It was the evening of the ball, and still Cinder didn't regret his decision.

The past days had been busy. All the young people in town had suddenly realized they needed dancing shoes, and plenty had come to him with bribes and pleas to still have them done in time. Cinder had told them off for not checking earlier, but he had also completed all the orders. Just barely, but he had made it.

And now, he thought, he would have absolute peace for a night. No one else at home, not even the maid. Just him and the silence and space to think and be himself.

The others, of course, still didn't get it. They had given up on pestering him, but now they wouldn't stop rubbing it in his face that they were going and he wasn't. As if he would get jealous or something. Little did they know.

"Cinder, Cinder!" Izetta shouted, waltzing into the workshop before he could respond, with Marietta following close behind. "How do we look?"

He studied them up and down. They did look pretty. Their gowns were no match for those of nobility but very much up to fashion, made of shimmering satins, cut to complement their figures as best as possible, adorned with so many frills and ribbons that he barely knew where to look. Their hair was gathered in matching curly updos, bleached golden for the occasion in Marietta's case, light brown in Izetta's. They had never looked better, but all Cinder saw when he looked at their dresses was the price of the shiny materials.

"Presentable," he said.

"Because we prepared for a ball," Marietta said smugly. "And you didn't. And now you have to stay home all alone in your ugly old rags."

"It's too late for you to change your mind now," Izetta added with a flippant gesture. "Too bad, so sad."

Cinder shrugged, obviously not the reaction they were hoping for. "I'll pass."

"Careful with your gowns, girls!" Hestia's voice came through the door. "Hurry up and put on your coats, it's almost time for the carriage to leave."

He lifted his head. In the doorframe he caught a glimpse of her: dressed to the nines just like her daughters, looking years younger than she was. Almost as if she, too, was hoping for a chance to marry the prince. Or maybe someone else with money. Husbands were easy to replace after all, he thought bitterly, if they had only ever been a means to provide for oneself.

"Well, Cinder, we're leaving," she called into the workshop, sticking her head in. "Try not to get too lonely here without us."

The way she said it made it obvious that she still wasn't over him not going. Cinder clicked his tongue, crossing his arms in defense. "Try not to get too disappointed when you all come back single."

"This boy, I swear," he caught her muttering as she and the girls walked outside. There was the clopping of hooves, then the carriage moved past the window, Izetta and Marietta both waving at him with smug smiles on their faces. They really thought they were about to have the time of their lives and come back with the men of their dreams, Cinder thought with amusement. Oh, to be this naïve again.

With a heavy, relaxed sigh he closed the window-shutters and retreated into the house

This was the life, he thought as he took out the broom to sweep the floors in peace. Just being able to do what needed doing, with no one messing up his work or flooding him with unnecessary chatter. He'd have to check the pantry later too, see if anything inside was at risk of spoiling, then take care of the fireplaces. They already weren't being cleaned often enough for his taste as it was; he never had the time.

And when he was done, he thought, he would curl up in his room with a blanket and one of his books.

Cinder had barely had time to think that when there was a knock on the door.

For a moment he was tempted to ignore it. Pretend no one was home and hope whoever was trying to bother him would take the hint and leave. Then he changed his mind. It might be his step-family who had forgotten something.

So, with a heavy sigh, he put aside the broom and cautiously opened the door.

The person outside was neither Hestia nor the girls. Indeed it was no one he had ever seen in his life; certainly no one from the town or any of the nearby villages. It was, however, a woman; she was dressed all in pink, and all her clothes were completely out of date and from wildly different eras. Despite the snow and freezing cold her garments were light, and yet she wasn't shivering. Her hair was pulled up into a complicated, gravity-defying shape on top of her head, and its hue was as pinkish as the rest of her outfit.

"Hello, darling!" she chimed, waving at him like she had known him for years. "It's so good to see you!"

Cinder stared at her for a good moment, then he slammed the door shut.

Probably had the wrong house, he told himself. Not his problem.

Except, as soon as he turned his back, the lady knocked again.

"What?" he asked, opening the door a second time. "You're at the wrong house! No one's home except me!"

"Oh, but love," she answered, "you're the one I'm looking for, actually—"

Cinder slammed the door in her face a second time.

More knocks. He ignored them. Sooner or later, he thought, she'd have to give up or she would freeze to death. It wasn't like she could keep knocking out there all night in this snow, in these flimsy summer clothes.

Still the knocking didn't subside, for one minute, two minutes, three minutes. Cinder was trying to get a headache. He was half tempted to open the door again just to yell at her to back off, but he chose to mind his manners and withdraw to his room until the racket stopped.

The pounding grew louder as he climbed up the stairs, as if the lady could tell what he was doing. He walked faster, and as he reached the door to his room, suddenly all was quiet.

With a sigh of relief he opened the door.

"Really now, my dear," said the lady standing in the middle of his room. "Don't you know it's rude to close the door in people's faces like that?"

For a good, solid moment, Cinder simply stood there, staring at her, shell-shocked.

Then he did what any sensible person would do in his situation and screamed.

"You!" he shouted, grabbing the broom, lifting it against her like a weapon. "How did you get in here?"

"Magic, of course," she said in the tone of someone who had just been asked an extremely stupid question. "Put that down, sweetheart. Nothing you keep in this house can hurt me, you know?"

Cinder lowered the broom, but only slightly.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Sugar Plum, dear boy," she said, twirling something in her hand. Cinder squinted. It looked like a normal stick, except that its sides were carved with symbols he didn't understand.

"I'm your fairy godmother."

Cinder's jaw hung open.

"My what."

"Your fairy godmother, darling, it's not that hard to understand." She twirled and danced around him, making him dizzy. "You know what a godmother is?"

"I don't have any godparents," Cinder answered warily.

"You do now, honeypie. Anyway, no time for long explanations—what are you still doing here?" Sugar Plum pouted at him. "You should already be at the ball, winning the heart of the prince of this kingdom!"

Cinder's eye twitched.

She too? Why was everyone so obsessed with him going to that ball?

"I'm not going," he snapped, lifting the broom again. "I see no point. I hate social events anyway and new clothes would cost—Hey! What—Where are you taking me?"

Without waiting for him to finish, Sugar Plum had grabbed him by the arm and was dragging him through the corridor and back down the stairs. "None of that attitude, young man," she lectured him. "You have a place to be tonight, and that place is not this ratty old house. Come on!"

Cinder struggled against her, but her grip was like iron. "Let me go!" he sputtered, pushing and pulling and yanking in vain. "Let me go! I'm not interested! Stop it!"

To his surprise Sugar Plum did stop, though she didn't let go of his arm. "What's wrong, love?"

"Everything!" Cinder struggled again, to no avail. "Why are you taking me to a ball I don't want to be at? Can't I just stay home, for crying out loud!"

Sugar Plum gave him a look that was almost pitying.

"It's not your fate to stay home tonight," she said simply.

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"Fate isn't supposed to make sense. Now come on, your carriage is waiting!"

"What carriage? I don't even have clothes for a ball, let alone a—"

Sugar Plum stopped. Frowned. Looked at him.

"True," she said. "You are in need of a makeover."

"Exactly," Cinder answered triumphantly. "So let me—"

His self-proclaimed fairy godmother sighed, furrowed her brow and waved her wand.

A ripple went through him. Cinder blinked, and suddenly he found his worn-out old clothes gone. In their stead he was clad in the finest silks, his coat black and tailored to his figure, his waistcoat buttons and shirt cuffs studded with diamonds. His black hair, messily tied out of his face for the job, had disappeared out of his face, and when he felt for it it was slicked back and smooth and unnaturally silky. On his face sat a mask.

"What did you do?" he sputtered.

"Magic, honey," Sugar Plum chimed. "The spell won't hold forever, of course. It'll wear off at midnight, so make sure you're out of sight by then, all right?"

Cinder stepped backwards. "Wait—"

"What now?"

Frantically his eyes darted around the room, searching for another excuse to stay home. "The housework!" he burst out at last. "Someone needs to do it, and if I'm not home—"

"Oh! Child's play," she said, waving her wand again. The messy room became cleaner than it had ever been. "Now go on and enjoy yourself out there!"

"Wait!" Cinder shouted as she dragged him towards the door. "No!"

Then they stood outside, and she flung him into a carriage pulled by black horses, steered by a man in a tall hat whose face he couldn't see.

"No!" he protested. "I don't want to go! I don't want to—"

Sugar Plum slammed the carriage door behind him, and the carriage started moving.

"And remember," her voice rang after him, "the spell only lasts until the strike of midnight!"

With that he was off, forcefully taken to a ball he had never meant to visit.

By now all he could do was hope this was all a very bad dream.

But it didn't look like he was about to wake up anytime soon.