The ball has started, sweet smell of pastries is lingering with the smell of perfumes in the air and the music pulling the strings of everyone's heart.
But those were secondary, primarily the ballroom was made for looking.
People looked at dresses, jewels, lineage, posture — and most of all, beauty. Or the version of beauty printed in every noble's mind like a rulebook no one had agreed to but everyone obeyed.
Drizella and I learned early that we were the sort of girls others glanced at, not lingered on.
We stood near the middle of the floor, fans poised, smiles polite, gowns pressed smooth. We did everything Mother taught us. Stand straight. Smile softly. Don't look too eager. Don't look uninterested. Don't look like a person with thoughts, or if you must, at least make them pretty ones.
But the invitations to dance swept right past us like birds who refused to land.
Every few minutes, a gentleman would approach. He would bow. He would look at us. His smile would falter by degrees — polite, then confused, then apologetic, before choosing someone else with fairer skin, lighter hair, a more fashionable jawline, or whatever nonsense society was worshiping this year.
Drizella pretended not to notice, but I saw her tug her gloves tighter, as if holding herself together by seams.
I laughed when it happened the fifth time. Not because it was funny, it wasn't — but because humor was easier than heartbreak.
"Well," I muttered, "apparently we are invisible."
"Invisibility has its benefits," Drizella said, voice steady. "Spies, for example."
"Spies don't need marriages," I replied.
"No," she agreed softly. "But girls like us are supposed to."
Mother watched from across the room, lips pinched, disappointment blooming like a bruise.
The worst part wasn't being ignored. It was how normal it was. No one was cruel. No one had to be. Their standards did all the work for them.
Beauty, apparently, was a ticket — and we had arrived with the wrong currency.
I wondered, in a different world, without these rules carved into the bones of society, if someone might have seen Drizella's clever mind first, or my humor before my jawline.
But this was not that world.
So we stood. And we smiled. And the waltz continued without us.
The air changed before we even knew why.
One ripple, then another — whispers sliding through the room like silk ribbons tangled in gossip:
"Who is she?"
"Where did she come from?"
"Look at her dress—"
Cinderella stepped into the ballroom as if stars had stitched themselves into a girl. Not flashy, not bragging, not even trying — just… luminous. Calm and soft the way moonlight is soft, yet somehow bright enough to shift the entire gravity of the room.
Suddenly the nobles who'd been pretending not to notice us weren't pretending about anything anymore. They stared openly, stunned, bewitched, rearranged.
Even the music sounded different, as if the orchestra personally decided to flirt with her.
I should have felt jealous. The kind of jealousy that bites and scratches and ruins things.
But all I felt was recognition.
Of course it was her. Cinderella always carried magic—not the visible kind, the kind that made people breathe differently.
Drizella poked me with her fan, indicating to begin our next mission.
We both sweep among the noble ladies in cluster to find our mother before she notice Cinderella and creating our house battleground 2.
We spotted her far behind while trying to know the cause of the chaos.
We glanced each other swiftly and continued with our plan. We decided to take turn to keep our mother busy, away from the ballroom so that Cinderella can dance with the prince.
It was my turn at first.
The moment the prince crossed the ballroom toward Cinderella, Mother sensed danger the way a hawk senses rodents.
Her fan snapped open. "Who is that girl? Why is everyone—"
I seized her arm before the sentence could infect the air further.
"Mother, let's powder your nose."
"My nose does not require—"
"Mother," I whispered, "there are princes present. Princes care about noses."
That was enough. Mother let herself be dragged toward the powdering corridor like a missionary being led to salvation.
Behind us, the music swelled as the prince offered Cinderella his hand. She accepted — not timid, not dramatic, simply sure, like someone stepping into her own destiny instead of being invited to it.
Mother tried to twist free.
"What family is she from? That dress positively glitters. The embroidery—"
"Mother, stand still," I commanded, applying powder with the speed and lack of gentleness of a bad sculptor.
"Is her hair sparkling? Is that—"
"Yes."
"With what?!"
"With success."
Mother nearly dropped dead right there.
From the doorway I saw them move, Cinderella and the prince — and the entire ballroom watched the way fish watch a flame: utterly hypnotized.
He didn't lead so much as follow her gravitational pull, and she didn't dance to impress but to exist. It was the sort of movement that made the room rearrange its priorities without meaning to.
Then Mother tried to make a break for the ballroom, armed with suspicion and unfulfilled ambition.
"Drizella!" I hissed.
Drizella understood at once. One shared glance and decades of sisterhood activated.
She clutched her chest. "Oh no. My breathing is being uncooperative."
She staggered, because collapsing dramatically is a family art. Mother shrieked.
"My child! Water! Physicians! Someone fan her!"
At that moment Prince's bodyguard appeared, as if summoned not by duty but by chaos.
He slipped to Drizella's side and offered a steadying hand.
"She's fine," he assured. "Just overwhelmed by… excessive aristocracy."
Mother stared, confused. He added, "It happens sometimes. Too many feathers in hats."
Mother considered this gravely and decided it made perfect sense.
By the time Drizella was fully "restored," the dance had ended. A ripple of applause followed Cinderella and the prince as they crossed toward the terrace, as if the ballroom had become too small for whatever conversation was waiting next.
No one stopped them. Not even etiquette dared interfere.
Outside, through the tall windows, I saw them step into the garden — lantern glow meeting moonlight, soft and unreal, like the start of a story the world had been impatient to hear.
He leaned intentionally near me and Drizella.
"Is this part of your plan or am I witnessing the birth of a new one?" he murmured.
"Both," I said briskly. "Now hush. Do not spook anything."
Mother, meanwhile, poured water into Drizella's glove for reasons neither medical nor comprehensible.
She had no idea what she'd missed.
Out in the garden, the prince offered Cinderella his hand again — not for a formal dance, but for a human one. A small, private movement meant for lanterns and breeze and unguarded conversation.
Cinderella smiled, and for the first time tonight I let myself believe she might actually get a piece of the world that wasn't stolen or rationed.
Let her have her midnight, I thought. Just once, let the universe not interfere.
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SIDE NOTE: Finally I reached this far with the story. From the next chapter everything will be changed from the actual story. Destiny of these three girls will change for better. I hope you liked the story so far. ☺☺
If you like my story then give it a star and share it with your friends, this will help me to keep motivated and write new stories.