Ugly: A Faerie Tale Retold

Chapter Six: The Dress

I followed her. "Wait! Ella, it's all right." My words shook as I trotted up the stairs. "Some day, you'll be a wealthy lady, and you can host your own balls. Don't worry. I—"

Ella whirled on me. "Don't even try to comfort me, Thisbe! I don't want to look at you! If Father hadn't been so taken with the thought of being a hero and rescuing you from your plight, I wouldn't be here. I'd be happily married already, or at least getting ready to go to this ball. Father would've bought me a new dress and shoes and would've escorted me to the ball in a beautiful carriage, and—" She covered her face and burst into tears, sinking down onto the stairs.

I felt trapped in ice for a moment, and I couldn't move. I couldn't hate her for what she said, because every word of it was true. Monsieur, why did you do this for me?

As always, an overwhelming sense of my debt to him flooded over me. "Listen to me, Ella." I put my hand on her golden head. "You will go to the ball. We'll clean this house like it's never been cleaned before, and we will make you a dress, if it means I don't sleep at all this week. Let's go choose some curtains, and then we'll scrub the floors."

Like a little child, she took my hand and let me lead her up to the attic.

"There are plenty of curtains here, so what color do you like best?"

"Blue." She sniffled and drew her sleeve across her face.

I opened a trunk and drew out a stack of pale blue curtains. "Perfect. What about these?"

She nodded, rubbing her eyes.

"And we can put lace overtop. Here's an old lace tablecloth. This should do. We can use napkins on the sleeves...." I'd never made a dress before, but here I was, planning it all out.

"Where will we get thread?"

"Look around. There must be a box somewhere with some thread in it."

We dug around for a half hour or so before finding three spools of black thread. I already had the needle I used to patch Ella's dresses, and an old pair of shears. "There. Tonight we can start working on it."

Ella threw her arms around me and squeezed tight. "Thank you, Thisbe!"

I coughed and tried to extract myself from her grip. "Yes, well..."

"No, really, really, thank you."

I shook my head, but I couldn't help smiling a little. "Then you're welcome. Now hurry. Let's get started on those floors."

We worked like machines, until our arms were sore, getting about a third of the floors done in that one day. At around ten o' clock, when we finished cleaning up after supper, we spread out the curtains and formulated a plan. By looking at one of Ella's other dresses, I gathered a dim idea of how a bodice ought to go, and we started cutting out pieces. Ella went to bed before midnight. I might've gotten an hour of sleep that night.

The next four days were a blur of sleepless activity. I cleaned mechanically all day, and sewed mechanically all night. For you, Monsieur Beauchȇne, I said over and over in my head. But it wasn't just for Monsieur Beauchȇne anymore. It really was for Ella now. Foolish as she could be, she deserved a magical night.

By the evening of the ball, we had, as promised, completed all the tasks Mother commanded, and the dress was done. Perhaps a professional seamstress might've done better, but Ella didn't care. She put it on in the attic and twirled back and forth before a broken mirror, light pouring from her face and rewarding me for my pricked and swollen fingers and exhausted mind.

Tears sparkled in her eyes. "Oh, Thisbe! I've never seen such a beautiful dress!"

Lace covers over a multitude of sins, dear, I thought, glaring at a few mostly-hidden puckered seams. "I'm glad you like it."