The Step sister - by Hajjar. S

The cinder was where she belonged. It was in her name, after all, and Anastasia and I never let her forget it.Every morning, I would stand at the top of the grand staircase, my silk slippers resting precariously on the polished mahogany, and look down at her. Ella. She would be on her knees, a rough rag in her chapped hands, scrubbing away the mud we had purposefully tracked in from the carriage. Her face was always smudged with ash, her hair a bird’s nest of dull straw.Yet, she smiled. That was what bred the hatred in my bones. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful beneath the dirt, though God knew she was. With skin like milk and eyes like a clear spring sky. It was that she was untouchable. No matter how many heavy iron pots we made her scour, no matter how many times Mother tore her dresses or threw her late father’s porcelain against the floor for Ella to clean, she remained serene. She hummed with the local bluebirds. She whispered secrets to the mice. She looked at us not with anger, but with a horrifying, sickening pity.I hated her because she made me feel small in my own home. I was Drizella. I was born to nobility. I wore velvet dye in the hues of royal violet, and my corset was laced so tight I could barely breathe, all to ensure I looked like a lady. Yet, when I looked in the mirror, I saw the sharp line of my jaw, the permanent scowl etched between my brows, and the hollow emptiness of a girl who knew she was a second-rate choice. Ella didn’t have to try. Even in rags, she possessed a grace that no amount of deportment lessons could buy me.Then, the royal proclamation arrived.The King was throwing a ball. The Prince, a man whose portrait I had stared at until my eyes ached, was to choose a bride. It was my chance. My golden, singular ticket out of Mother’s suffocating shadow and into a life where I would finally be the center of the world.Mother made it clear: Ella was not to go. We tore her mother’s old pink dress to shreds—a collective frenzy of silk, lace, and sheer malice. I remember the rip of the fabric beneath my fingers, the satisfying snap of the sash as I yanked it from her bodice. For a fleeting, glorious second, I saw a tear slip down her cheek. I felt a surge of triumph. Finally, we broke her.But the triumph was short-lived.That night at the palace, amidst the swirling sea of glittering gowns and sparkling chandeliers, the world stopped. A girl entered the ballroom. She wore a gown spun of starlight and glass slippers that caught the candlelight like diamonds. The Prince, who had spent the evening looking thoroughly bored by my clumsy attempts at conversation, froze. His eyes locked onto her, and within seconds, he had abandoned the entire room to take her hand.I watched them dance. I hid behind a marble pillar, my fan clicking furiously against my chin, chewing my lip until it bled. It didn’t take long for the truth to pierce through my denial. The tilt of her head, the soft laugh that echoed above the orchestra. It was her. It was the ash monkey. Somehow, the creature from our scullery had stolen the heavens.When she fled at midnight, leaving nothing but a single glass slipper, panic seized me. The Prince vowed to marry whoever fit the shoe. Mother immediately began plotting, but her plan was weak. She thought only of forcing our swollen, aristocratic feet into that impossible glass mold. I knew better. I knew that even if Anastasia or I managed to cram our toes into the slipper, the Prince would see through the deception the moment he looked at our faces. He loved her.To secure my future, I didn’t just need to fit the shoe. I needed to eliminate the competition entirely.The day the Grand Duke’s carriage was spotted at the bottom of our hill, Mother locked Ella in the attic. She thought that was enough. But as I stood in my bedroom, adjusting my stiff lace collar, I heard a faint scratching above me. It was the mice. Those wretched little vermin she fed scraps to were scuttling down the floorboards. One of them had a heavy brass key clamped in its tiny jaws.They were going to let her out.A cold, calculating rage washed over me. I grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from my vanity and stepped into the hallway. I waited just outside the attic door. The mice emerged from the shadows, dragging the key toward the lock. With a swift, merciless strike, I slammed the candlestick down, crushing the wooden floorboards right beside them. The mice scattered, squeaking in terror, dropping the key.I snatched it up."Drizella?" Ella’s soft, muffled voice came through the thick wood of the door. "Please. Let me out. The Duke is here.""Quiet, you miserable wretch," I hissed, leaning my forehead against the door. "You think you belong down there? With him? Look at yourself. You are a servant. You are the dirt beneath our boots. You played dress-up for an evening, but the masquerade is over.""He loves me," she whispered. There was no anger in her voice, only a devastating conviction. "And I love him.""He loves a fantasy!" I spat, my voice rising in a venomous tirade. "He loves a girl who doesn't exist. If he sees you now, covered in the soot of our fireplace, smelling of sour dishwater, he will turn away in disgust. I am saving you from the humiliation, Ella. Stay in the dark where you belong."I took the key and marched down the stairs, shoving it deep into the pocket of my petticoat. Downstairs, the Grand Duke was waiting. Anastasia was already crying, her bleeding toes refusing to yield to the glass slipper. Mother was frantic, hovering over her like a vulture."My turn," I announced, stepping forward with a practiced, icy smile.I sat on the velvet stool. The Duke’s page knelt before me, holding the shimmering glass shoe. I shoved my foot forward. It was agonizing. The glass was rigid, unforgiving. My heel caught on the edge, and my toes curled violently against the narrow tip."Push, Drizella!" Mother whispered hoarsely, her fingers digging into my shoulder.I pushed. I forced my foot down with every ounce of hatred, ambition, and desperation inside me. I imagined crushing Ella’s spirit. I imagined standing on the palace balcony, wearing a crown, looking down at the world that had deemed me ugly and second-rate.But my foot was too wide. The glass didn't budge."I am sorry, my lady," the Grand Duke sighed, motioning for the page to retrieve the slipper. "It does not fit.""Wait!" Mother cried. "There must be another way!"Suddenly, a commotion echoed from the grand staircase. My heart stopped. Down the stairs walked Ella.I whipped around, my hand flying to my pocket. The key was still there. How? Then I saw them—a dozen mice, working in tandem with the bluebirds, had somehow lifted the heavy iron hinges off the back of the ancient door. She was free. She hadn't even used the lock. She had bypassed me entirely.She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her apron torn, her face smudged, but her head held high."I believe I have the other slipper," Ella said softly, drawing a matching glass shoe from her apron pocket.The Grand Duke gasped. Mother lunged forward to stop her, but the royal guards blocked her path. I stood up from the stool, my chest heaving, the hatred burning so hot in my throat I thought it would choke me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear the glass shoe from her hand and shatter it against the stone floor.But as the Prince's men knelt before her, and the glass slipper slid flawlessly onto her foot, I froze.Ella didn’t look at the Duke. She didn’t look at the guards. She looked straight at me.There was no malice in her eyes. No smug triumph. No revenge. There was only that same, horrifying, gentle pity. She looked at me, saw the ugly rage twisting my face, and she smiled a small, sad smile.In that exact moment, I realized the bitter truth. I hadn't lost the Prince because of a missing key, or a locked door, or a foot too wide for a glass shoe. I had lost because I was consumed by the darkness I tried so hard to force her into. She was going to the palace, and I was left behind, trapped forever in the cold, bitter cinders of my own making.

Other insights from Hajjar. S

Referral Earning

Points-to-Coupons