Dirt and Ashes

Mama met him at market. He is a tall, brooding man with a mustache. I like him. So does Grace. He is kind to us, brings us sweets and trinkets from his travels. But then he brings his daughter. Alina is a beautiful girl. She is my age, fifteen, and spoiled. She scowls at Grace and I behind her father's back.

“Why don't you girls play in the garden?” Mama askes us. I get the hint. “Yes, Mama.” I smile at Alina. We are going to be sisters soon. I want us to be friends, giggling about secrets, sharing a room, and teasing each other about boys. And I try so hard. “Come on, Alina, the garden is beautiful right now.” And indeed, it is. There are blossoms everywhere, sweet scents fill the air.

We walk out the back door and Grace and I sit down on two of the three swings hanging from our apple tree. Alina kneels on the ground and begins rubbing dirt on her face. “What are you doing?” Grace asks. “You are so pretty. Why dirty yourself?” Alina just smiles.

Once she is covered head to toe with dirt, her eyes begin to well with tears.

“Are you allergic to something?” I ask with concern. Grace suddenly laughs.

“Ashlina!” She chuckles. “You are covered in dirt and ashes!” I glare at her.

“Don't be rude, Grace.” Ashlina starts to cry. Loudly. I hear feet pounding through the house, and then the door opens with a bang.

“What is wrong?” Mama's worried face is peering out at us. She sees Ashlina sitting there, covered in dirt, and turns her eyes towards us.

“What have you girls done?”

“Nothing Mama.” Grace says. “Honest. She covered herself in dirt.”

Mama glares at me. “Charm, what truly happened?”

“Just what Grace said, Mama.”

Mama did not believe us. She fell for Ashlina's pretty face just like everyone else. “Go to your rooms. Now!” The anger in her voice makes us obey the injustice. As we walk up the steps, Grace and I can hear mother speaking kindly to Ashlina. “Now child, you just go take a bath and I'll get you some clothes.”

I hate Ashlina. I hate that she can get whatever she wants with a bat of her pretty eyes. I hate that Mama believes her over us. Over her own daughters. And it only gets worse when she moves in.

Ashlina abuses us with her words, bashing us ceaselessly. She guilts Mama into giving her the best. She demands that she get a room to herself, even though Grace and I share one.

While Grace and I are peeling potatoes and Mama is busy making an apple pie, Ashlina dresses herself in a ragged outfit and scurries her little horrible self outside to hang laundry. Mama is pleasantly surprised, since Ashlina usually leaves us to do chores.

By the weeks end, everyone is talking about that poor soul of a child who slaves away day and night working while her mean stepsisters and mean stepmother stuff themselves and do nothing.

Even though Grace and I tell our friends the truth, their parents say otherwise. And even if they do want to play with us, their Mamas and Papas won't let them.

I am seventeen when the prince's masquerade ball invitations come around. Grace, Ashlina, and I all get one. They’re golden parchment in golden envelopes with golden seals. Along with each one is a tiny portrait of the prince.

I set to work making a dress immediately. It’s silver and blue, with pearls lining the hem. I have a pearl necklace to go with it, along with blue gloves. My mask is of swan feathers with pearls around the eyes. And then, Mama surprises me. She gets me, as her eldest daughter, a pair of shimmering crystal shoes.

I am so happy that I deck up Grace and Ashlina's dresses too. Ashlina's dress is similar to mine, only where blue is on my dress is silver, and were silver is is blue. Grace has a dress of rose pink, charming on her.

The day of the ball, Ashlina refuses to come with us. She says that she is ill. And so we leave without her.

We arrive at the ball with the swarm and walk in to see hundreds of people roaming about, all with masks. A man with an ostrich feather mask takes my arm, and one with purple mask takes Grace's. We dance for a while, and my ostrich feather man tells me jokes and stories. He askes for my name, but doesn't offer his. While I am getting a drink, ostrich feathers joins a group of men. But then, someone new comes in. Someone with a blue and silver dress bedecked with pearls. Someone with a swan feather mask. Ostrich feathers takes her arm; takes Ashlina's arm, and dances with her. As they pass in a swirl of silk and feathers, I hear him call her Charm. He thinks he is dancing with me.

I watch, dumbfounded, as ostrich feathers gets down on one knee.

“Will you marry me, Charm?” He askes. I step forward as Ashina says

“Yes.”

“I am Charm.” I say it fiercely. Ostrich feathers looks from Ashlina to me, then back to Ashlina.

“Take off your mask.” He says to her. She does, and the moment he sets his eyes on her, he is bewitched.

“This is Charm!” He says it triumphantly, raising Ashlina's arm in the air.

“And I am Prince Henri!” Applause rings out with gusto. I feel tears streaming down my face behind my mask as I turn away. Look at what I have lost. At what Ashlina has gained by trickery.

I go home that night and rip my dress to shreds. The gloves I sew together at the hem, and my shoes, I shatter using a frying pan. Then I take the mask and chop it with the axe until it looks like a slaughterhouse. Finally, I take my invitation to the prince's ball. I hold a match under the tiny portrait until is nothing but ash.

Dirt and ashes.