𝐀 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘 - Cinderella AU

IV - in a pose that's familiar

iv.

THE ROYAL PALACE WAS AN IRIDESCENT crystal against the dark horizon as the carriage jostled near. Second by second it grew larger in Isadora's vision, like a shard of broken glass standing taut in the middle of pitch darkness, emanating and attracting every ounce of light in the kingdom towards itself-a throbbing hub of sharp beauty that felt as thought it would pierce her skin to the bone were she to merely touch it.

Like others she knew, the royal palace did not strike at the envy in her heart. Isa knew she had depths of envy in her, but somehow all of it was only stored away-not to be prodded to the surface by any worldly thing it seemed. Then, what was the use of this heavy envy she held for nothing and no one in particular? Why did it stir and weigh heavy in the depths of her being, pushing her body down like the gravity holding onto her feet?

What was the purpose of envy if it wouldn't come out to face her?

Before she could fully realize it, the carriage had pulled up to the front entrance of the palace and she was awash in the startling silver iridescent light radiating off of it. The hubbub of activity around her was a change-an oddly pleasant one to witness.

She spotted some familiar faces from town, adorned in frilly dresses and pruned with features on their attires, large wide smiles marring their expressions as they aided each other out of carriages and up to the steps of the palace—manners tainted and painted with excitement and anxiety in equal measure.

As the driver took Isadora Tremaine's hand and helped her down the carriage, she felt faces in the crowds gathered at the steps, turn to look at her. Murmurs of awed exclamations filled her senses, as she spotted women and men alike whisper to each other, their attentions remaining fixed on her. They didn't approach, their praises of her beauty only restricted to each other's ears and directed through with pointed fingers and wide admiration etched in side eyes.

Isadora Tremaine was a mystery to them, despite having seen her associate with a harlot in town and then going on to adopt the illegitimate child—Isa's beauty slashed at the laws of propriety she had been audacious enough to break. Her stoic demeanor, her high held head, her tendency to speak not more than necessary with even the sellers she purchased things from at market—all of it had rendered her an enigma and invited all sorts of assumptions that she in turn effortlessly avoided facing.

The Tremaines weren't unknown. Toulouse had seen Lady Tremaine's fury often times, in boutiques, at markets, in the streets, through mouths of previously hired maids. They had listened to Lucinda Tremaine's tantrums at boutiques, markets, in streets and through mouths of hired maids too. But Isadora Tremaine had only radiated her silence, making herself unknowingly open to thorough speculation.

Then, her mother and Lucinda stepped out of the carriage behind her, and those same faces that were indulged in deciphering Isa's beauty scrunched up in distaste and hurriedly looked away from the family.

Lady Tremaine noticed the shift immediately. The woman seemed to catch every dip and rise in the air around Isadora as though the latter were a prized capture trussed up for auction—instead, there was no pride in the woman's manner, only the sleek uncharted envy that Isa knew like the back of her hand.

Lady Tremaine took the lead, and Isadora didn't object. Silently the ladies made their way on to the steps as the carriage they had rode in pulled away from behind them.

Isadora held her skirts up slightly as she climbed the stairs with most of the people around her giving her family a wide berth. Those that didn't were very obviously from other parts of France, and Isa felt a certain wonder at them for having come al this way to attend a royal ball for a mere single night of escape from their ordinary lives.