If the Shoe Fits

Slipper

    Anastasia fought tears as they burned in her eyes by gritting her teeth. Her feet were stinging worse than they had in days, and they had probably bled through the tightly wrapped bandages. It was her mother’s idea to walk to the castle even though it was quite a ways from their house. As they had begun to walk she’d explained her plan to her daughter. She was supposed to appear as a poor girl who had never experienced any luxury (though she was in a middle class family which had never experienced many problems with money); she would be the humble heroine of a nice fairytale and it would win the public over...and in the best case scenario, her soon-to-be husband would fall for her because of it, too. That was the complicated part; every impression had to be just right. She’d never met her prince before.

     “I’ve been thinking...” Anastasia said quietly.

    “Is there a problem?” her mother snapped.

    “I was just wondering,” she spoke up, “What will happen when he sees my face? Won’t he know that I’m not the girl he’s been looking for? I mean, he won’t remember me, but won’t he remember Cinderella?”

    “Dear,” her mother smiled, “if he remembered her face, would he have sent for her feet?” With that, she turned and began walking home. There wasn’t so much as a goodbye, but Anastasia hadn’t expected or wanted one. As she began walking, brown suitcases in hand, she thought about the day they came in search of the perfect foot.

     They lived far enough away from the castle that word had spread from the closer houses of the prince’s plan before anyone from the castle came to see them. A few days before then, there had been a ball held at the castle, the only other time Anastasia had ever been inside. Every girl between the ages of eighteen and thirty had been invited. It started with each of the girls meeting the prince; he was to choose a girl to dance with. He rejected every single one in a loud, annoyed voice until the very last girl, who he asked to dance enthusiastically. That last girl had been Cinderella.

    She hadn’t shared any personal details, apparently, because days later people who worked for the king had been sent out in all different directions in search of a girl whose foot fit the silk slipper that Cinderella had left behind in her hurry to leave. The second Anastasia’s mother caught wind of this, she formed a plan.

     One day an extremely short man with a round face knocked on their door. He had short black stubble in the shape of a moustache, like he was just starting to grow one; it didn’t quite have the desired effect so early on, though, and made him look like a boy going through puberty.

    “What is it?” Drizella snapped when she opened the door.

    “I’ve brought the shoe,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice. By that time he must have realized that word had gotten around on its own and that he required no further explanation.

     “Drizella, dear, why don’t you head the kitchen and make some tea?” the voice from behind her wasn’t dripping with faked sweetness, but it didn’t sound like an order, either. Their mother had perfected her acting skills and was frighteningly believable.

    Drizella moved quickly and gracefully in a way that even Cinderella could not as she left the doorway.

    “Lady Tremaine,” she smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as if it didn’t already look perfect. “But I prefer Delores.”

    “You have one daughter?” he asked, skipping an introduction.

    “I have three,” she eyed the slipper, which was ontop of an embroidered cushion that the man carried.  “But only two of them attended the ball.”

    “Are either of them the mystery lady?” he asked only because it was the king’s orders. Everyone said yes.

    “Well, she hasn’t said much,” her smile grew wider as she leaned towards him to whisper, “but I think she may be.”

    “Before we can make anything official, she must try on this slipper,” he frowned, “it’s not much proof, but it’s all we’ve got.”

    “Yes, about that...” for a second, she deliberately lost eye-contact in faked concern. “My daughter had an accident a few days before the ball. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but her feet have been badly injured. I hope she should be able to wear the bandages when she tries on the shoe?”

    “Was she wearing them the night of the ball?”

    “Yes.”

    “I see no problem, then.”

    She beamed at him and clasped her hands together. “I’ll go get her, then. I do hope it fits!” There was never a shadow of doubt in her mind that it would. She’d already tried it with the other slipper, which she had taken from Cinderella despite her screaming in protest.

    The second Anastasia slid her bandaged foot into the slipper, the man’s face transformed from a tired expression to one of relief-his search was finally over and he wouldn’t have to knock on another door.

     “My darling, I knew it all along!” her mother cheered, still in-character. It felt extremely cold to Anastasia, being one of the only people in the world who could ever have guessed that she was acting. “We should start packing your bags immediately! This is the day I’ve always waited for!” As far as she could tell, that last sentence wasn’t a lie.