iii.

31st January, 1789

ISADORA TREMAINE STOOD IN front of the looking glass in her chamber, her ebony eyes fixed on the reflected form of her little boy playing on the bed in the background, engaged in an intense exchange between his wooden carved horse and a nutcracker doll Isa had found in the attic during Christmas the past December.

Her hands found her bodice as she smoothened the already precise material of her sparkling deep red gown. The stark color accentuated the black of her irises and that of her hair-which was swept up in a beautiful do at the crown of her head, pieces of loose curls cascading down at the back and in the front framing her face.

Isadora wore no jewelry except for a makeshift necklace she had forged out of a piece of discarded thick black lace and a deep maroon square shaped gem the size of a pigeon's egg, that had fallen out of one of her older dresses. She wore the invention tied around her neck, having done her best to ensure the knot at the back wouldn't be as obvious. Her finger kept touching the gem she had attached in the center absently, it matched her dress in an oddly profound way.

She had been given a few extra bit of money aside from her allowance to purchase the jewelry. Lady Tremaine had been adamant that Isadora go out to market and buy something for the dress—for the former was much too exhausted to venture out another day after the whole day it had taken before to procure the fabrics and have the dresses stitched professionally.

Isadora hadn't spent that extra money, she had silently hoarded it, safely keeping it away with the rest of the money she had been saving up for little Archie. She intended to lie to her mother when asked. Isadora was no stranger to lies, she had learned the art of it from her own family. It came as natural to her as her own breath.

The sun was still a deep orange in the French sky outside the window and over the chateau. Isa knew that as soon as it fell, drowning in its own red orange fire, the carriage rented to take the family to the palace would pull up at the chateau.

She glanced at Archie, the little boy now cross legged on the bed as he spoke the dialogues he had given to both his tiny horse and the nutcracker—a conversation that sounded to Isa a saccharine delight straight into her heart.

She was wary of having to leave him behind for the brief hours she'd be at the palace. She had debated if she could bring him at all, keep a hold on his tiny hand and have him right at her side during the event, but her protectiveness was likely to irritate him. Archie was a free spirit, the boy was seemingly made for open plains and butterflies fluttering all around him with his shoes covered in mud as a result of his excursions in the chateau gardens sometimes in the midst of the sporadic bouts of his restless distress—all unlike Isa, with her own periphery clad in the materialistic luxury of life as her spirit desperately sought the comfort in things procured by wealth.

It was Archie's misfortune perhaps, that he had gotten stuck with Isadora as his mama. A woman who was worlds different from his biological mother—a woman who would most likely never be able to completely fill out the shoes that had been left out for her.

Isa's anthracite eyes stung with tears as she blinked them away, forcing a smile on her face as she spun to approach her little boy.

"What are you playing sweetheart?"

Archie looked up at her, startled out of his game as his bright blue eyes recognized her and he smiled widely.

"Nutcracker wants to ride my horsy," Archie started, his voice thoughtful as his eyes dropped to the scene he had set out in front of him on the bed. "But horsy doesn't want anyone to ride him."

Isadora let out a soft laugh, before seating herself on the edge of the bed. She reached out her hand and cupped the boy's soft chubby cheek, leaning in to place a kiss on his forehead and brushing away a stray curl after.

"Horsy doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to," Isa spoke gently, her eyes drinking in every curve and dip on little Archie's face—his every detail memorized in her heart and mind.

Archie's light brown brows furrowed as he looked at her, confused.

"But mama, horsy is supposed to. Nutcracker will get angry."

His words were thick as he took his time trying to convey his thoughts into words—a feat the little boy was yet to excel at, though he was a beautiful learner if Isadora had ever seen one.

"No sweetheart," Isa brought Archie's face closer to her, pressing him against her chest as she placed a kiss in his curly light brown hair. He smelled of the sweet cake Isa had let him indulge in at lunch, and the sugary strawberry frosting he had happily dug into.

"Sometimes people don't want to do what they are supposed to. But that doesn't mean they are wrong, or that others have a right to be angry at them. Sometimes your heart wants something else than what it is supposed to want. And that's alright, sweetheart, that's perfectly alright."

"Yes mama," Little Archie nodded his head against Isadora's chest, and she exhaled, pressing another kiss into his hair as she freed him from her desperate grasp.

The boy gave her another smile, before diverting his attention back to the direction of the scene he had been occupying himself with. Isa watched him change the script, his movements and preciously raw presence alone tugging furiously at her heart strings. She watched him change the scene—smiled as he gave happy dialogues to both his characters and made them indulge into something mutually agreeable to both the horsy and the nutcracker.

Outside of her chambers, she could hear the hurried footfalls of her sister and mother, along with those of Cinderella, in various areas of the chateau—as each tried to do what all that needed to be done in the short time before they would have to leave. Two of them firm in their belief of the promise of a magical night ahead, and one only hopeful to reach far enough and grasp it.

Isadora Tremaine hoped silently then, that her mother had given Cinderella enough chores. Maybe then she could find respite in the thought that Archie would have someone else in the chateau with him and not just the underpaid gardener Lady Tremaine forced into work at the chateau gardens with weaponized threats. The gardener had twice barely indulged Archie in the little boy's muddy excursions, but the man was blunt and careless—devoid of any tenderness when faced with a child. And Isadora Tremaine had long decided that she would be damned if she let anyone show her four year old boy anything but tenderness.

Silently, she sat with Archie as the boy played, her eyes wandering over to the window and catching the half drowned sun. The sky was streaked with pink and red hues, the orange slowly burning itself out against the darkening canvas.

Isadora thought then, how much she preferred days over nights. Nights were terrifying. The darkness gathered demons raging inside her and brought her face to face with ones that raged inside those she knew. The day was brighter, the light didn't let the demons breathe, choking them out one by one before their resurrection come moonlight.

Archie took hold of one of her hands gently, bringing Isa out of her reverie as the boy placed her palm on his cheek and caressed his face against her warmth. The horse and nutcracker lay discarded at the side.

Isadora took hold of his face, brought him close and kissed his chubby cheek as Archie rested his head against her chest.

"Sweetheart, have you tired so quickly? You slept a lot in the morning."

"No mama," The four year old shook his head, despite his somewhat restricted movement in Isadora's gentle hold. "I'm not tired. I will wait for you to come back."

"Then I shall hurry back," Isa spoke in his hair, light brown curls tickling her chin delicately.

"No mama, I can wait."

The statement was so simple that it startled Isadora as she bit her lip to keep from faltering.

Wait. That was what the little boy had done ever since he saw his real mother last. He had waited and waited, and Isadora had churned in her distress, watching her hands shake violently in flickering candlelight for lack of anything more she could've done to ease Archie's pain.

"I will not make you wait," She managed softly, keeping her voice steady. "I will never make you wait, sweetheart. You don't deserve to wait on people. You deserve so much more."

Archie lifted his head from her chest, his sparkling blue eyes searching for hers.

"But I don't mind waiting for you, mama."

Isadora's eyes burned again, tears clogging her vision as she held them at bay, wrapping her arms against the curly haired boy and pulling him close again.

"Alright, sweetheart."

Somewhere in the chateau, without her realizing it, an eerie calm had filled the air before a shriek pierced the air.

Lucinda Tremaine's vocal cords were no enigma and Isadora could have them shatter her resolve like fine glass even in death.

"Why, mother!" The girl shrieked somewhere in the foyer perhaps. "Those are my beads she's wearing! How dare she?"

Archie stirred against Isa, holding onto her tighter for fear that the anger he was hearing would turn onto him. It never had—Isadora made sure of it always, but little boys feared, she supposed, at least she would be by his side until he realized he didn't have to fret.

Cinderella must've appeared after all, Isa thought vaguely. The girl must've hurried her chores-for she wasn't the kind to skip them over and lie about the act. Irritation surged over Isadora, for she was counting on having the scullery maid at the chateau to keep an eye on little Archie.

Another cry sounded from the foyer, and this one was delicate—this one was Cinderella's. A tear sounded, a collective clash echoed throughout the chateau walls—the impact of glass beads hitting the floor in a compact before scattering.

Isa didn't have to bother to go look to figure what was occurring. The scene unfolding was undoubtedly a display by Lady Tremaine's coarse bottled up fury which stemmed from so many derivations that Isadora could spend an eternity counting them, and Lucinda's aggressive fire that was fueled by nothing more than her petulant sister's pure envy.

"No, please!" Cinderella cried out. "Please don't."

"What is happening, mama?" Little Archie lifted his head to meet Isadora's eyes, his blue orbs dim in their confusion and worry.

"It's Cinderella, sweetheart," Isa gently pushed a curl away from his from forehead. "She's made my mother and sister annoyed."

Archie blinked, registering the information in his head.

"Cinderella doesn't like me, mama," The four year old spoke after a pause, brows still slightly pinched together before he rested his head back against Isadora's neck and clasped his small arms around her.

"That doesn't matter to me or anyone else," Isa managed, her fury at the stepsister turned scullery maid igniting, perhaps the treatment occurring in the foyer was not uncalled for.

"It doesn't matter what people think of us," She spoke in his strawberry frosting scented curly hair. "But it matters what we think of ourselves."

Archie nodded against her, his hold around her tightening. "I like me mama, and I love you."

Isadora stilled, shutting her eyes tight, embracing her little boy tighter.

"And I love you too, so much."

They held each other for a while and Isadora rocked slightly.

"Isadora! The carriage is here, you must make haste!" Lucinda Tremaine voice rode the still winds from the foyer and burst into Isa's senses.

She separated from her hug with Archie, pushed his curls gently away so that she could properly see his face.

"Sweetheart stay in this chamber alright?" She instructed, caressing the soft skin at his cheek. "I promise I will hurry back as soon as I can."

"Look," Isadora gestured to the foot of the bed. "I had all your toys brought in and some paper and colors for you to paint too. Keep busy, sweetheart, just for while."

The little boy nodded his head. "I will. Don't worry mama."

Cinderella wasn't to be going anyhow, and at least there would be someone else in the chateau and her boy wouldn't be all alone. Isadora exhaled, taking the little comfort that fact gave her after placing a kiss on Archie's cheek she got up and made her way out of the chamber, giving her little boy one last smile and a gentle wave which he happily reciprocated.

Stepping down the stairs and into the foyer, she met her waiting mother and sister, both of whom gave Isadora looks she was all too familiar with.

"I should've worn red mother," Lucinda turned her nose up, turning her face away so she wouldn't have to look upon the choices that she believed she should've made—choices that had everything to do with who Isadora was and how she appeared and not just what she wore on the eve of a royal ball.

In her startling mint green gown, Lucinda was adorned in the obnoxious ruffles stitched onto the hems and bodice of her dress—not unlike the giant feature protruding from the crown of her head and standing taller than her. Lady Tremaine was dressed in a comparatively toned brown gown, with simple yet intricate silver embroidery on the bodice-her silver grey hair piled atop her head like it always was.

"I see you have forgone jewelry," The lady of the house spoke grimly, having finished her obligated scrutiny of her eldest daughter.

Isadora Tremaine managed a small laugh. "No woman entirely forgoes jewelry, mother. I simply decided that it was too much for me at present. Not all of us like to entirely drown in it like Lucinda, wouldn't you say?"

Lucinda gasped and sneered at the taunt, effectively ignored by her elder sister.

"What of the boy?" Lady Tremaine asked then, the woman's jaw tight at the passive humor her daughter seemed all too keen for most every moment of every day.

Isa narrowed her eyes slightly, feeling the ground underneath her heels in order to distract herself from her anger. Her mother had not once in the past few days asked what would become of Archie alone in the chateau while they would be off gallivanting at the royal ball. Isadora knew her mother didn't care, she didn't care even now—it was only the lack of conversational topics between the two of them that had forced the woman to grab onto anything she could find.

But Isadora wasn't much for idle talk that did nothing to ease her grating hatred.

"Goodness, mother," She managed a frown. "You worry too much."

With that being said, she swept past her mother and promenaded out of the chateau to the waiting carriage outside under the night sky, as Lady Tremaine and Lucinda trotted in a single file behind her.

The sky was dark, and Isadora found herself startled at how quickly the night had taken over. There was no sign of the pink and red streaks that had painted the sky just moments before. She found herself wishing the time would pass by just as quickly at the ball, her own red pink streaks dulling out into a coherent single color so that she would be able to see what the future held in store for herself and little Archie clearly ahead.

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A/N:
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