After Seraphine shared Cinderella's story—the girl who once dreamed of kneading dough and baking warmth into the hearts of everyone who stepped into the bakery where she worked—she fell silent.
A stillness settled over her.
Her eyes, usually full of playful mischief or delusional love, looked dim. Her hands gently tightened on the doorway. The sadness wasn't loud, but it showed — in the way her brows curved and how her lips struggled to stay in a smile.
Behind that silence was a heavy truth she couldn't speak out loud—
That she had helped take away a dream.
A dream that once smelled like fresh bread.
A dream that belonged to a girl who used to laugh in flour-covered aprons.
Fairy Greatmother, standing nearby, noticed the shift. Her gentle eyes softened with concern, and she opened her mouth to offer a comforting word—
But Ryo silently raised a hand.
He said nothing. He knew.
Some things don't need comfort.
Some things just need space.
Instead, with a small smile and voice low, Ryo said. "Thanks for telling us."
Seraphine turned to him slowly. Her lips parted slightly, eyes wavering with something unspoken.
Then she nodded. A small, almost trembling nod.
And with that, Ryo, Fairy Greatmother, and the animals quietly stepped out the shop.
The door chimed softly behind them.
And Seraphine was alone.
The moment their presence faded, her breath hitched. Her knees gave slightly as she leaned back against the counter, one hand rising to cover her trembling mouth.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Her body shook with the kind of cry that doesn't ask for pity or forgiveness—
Just release.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered to no one. "I'm so sorry, Cinderella…"
The shop remained still.
But that morning, the velvet-lined jewelry and glittering gold didn't shine.
Only the sorrow of a sister's guilt did.
Now at the bakery…
The warm interior was filled with the comforting scent of fresh bread—soft rolls, sweet buns, and pastries lined the shelves. Everyone, even the animals, received their own share for breakfast, thanks to Fairy Greatmother.
While quietly eating, Ryo's eyes scanned the display boards. Some of the menu items had names that stood out:
"Cinderella's Honey Tarts"
"Ella's Morning Bun"
"Angel's Raisin Twist"
It was clear Cinderella's recipes were still being used, even if she no longer worked there.
Curious, Ryo walked to the counter and spoke to the elderly woman—one of the owners—who was arranging loaves behind the glass.
"Excuse me," Ryo asked, his tone casual but attentive, "Do you happen to remember the girl who used to work here… Cinderella?"
The woman froze mid-stack. Her eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Cinderella…" she echoed, the name like a long-lost tune. She set the bread down, her voice softening. "Yes. I remember her very well."
She gave a small smile, her hands clasped in front of her apron.
"Such a sweet child. Very motivated. She used to come early in the morning, even before I opened, just to practice her kneading. And her smile…" The woman chuckled faintly. "Some customers came just to see her. They'd say the bread helped their stomachs, but her smile helped their hearts."
Ryo glanced down for a moment, thoughtful. He imagined her here—flour on her cheeks, smiling as she placed warm loaves into the hands of strangers.
But then the old woman's expression changed. A furrow appeared between her brows.
"What still confuses me to this day," she added, "was the day she left."
"She didn't give me much warning. Just came in one morning looking… sad. Real sad. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying. But she bowed so deeply, said thank you, and walked out. I never saw her again — not even after she became princess."
"Now, I'm even more worried since she went missing a little over a month ago."
Ryo nodded slowly, processing that. He didn't need to ask further. Based on what Seraphine had told them earlier, he knew the answer.
Cinderella didn't leave of her own will. She was forced out—probably when the stepfamily's kindness faded. And Edmund… he played a big part in that change.
The time was now 6:30 am.
With breakfast finished and a bit of warmth in their bellies, the group made their way toward the Stepmother's store.
After a fifteen-minute walk through the cobblestone paths, they arrived.
'La Rose de Ravenswood'.
It looked like a grand old estate — wide, stately, and impressive. The white stone walls shone softly in the morning light. Large glass windows showed off an elegant display of perfumes and cosmetics inside.
The double doors were made of dark wood with delicate flower carvings and were closed for now, polished so they reflected like mirrors. Above them, a gold-plated wrought-iron sign curled in fancy cursive letters.
But that wasn't the most eye-catching sight.
In front of the shop, stretching all the way down the street, was a massive queue of at least 200 women. Many were nobility in luxurious morning shawls, holding embroidered umbrellas or silk fans. Their murmurs and excitement echoed softly through the air.
Ryo blinked in disbelief. "Holy... Is this really the power of Madam Rosalind's business?"
Fairy Greatmother beamed, her hands clasped together.
"Certainly, my dear! Even I've bought perfumes and creams from this very shop!"
Ryo gave her a look, squinting. "Ma'am… I thought you didn't like Cinderella's stepfamily."
Fairy Greatmother chuckled, a hand rising sheepishly to rub the back of her hood.
"Ah… well, yes, I don't quite approve of their ways. But the jasmine and lavender perfume?" She sighed. "Even a fairy must indulge now and then."
Ryo muttered under his breath as he looked away. "Yeah… women's stuff… can't help it..."
But now came the real problem…
Unlike with the stepsisters' shops, they couldn't just stroll into this one. Even though Ryo was acquainted with the Stepmother, it wouldn't sit right to cut in front of two hundred noblewomen waiting in line — it would look like he was getting VIP treatment. That would spark envy. And worse… suspicion.
Ryo crossed his arms, muttering. "Not exactly the quietest way to start an investigation."
But just as he was thinking this, a flurry of excited voices rose from the front of the line.
"Ms. Roselia!!!" a woman called out, waving with both arms like she'd spotted an old friend.
Fairy Greatmother's face brightened instantly, and she quickly ran toward the queue.
"Anna! Oh my goodness—are you still using the elderflower balm I recommended?"
"It's my secret to keeping my skin soft as a maiden's cheek. Elderflower and rosewater—pure magic!" said Anna, proudly holding up a dainty jar.
Another woman stepped in, fluttering her gloved hands.
"Roselia, dearest! It's me, Clara! Did you hear? They restocked the powdered pearl complexion veil!"
Fairy Greatmother's eyes sparkled. "Clara, I nearly rushed here when I heard. That veil saved me from a dreadful sun patch last summer."
"Roselia, I heard there's a fresh batch of violet blossom cologne—made the old-fashioned way with pressed petals and glimmer-dust from the morning dew," added a woman named Marguerite, her voice full of giddy excitement.
"Marguerite, stop it—you'll have me waiting outside the store all night next time!" Fairy Greatmother said, looking worried.
"I heard they're bringing out the rare beeswax rouge today—the one mixed with crushed cranberries!" whispered another woman.
Fairy Greatmother gasped. "I wore that to the Duke's masquerade once—I never received so many compliments in one evening!"
Then another woman peeked from behind the others.
"They say the Duchess might arrive any minute to buy out the whole chestnut-honey hair glaze again!"
Fairy Greatmother's eyes widened in horror.
"Oh no, not that again! I only just grew my curls back from the last time I missed it!"
Meanwhile, behind all this lively commotion, Ryo stood unmoved, arms folded as if bracing for a second round of fragrant powders and perfumed sprays.
He muttered under his breath, his voice flat.
"I'd rather duel the Big Bad Wolf than get caught up in perfume politics…"
Beside him, the animals blinked slowly — not in boredom, but sheer confusion — at the whirlwind of fragrant floral powders and panic.
But then, a familiar voice called out to Ryo.
???: "Sir Holmes!"
Ryo turned his head to the right and saw two familiar figures approaching—Sophie and Elise, each carrying baskets brimming with market goods. Both waved with bright smiles as they drew near.
Ryo blinked, then smiled back. "Oh hey, you two. Done with the groceries?"
Sophie nodded quickly.
"Yes!" Then she tilted her head. "But what are you doing here at Madam Rosalind's store? I thought you were investigating Princess Cinderella's disappearance around the village?"
Ryo kept his expression casual, still playing dumb.
"Oh, no worries. I've gathered some clues already, just not the full picture yet."
He glanced at the long line ahead.
"I was curious about Madam Rosalind's store. Wanted to check it out earlier, but... yeah. As you can see, I can't really—"
Before he could finish, Elise perked up and clapped her hands.
"Oh! In that case, you can go through the backdoor!"
Ryo sighed in relief. "Oh, thank you, you two."
He then turned toward the Fairy Greatmother, who was still cheerfully chatting away with her old friends about lip stains and floral powders.
Ryo stepped forward and leaned in. "Ma'am, we gotta go now."
Fairy Greatmother turned to Ryo and frowned like a woman torn from a circle of gossiping relatives.
"But I haven't even finished telling Agnes about the rose-scented powder!"
Without another word…
Ryo gently took her wrist and gently began guiding her away, his expression somewhere between deadpan patience and quiet exasperation—like a son tugging his overly talkative mother away from a group of fellow aunties.
Fairy Greatmother stumbled a little in surprise, glancing back at her friends with a helpless chuckle as Ryo led her around the side of the building.
Together, Ryo, Fairy Greatmother, Sophie, Elise, and the animals made their way to the back of the large building.
Sophie explained along the way that she and Elise would occasionally stop by to pick up paperwork—orders, records, and receipts—that needed to be sent to the manor for Madam Rosalind's review.
Madam Rosalind employed around twenty workers, plus a few who regularly shuttled between the manor and the store for deliveries. When things got busy, Sophie or Elise would fill in temporarily.
Elise gave a few light knocks on the backdoor. A moment later, it creaked open to reveal one of the store employees—a young woman in a neat uniform, her hair pinned up and expression polite.
"Oh! Good morning, Elise, Sophie," the employee greeted warmly, then glanced curiously at the others. "And these are...?"
Sophie answered with a smile.
"This is Sir Sherlock Holmes, a guest currently staying at the manor. And this here is Ms. Roselia, a close friend of Madam Rosalind."
The employee gave a small nod of understanding, then stepped aside.
"Welcome, then. Please, come in."
However, before they could enter fully, she quickly added with an apologetic glance toward the group of animals.
"But I'm afraid the animals will have to stay outside… Our store carries top-class products, and we've had… incidents."
The animals quietly settled just outside the door as instructed.
The moment Ryo and Fairy Greatmother stepped into the store, a soft gasp escaped Fairy Greatmother's lips.
Her eyes widened like a child stepping into a treasure hall. They glittered with joy as she slowly took in the splendor of the interior.
The floor beneath their feet was a work of art—smooth marble tiles with soft rose patterns carefully carved by skilled hands. Above them, crystal chandeliers sparkled like stars, casting a warm, golden light across the room. The glow was gentle and elegant, never too bright.
The layout was spacious and refined, with wide aisles and clean counters made of fine wood and glass. Displays were neatly arranged—luminous creams and pastel powders in dainty porcelain jars, and perfumes sealed in artful crystal bottles that sparkled like dew in the morning sun.
A plush consultation area sat near the far side of the store, where velvet chairs and graceful little tables offered a spot for quiet conversation. You could imagine noble ladies sitting there, laughing softly as experts advised them on scents and shades.
The air smelled like freshly bloomed roses and lavender fields, with just a hint of powder and warm vanilla. A gentle classical tune played from a hidden music box, its delicate notes adding to the atmosphere of luxury.
Fairy Greatmother had been here many times before—though always when the place was packed with customers. But now, in this rare moment of quiet, with no crowd around, the store revealed its true elegance.
"It's like a heavenly sight," she whispered, almost breathlessly.
Ryo glanced around, impressed. "Yeah... I can see why the line's so long."
Then, from across the store, they saw her.
Madam Rosalind walked over with calm steps and a gentle smile. Her graceful posture, polished heels, and soft rose-like scent made her look like royalty against the marble surroundings.
"Ah, good morning, you two. Welcome to my store—La Rose de Ravenswood." She opened her arms warmly.
Ryo returned a polite nod and smile. "Good morning to you too, Madam Rosalind."
Before he could say anything else, Fairy Greatmother stepped forward with stars in her eyes, clutching her hood like she'd just entered heaven's gates.
"Rosalind! You still carry that rose-infused cream with the crushed pearls? I haven't stopped thinking about it since last spring!" Her voice trembled with excitement.
Madam Rosalind's eyes lit up. She placed a hand over her heart with pride.
"Of course I do, Roselia. It's now paired with jasmine essence—flying off the shelves, as always."
"Oh heavens! And what about the lavender blossom powder? The one that made my complexion glow like I'd just returned from a month-long retreat in the Fairy Alps?" Fairy Greatmother leaned in dramatically, clasping her hands.
"Improved formula, darling. Now with violet root… and a subtle hint of gold dust." Rosalind twirled her fingers elegantly, as if sprinkling the magical ingredient into the air—also not even noticing the words 'Fairy Alps.'
"Gold dust?! You madwoman!" Fairy Greatmother gasped, taking a step back in delight and touching her cheek as if she could already feel the glow.
"Only the finest for my loyal customers. Have you tried the new lash elixir? Quince oil and beeswax—it gives lashes the softness of butterfly wings," Rosalind said proudly.
Fairy Greatmother fluttered her eyes theatrically.
"Is that what you're wearing now? No wonder you look ten years younger!
Rosalind laughed, waving her hand.
"Oh, stop it—you flatterer! But do stay a little longer. I just received a new shipment of rosehip balm with honeybee resin."
Ryo, meanwhile, stood a few steps behind, utterly dumbfounded. His brows twitched as he glanced at the two ladies practically twirling in excitement like old friends catching up over their favorite beauty treats.
"Uhh… I'll just walk around and check out the products."
But they didn't hear him.
Not a chance.
Their voices had risen into a whirlwind of cosmetic gossip, perfume praise, and skincare secrets, each compliment more dramatic than the last.
Ryo sighed, one hand on his hip. But as he looked around the grand store, something clicked in his mind.
A perfect opportunity.
If they were this absorbed, he could move freely—inspect corners, read labels, observe employees. He just needed to blend in.
So, with calm and calculated steps, Ryo began strolling through the store, playing the curious guest.
His sharp eyes scanned everything.
But then, something on a certain shelf caught Ryo's sharp eyes.
A bottle of perfume stood out—not just because of its design, but because within the glass, shimmering faintly in the light, were tiny crushed mineral-like rocks swirling in the liquid. It was subtly enchanting… and odd.
Below it, tucked just beneath the base of the display, lay a note. Unlike the rest of the labeled items on the shelf—each tagged with the elegant name of a noblewoman who had pre-ordered it—this one stood out.
No name.
Only half a word could be seen scribbled faintly across the note. 'Never…'
His brows drew together.
"'Never,' what?" he thought.
Was it an incomplete word? Or a name? Either way, it didn't look like it belonged there—not in a neat store where every detail was carefully arranged.
Keeping one hand casually on the edge of the shelf, Ryo slipped the other into his coat and silently pulled out his phone. Glancing quickly over his shoulder to ensure no one was watching, he carefully lifted the perfume bottle just a little—just enough—and slid his phone beneath.
Click.
Snapshot complete.
Just then, a voice caught him off guard. "What are you doing, sir?"
He flinched—eyes wide—frozen mid-lean like a kitchen hand caught tasting the Duchess's custard.
"Uh-oh…" he muttered under his breath.
Without missing a beat, he swiftly tucked his phone into the inner pocket of his trench coat, turning around with the most forced smile he could manage.
"Oh! Just, uh… sniffing! The perfume smells... very nice!" he said, nodding stiffly as though that would sell the act.
The young employee giggled, seemingly convinced.
"I'm so glad to hear that! We have a wide variety—perhaps something you'd like to give your future wives?" she added with a teasing grin, her eyes twinkling.
Ryo blinked. "…Wives?"
"Come on now," the employee said with a playful laugh, one hand raised to her lips.
"Everyone here knows. Madam Rosalind told us herself—her daughters have fallen head over heels for you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Two lovely brides in one go… quite the achievement."
Ryo's smile cracked. His pupils trembled. "…That… so…"
Inside, however, his mind was on fire.
WHY THE HELL DID MADAM TELL ALL HER EMPLOYEES ABOUT THIS?! I'M STILL SINGLE!! Sure, the sisters have a thing for me, but COME ON—THIS IS NOT HOW YOU ANNOUNCE A RELATIONSHIP!
Now that his quiet investigation was complete, Ryo made his way back to where the Stepmother and Fairy Greatmother were, still deep in their perfume chatter, as if nothing else in the world existed.
"Ma'am, let's go. It's almost opening time," Ryo called out, adjusting his coat.
The Stepmother jolted slightly and turned toward the elegant wall clock hanging behind the counter.
"My goodness! It's already 6:55 am—the store opens in five minutes!"
She immediately began bustling about, straightening displays and giving final instructions to the staff with sharp, graceful gestures.
Fairy Greatmother sighed with the weight of a hundred unsaid perfume opinions, pouting faintly.
"Well, there goes our lavender and lily debate…"
The Stepmother turned back toward Ryo, her expression softening.
"Thank you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes… for clearing my name."
Ryo tilted his head slightly, brow raising. "What do you mean, Madam?"
"You proved I'm innocent," she replied, smiling gently.
"That my family had nothing to do with Cinderella's disappearance. Ms. Roselia told me she spread the word throughout the kingdom. It saved my business—I didn't lose a single customer."
Fairy Greatmother gave Ryo a sly little wink, as if to say 'You owe me for that one.'
And at that moment, Ryo remembered the entire tactic.
He'd never actually proven anything. There was no public announcement. No clearing of names. It had all been a bluff—an elaborate psychological play to gain the family's trust and get inside the manor for a subtle interrogation.
It seemed Fairy Greatmother had backed up his lie to help keep the act going.
He couldn't help but chuckle softly.
"Oh… that's right. Yeah, you're welcome, Madam Rosalind."
With that, Ryo, Fairy Greatmother, and the animals made their exit just as the clock struck seven.
Outside, the doors to 'La Rose de Ravenswood' swung open—and like a dam breaking, two hundred noblewomen surged into the shop, excitement filling the air as the day's rush began.
Ryo and his group returned to the Village Square, the rising sun casting warm light across the cobblestones. They sat at the edge of the fountain.
Ryo turned to her, the question he'd been holding since the attic discovery finally surfacing.
With a calm but serious tone, he asked. "Ma'am… there's something I've been meaning to ask."
The Fairy Greatmother glanced at him. "What is it, Mr. Detective?"
Ryo hesitated for a moment, then continued. "Do you know about the glass slippers?"
Her breath caught.
Her eyes widened—not in surprise, but in recognition.
So she did know something.
And yet, Ryo couldn't forget the words in the diary — the glass slippers weren't made by Fairy Greatmother's magic. They came from Cinderella's late mother's grave at the branches of the hazel tree.
Without another word, Ryo reached into his backpack and gently pulled out a folded green dress — the one Cinderella had sewn with her own hands. He handed it to Fairy Greatmother.
She took it, her hands trembling as if holding something fragile and sacred.
"This dress…" her voice wavered, "…I transformed it. Into a magical gown for her. That night."
Her fingers clutched the fabric as tears began to fall—slow, quiet, and real. Memories, long buried, flooded back.
Ryo softened his voice. "Can you tell me what happened that night? The night you helped her go to the ball?"
The Fairy Greatmother was quiet for a long moment. Her eyes stayed on the dress.
And then, with a sigh full of old heartache, she began to speak.
Five months ago…
It was morning.
The iron gates of a school creaked open.
The Fairy Greatmother—known to the village simply as Ms. Roselia—stood smiling brightly, greeting her little students as they arrived slowly with their parents.
Her voice was warm, her spirit gentle. She greeted every child by name, bending down to adjust their hats or straighten their cloaks, handing out small biscuits to those who needed a little comfort before class.
Then she saw her.
A young girl with blonde hair, face smudged with soot, holding hands with a young boy. The Ravenswood nephew.
But the boy jerked his hand away, his voice sharp. "Dirty ash aunty!"
He ran past Fairy Greatmother without a glance.
The girl didn't even flinch. She simply stood there, eyes cast down—blank, hollow, like someone who had stopped hoping.
Fairy Greatmother's smile faded.
She stepped forward, gently stopping right in front of the girl. "Are you alright, young lady?"
The girl's lips trembled. She looked like she wanted to cry, but didn't dare.
Fairy Greatmother reached out and took both of her hands, warm against cold fingers.
"If you can't speak, can you at least tell me your name?"
The girl looked up, just a little. Her voice barely a whisper.
"My name is… Cinderella."
Fairy Greatmother's smile returned, soft and kind.
"What a beautiful name you have there, dear Cinderella."
But the girl gently pulled her hands back, whispering.
"I'm sorry for letting you touch me, Ms. Roselia… I'm just… a dirty girl."
Fairy Greatmother stuttered, "B–But—" Before she could finish, Cinderella had already walked away, head lowered and silent.
A month passed.
Fairy Greatmother was at the village bakery.
As she placed loaves into her basket, she saw her again—Cinderella. Standing outside, staring at the bakery window like it was a memory too far to touch.
Fairy Greatmother didn't yet know this was where Cinderella used to work.
The girl took a small step forward, then stopped. Her expression was pained.
Then, quietly, she turned to leave.
Fairy Greatmother dropped the bread on the counter and ran after her.
She gently caught Cinderella's wrist. "Wait, Cinderella!"
The girl turned around—her eyes red, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
"Poor child… are you alright?" Fairy Greatmother whispered.
"I'm fine," Cinderella sniffled. "It's just…" Her voice cracked.
She didn't finish.
She ran.
Fairy Greatmother reached out after her, but stopped herself. She placed a hand on her chest, feeling a sorrow she couldn't name.
Another month passed.
The Royal Herald announced a grand ball to be held in a week, where Prince Vaelric would seek a bride. Every maiden was invited.
The village square buzzed with excitement.
Suddenly, from behind the herald, came the prince himself—riding a white horse, his smile radiant beneath the sun. His voice boomed over the crowd...
"Let it be known! The bride I seek shall be one of pure heart! One I can cherish, one I can love forevermore—the one who will share in my journey, not as a prize… but as my partner in destiny!"
Fairy Greatmother couldn't help but smile at the drama of it all.
But then her eyes drifted.
She saw the Ravenswood sisters, looking dazzling and smug. And behind them, barely visible, stood Cinderella.
Still in rags.
But her eyes…
They were lit.
It was the first time she had seen the prince in person. Her cheeks flushed a gentle pink, like someone falling in love. And for the first time, Fairy Greatmother saw a spark of hope in her eyes.
A week later…
The night of the royal ball.
The stepfamily had left, their carriage already rolling away.
And Cinderella—left behind—stood alone at the manor, wearing her ruined green dress, shredded by a knife—the very one she had sewn herself.
She ran.
To the riverbank.
Where no one could see her break.
She cried into her hands, asking the same question over and over.
"Why don't they love me anymore?"
She remembered the laughter and the warmth from years ago—when the Ravenswood family used to hug her, call her 'dear,' and braid her hair.
Now all she got was envy, silence, and scorn. Their jealousy and cruelty had shattered her dream.
She cried.
Until the stars shimmered.
And from the sky, wrapped in sparkles, the Fairy Greatmother gently descended.
"Ah… there you are, my dear," she whispered as she landed beside her.
Cinderella turned, eyes wet. "Ms. Roselia… why are you here?"
Fairy Greatmother smiled softly. "Just taking an evening walk."
She tilted her head. "Why are you crying?"
Cinderella stood quickly, wiping her face. "No—I'm fine! I just… needed air."
Fairy Greatmother chuckled softly. "Mmm. And the stars, I imagine. They always did listen better than people."
She asked. "May I sit?"
Cinderella stuttered. "You don't… you don't have to… I'm really—"
Fairy Greatmother gently pushed her down onto the grass and sat beside her.
"What happened to your dress?" she asked, watching the river flow.
Cinderella gave a small, sad laugh.
"It's silly. I'm crying over a dress. A dance. A dream that was never mine to begin with."
Fairy Greatmother brushed a lock of hair behind Cinderella's ear, voice firm but loving.
"Listen to me, sweet one. You are not broken just because they couldn't see you."
Cinderella's voice cracked.
"But maybe I am. I thought if I stayed kind, if I worked hard… if I didn't ask for much… they'd love me again."
Her tears flowed again. "I just wanted to be someone. Just for one night."
Fairy Greatmother held her hand, firm and warm.
"You are someone. With or without a gown. With or without a ball."
"You've been someone every time you gave without being thanked."
"Every time you smiled through the pain."
"Every time you chose gentleness over anger."
She squeezed Cinderella's hands. "And now… it's time someone chose you."
Cinderella looked up, voice a whisper. "Do I… still get to go, Ms. Roselia?"
Fairy Greatmother smiled, eyes glinting like stars.
"Ah, of course you do. But not to win anyone's gaze. Not to prove anything."
"You'll go not for their approval—but for your truth."
"You will go not as ash… but as light."
Cinderella's voice steadied. "Then I want to go... Just for me."
Fairy Greatmother beamed.
"Good! Then let the stars bear witness, my little dove."
"Tonight, the world will see what I have always known…"
She leaned in, whispering. "…that you were never invisible."
"But how?" Cinderella blinked. "How will I get to the ball?"
Fairy Greatmother stood up and gently pulled Cinderella to her feet. Then she took a few steps back, raised her hand, and a soft sparkle danced above her palm—
A crescent-tipped wand shimmered into existence.
Cinderella's breath hitched, eyes wide. "Ms. Roselia… what are you?"
Fairy Greatmother smiled gently.
"I am the Fairy Greatmother. And I've watched you from afar."
"Now, I'm here… to help you find your happily ever after."
"But… how?" Cinderella asked.
Fairy Greatmother lifted her wand—Swirled it toward her.
And beneath Cinderella's feet, the earth shimmered with light.
Magic danced around Cinderella.
The green dress transformed into a stunning golden gown—off-shouldered, embroidered with silver and stars, golden leaves trailing like constellations. Gloves slipped onto her arms, and a delicate tiara rested atop her golden hair.
She was glowing.
She looked like a princess.
Cinderella gazed at her dress, eyes wide in quiet awe. "It's… gorgeous."
She looked up. "Can I really go… like this?"
Fairy Greatmother pulled her into a warm embrace, placing Cinderella's head to her chest.
"You remind me of my granddaughter," she said softly. "I lost her long ago. But tonight, helping you… feels like holding her again."
Cinderella wept freely.
It had been so long since she'd felt an embrace like this—so long since love had wrapped around her like warmth in winter.
For this one night, Fairy Greatmother felt like family.
A grandmother she never had.
Cinderella pulled back gently. "I'm sorry about your granddaughter, Ms. Roselia… I hope she's resting in peace."
Then, with fire in her eyes. "But don't worry—I'll make you proud."
Fairy Greatmother nodded, proud.
Then… she noticed something.
She looked down.
Glass slippers.
Gleaming. But not of her own magic.
"…Cinderella, where did you get those?"
Cinderella smiled sheepishly, dodging the truth.
"They were a gift… from someone I love. Someone like… a mother to me."
"A mother?" Fairy Greatmother echoed, puzzled.
But Cinderella said nothing more.
She didn't want Fairy Greatmother to think she was crazy.
Fairy Greatmother didn't pry.
She simply smiled.
Whatever those slippers were… they'd carry Cinderella where she needed to go.
Cinderella's animal companions, who had been peeking from behind a tree, gathered around. One by one, Fairy Greatmother transformed them—into horses, a coachman, and footmans.
Then, Fairy Greatmother plucked an apple from a nearby tree. With a gentle spell, it shimmered—transforming into a golden, apple-shaped carriage.
And so, dressed in golden starlight, her heart aglow, Cinderella rode toward the royal ball—shining like a dream come true.
Fairy Greatmother watched her vanish into the night, her heart both full and aching.
And even now, Fairy Greatmother still wasn't sure…
…How Cinderella came to wear glass slippers.