All Inclusive

You must return home by the last stroke of midnight because the magic will be gone - and everything will return to what it was.

Cinderella has never run so fast and so far in her life. She knows she has to get out of the palace before Kit (the prince, she corrects herself) finds out that all of this is a farce. She's even less than a simple country girl, she's a servant, and her dress is rags and her servants are animals. Her coach is a pumpkin. There's no way he can see all of that, he'd never understand.

Her mother had told her that there were some who would never understand the magic in the world around them and Cinderella has found that to be true. Her stepmother and stepsisters, for example, would never consider Gus and her other mice friends to be just as individual and precious as they are. Cinderella is certain they see them as vermin; though, really, they have more warmth and kindness in their tiny bodies than her stepfamily has all together.

Still, she cannot fault them. It is their nature and they are not likely to change. All she can do is show them kindness and love and hope that they can recognize it for what it is; they are, after all, everything she has left in the world. Them, and the house, and she promised to love the house for her mother and father. She'll always keep that promise.

Her heart is in her throat as it seems like the prince and his men are going to catch up to her and one of her glass slippers slides off her feet, tumbling down the palace steps. She does not dare go back for it - if she halts even for a moment, she won't have enough time to get home before all of the magic fades away. She doesn't know if it's instant or if it takes a little while and Cinderella is not entirely sure she wants to find out until she's clear and away and can cherish the memory on her own all alone. This is not something she wants to share with family. This is something she wants just for herself, one of the few things she's ever wanted to keep secret and safe.

She makes her way down to the end of the road where her carriage is and tugs open the door, sliding inside just as her footmen start growing tails and turning a peculiar shade of green. It's best if they begin this madcap run now before the carriage loses its wheels.

Except...the coach is gone. Gone are the luxurious seats and they haven't been replaced by pumpkin pulp, as she'd expect. Instead, she's settled on a fairly plump couch upholstered in velvet and surrounded by people coming and going. Their manner of dress is strange and as her beautiful blue confection of a gown melts away into soft and tattered pink, Cinderella isn't sure why this place hasn't faded away too. Why is she not back in her attic, surrounded by mice? Where is the screeching of her stepmother and stepsisters? The ringing of the bells?

She hears only one bell, too high and too tinny to be the servant's bell and Cinderella lifts her head to see that there's a wide desk and someone standing behind it. Perhaps he has answers. She makes her way toward him but stumbles, still only wearing the one shoe, and finds herself sprawled on the carpeted floor.

There's a pair of shoes in front of her and it's the shoes she addresses, rather than the person's face.

"Could I trouble you to help me up? I seem to have lost a shoe and it's made me clumsy."