"Miss Clara? Miss Clara? You need to wake up." Yawning, I sat up in my bed. I was still wearing my fancy school clothes. Ick. My maid, Christabel, stood next to my bed. She was wringing her hands and her blue eyes had tears in them.

"Oh dear, I shall be in so much trouble! I will be turned out to the street!" Christabel exclaimed, her lip trembling. I sighed. Christabel, despite being my only friend—or at least the closest thing I had to a friend—had a penchant for worrying.

"What is it, Christie?" I asked. Christabel slowly looked up, meeting my eyes.

"Miss... the banquet is in less than an hour."

I screamed and jumped out of bed. This was not good. It was very, very bad. Stepmother would be furious if I showed up looking like a "heathen." Normally, I could not have cared less if I looked like a heathen. In fact, I rather enjoyed indulging in so-called "heathen-like" behavior--watching Stepmother get her petticoats in a twist was a favorite pastime of mine. But I could not do that. Not today. Today, I needed Stepmother happy.

"Well, come on then! We haven't much time!" I declared. Christabel unlaced the back of my dress. I jumped out of it, quickly removing my petticoats. Christabel ran around, gathering hair ribbons and skirts. Martha, the headmaid, marched in. Her gray hair was pulled up in a severe bun, and her thin mouth was set in a frown. She sighed, seeing the mess of clothes and me standing sheepishly beside them in my chemise and bloomers.

"Clara Maria! You have to look absolutely fetching tonight! Why on Earth did you sleep so long?" she scolded. I shrugged helplessly. Martha marched over to the closet and pulled out a stack of crinolines. 

"Please, no! I am begging you!" I made a mock sad face and dramatically dropped to my knees. Martha shook her head and beckoned for me to come. I grudgingly obliged. I caught Christabel's eyes across the room, and she gave me a look of sympathy. She knew I despised crinoline. It was necessary to create the attractive and glamorous silhouettes required in proper society, but terrible to wear. It was made from horsehair, impossible to wash, and ever so heavy. I glared at Martha as I pulled on the six crinoline skirts. Six! The dark green overskirt was covered in frills and bows. Stepmother had come up with this outfit, I just knew it. I now weighed a hundred pounds more. Well, maybe not a hundred, but it certainly felt like it. Now for the actual dress. The bodice was a matching dark green color and covered in lace and ruffles. I pulled it over my head. Looking at myself in the mirror, I sighed. The petticoats created a large bell skirt, and combined with the corset gave me an hourglass shape. The sleeves were sloping, and the dress was fancier than usual. I glanced at Martha suspiciously.

"There shall be several eligible suitors at the banquet tonight," she whispered. I groaned. Suitors were no fun. Suitors meant giggling and flirting and making a fool of myself. Although I was not to be married for another few years, Stepmother still thought I should begin courting possible future husbands.

 Christabel dragged me over to the vanity. She opened my cosmetics box and pulled out an eyedropper with lemon juice to brighten my eyes.

"Please, Christie. No lemon juice today. It hurts," I whined. Christie sighed and put it away, pulling out pearl powder and beet juice instead. She rubbed the beet juice into my cheeks, and pearl powder was applied evenly around my entire face. I applied some lightly tinted beeswax on my lips and castor oil on my eyelids. Crushed soot on my eyelashes, then a ruby necklace around my neck. Christie shook her head at my hair, which was a mess from my nap. She rubbed oil into it and yanked the brush through tangled hair, which did not do much to improve the situation. At least I had natural curls. Many mornings, I had watched Stepmother wince while getting the curling rags removed from her tightly bound hair. Christie brushed and wrestled my waist-length hair into a chignon at the back of my head, leaving the front down in barley curls. It took countless hairpins and a hairnet before the chignon held. Christie arranged some white roses in the chignon. It looked beautiful; Christie was a genius with hairstyles. I looked like every other lady in high-class society. I hated it. I hated wearing ballgowns, and I hated all this fuss and drama. A knock came from the door, and Stepmother stepped into the room. She smiled.

"You look lovely, Clara Marie."

 I gritted my teeth. I had told her multiple times not to use my full name.

"Suitors shall come flocking!" Stepmother exclaimed. Smoothing her skirt, she sat down on the bed and beckoned for me to sit next to her. I sat hesitantly.

"Now, Clara Marie. I know you are not keen to gather suitors just yet. But it is necessary," she nodded, her white-blonde curls bouncing. "However..." she hesitated, "Are there any suitors that you prefer? To make this easier? If possible, you should marry someone you care about." I stared at her, dumbfounded. Was this about what I thought it was? I had found out from Christie that Stepmother was supposed to be betrothed to a man of a lower class named William before her father decided my father was a better match. Perhaps she had loved William. She must have if she had been planning to enter such a scandalous marriage. Stepmother was very proper. Her words, intended to be kind, angered me. My father was better than any other suitor she could have had. He was kind and smart; she should be grateful she was lucky enough to marry him!

"No. I do not have one I prefer," I said coldly. And it was true. The suitors were all prats. I did not wish to marry any of them. Stepmother sighed.

"All right. But if you change your mind, please tell me. We only want what is best for you," Shaking her head, she stood up."Goodness gracious, we shall be late! Come now, we do not wish to miss the banquet." 

The Duke of Mignoette's yearly banquet was an important event celebrating winter and Christmas. It preceded the ball he held the next day, which was the event of the season. I sighed and grabbed my cape and bonnet. The next two days were going to be tedious.

Our carriage arrived in front of the entrance to the Duke's chateau. As we descended, I noticed there was an old peddler to right of the gate. He stood there with a mailbox labeled "Christmas Wishes."

"Would you like to make a wish, madam?" he asked. "T'is half a pound."

 I looked back, and my father nodded his approval. He gave me 2 shillings. I turned back to the old man. He handed me a paper and quill, already dipped in ink.

"Write down your wish and then put the paper in the box, and the coins in the slot." I lifted the quill, about to write, when he interrupted me. "Oh, and Clara Marie? Don't forget to picture your wish as you write it. It's most important step."

I gawked at the old man. Why did he know my name? He was probably hired by the Duke of Mignonette to pull this trick on all the guests. Despite this, I wrote down my wish. I knew it would not solve anything, for I was not delusional like Christie with her daydreams. But still, I wished that I could be somewhere that I belonged. I wished I would be happy. I wished I had friends and a real mother and that I did not have to go to ridiculous banquets and balls. I nearly believed it worked, and I could have sworn I heard different voices and an odd honking noise, but when I opened my eyes, I was still standing beside the carriage, with a lump in my throat, wearing a stupid ballgown. I refused to feel sorry for myself. I slipped the paper in, and when I put the coins in, a puff of glitter came from the box. I wondered how the mechanics of it worked. Then, I turned and headed into the Duke's house.

I was right. The banquet was mind-numbingly tedious. I pretended to laugh at awful jokes and ignore the whispers and stares of the old crones. They were always whispering about me. The rebellious daughter of the widowed painter. The daughter who got much too angry and spoke far too loudly for a lady of high society. The daughter of a mysterious mother whom no one knew. I did not care. Why should I care what those stuffy ladies thought? I went out of my way to shock them with my "heathenness." But it would have been nice to be accepted. To feel like I belonged. 

When I finally got home, I immediately undressed and crawled into bed. I closed my eyes and held onto the gold locket my father had given me. I blinked away my tears, and let sleep carry me away.