards the tree, unable to see him through the thickly grown branches, before she walked into the house.

Smiling uncharacteristically, he crossed the tree and paused by his own exit. The sun was just about to rise, the birds hiding in the smattering of twisted trees growing on the undulating plain were beginning to stir and chirp shyly, lazily at first, then more enthusiastically as the sun rose higher.

Heathcliff let his gaze sweep over the bleak heath like the never ceasing wind, caressing the well-known landmarks of the place he had never left since Mr. Earnshaw brought him here nearly six years ago.

His smile grew wider at the recollection of those days when the old man, for some reason, loved him as much as he loved his own two children, if not more. The boy remembered well how pleasant his life used to be back then, his only trouble being to invent a new game, a new adventure for himself and his Catherine.

Everything was different now. Hindley returned from college when his father died, as the sole heir of Wuthering Heights, with a wife, a haughty, insupportable woman in tow.

And Cathy... She had changed since her brother's return somehow. His childhood soulmate began to drift away from him, when Hindley, now that his father was no longer alive, started to treat Heathcliff like his servant.

He shook his head and squared his shoulders before he headed back to the Heights.

They never understood how it really worked, but since that stormy night, Heathcliff and Cinderella met inside that tree very often.

The dark, serious boy dreaming of revenge and the optimistic girl whose happy, loving, and forgiving spirit not even the greatest injustice of her stepmother and sisters could break became quite inseparable. Soon, they knew everything about each other, all about their hopes and dreams.

It was Cinderella who pulled Heathcliff through his darkest moments when his heart shattered because of Cathy, who, after having spent weeks at Thrushcross Grange returned home changed, polished and haughty, too similar to those people Heathcliff disliked so much, becoming a perfect stranger to him. He could see her infatuation with Edgar-- the son and heir of the Lintons, the owners of the Grange, a pampered, cowardly boy-- growing stronger, even though she refused to admit it. Seeing how he was losing her made him become even more gloomy and unhappy.

For Cinderella, seeing Heathcliff so broken because of another girl wasn't easy. She realised some time ago that somewhere along the way, her friendship for him turned into love... She was driven to the obscure, all-consuming fire burning within her friend like a moth to flame. But she could not admit it, not to him who had never noticed. Who never saw her as anything more than a friend and confidante despite all those nights they spent together talking, or just sitting silently side by side inside of their hazelnut tree, brooding over their unhappy lives, or even sleeping, huddled next to each other on the ground covered with straw and dry leaves.

Then, one day, the girl realised that she... needed to let him go, to districate herself from the power he had over her. She had to force herself to stop hoping that he would ever come to realise that she loved him; his head was too full of his Cathy for that.

Cinderella needed to move on. Find someone she could love, for whom she would feel at least a fraction of the love she felt for Heathcliff, and settle down, move away from this house where her life was becoming unbearable.

It was then that Heatcliff appeared in their tree one night, a large sack slung over his shoulder.

"I'm leaving," he said, cupping her face with one of his palms. "I can't stand it any longer. Maybe once I come back home, rich, she..."

Cinderella brought her finger to his lips even as he kissed her on her forehead, not wanting him to talk about Cathy now.

"I understand," she said, tears threatening, even though she knew that it was better this way. "Good luck, Heathcliff," she whispered, running away from the tree.

Three years passed since Heathcliff left, and Cinderella forbade herself to think about him. Every time she visited her mother's grave, she tried to avoid looking at their tree. That wasn't easy, as each of its countless leaves seemed to scream his name at her each time they trembled in the wind, but she never set foot inside of it nonetheless.

Then, the news about their prince's will to finally find himself a bride spread throughout the kingdom.

The young prince, whom Cinderella met a few times in the town where she was sent to sell flowers and fruits from their garden in the market, was charming enough to make her, like every young girl living in his realm, daydream. He never glanced at her, of course, as he sped across the square on his horse, followed by many laughing, beautiful, well-dressed young ladies.

However, she liked the prince enough to wish to dance with him at least once, Cinderella realised, as she handed the note inviting all the unmarried girls of the kingdom, rich or poor, noble or humble, given to her by one of the king's messengers, to her stepmother.

"Girls, this is the moment we have been waiting for. One of you two, my darlings, will marry the prince, I'm sure! Quick, call all the maids. The first ball is in a few days. There is no time to have new dresses done, but I'm certain that with a few ribbons and jewels, we will do wonders with some of your older ones."

"Mother, what about me?" Cinderella asked, "I do not have a proper dress," she stammered, looking at her old, everyday gown which she had worn for too long, its sleeves and hem too short for the almost eighteen years old girl, its style inappropriate for a young lady.

She blushed so fiercely that the colour was visible even through the layer of ashes and cinders her cheeks were covered with when her stepsisters laughed at her.

"And what would you need a new dress for?" Her stepmother asked seriously, barely suppressing her own laughter.

"For the ball, of course..." Cinderella whispered, feeling mortified as she realised that they never meant to take her with them.

She ran away from them, followed by their booming laughter echoing off the stone walls of the large hall.

Cinderella did not stop until she reached her tree and entered it without thinking. There, she cried herself to sleep.

From that night on, it became her sanctuary again, like all those years back. She only left it to attend to her duties, slowly moving her few possessions from her father's house into the hollow trunk. Because even without Heathcliff, it was the best place, filled with memories of her only childhood friend.

On the night of the first ball the girl cried so inconsolably that she hardly saw her stepsisters, wearing beautiful dresses, entering the coach, followed by her stepmother and father, through her tears and the hazel leaves concealing her from their view. The man seemed to be looking for his daughter for a while but when his wife told him something that Cinderella could not hear, making her daughters already seated inside the carriage laugh, he only smiled, and, shaking his head, followed them inside.

Cinderella cried so hard that at first she did not notice anything out of the ordinary; she did not see them, sitting very still around her and observing her silently with their shiny black eyes at all.