Drizellas Story: Part 2

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Drizella and Ana get invied to the Ball...

Submitted: February 21, 2009

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Submitted: February 21, 2009

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6 years later…

“Cinderella!” screamed Ana.

Ana and I gave Ella the nickname, Cinderella, when we found her sitting in the cinders.

Cinderella came rushing in, her blonde hair frizzy and her blue eyes frantic. “Yes, Ana?”

Ana huffed, “Cinderella! Didn’t I tell you to iron my pink blouse! I was going to wear it when I was going to go out with Peter, this evening!”

Cinderella blinked, “Oh, dear. I’m terribly sorry. I’ll iron it!” She grabbed the pink blouse, and ran out of our room.

Cinderella’s father died 3 years ago, and ever since then Ana, Mother, and I has made her head of the house. Cinderella cooks, cleans, washes, dusts, and does almost everything to run the house. Boy, if I were her, I would die of boredom. Who likes to clean, anyway?

“Can’t Ana get anything right?” grumbled Ana, sat cross-legged down on her bed, her pink skirt ballooning around her.

I fixed my green bow. “I know, right?” I agreed, “I think Cindy spends way too much time reading.”
Ana pulled a comb through her ruby hair, hard, “Ugh. What’s so wonderful about reading, anyway? Whenever I read, I fall asleep.”

“Same here.” I laughed, now sitting on my bed. Ana gave me a little why-do-you-always-copy-me? Glare. I stuck my tongue out and crossed my eyes.

“Oh God, Drizella! Don’t you have any idea of being a well-mannered lady like I?” Ana said her back straight and her head held high like royalty.

“Speaking of well-mannered ladies,” someone said at the bedroom door. Ana and I jumped. Oh, it was just mother!

“Sorry, Mother. Can you repeat that, please?” I asked.

“Yes, dear. There is a very important man at the door, asking for all young ladies. Now, scoot. Be kind!” cried Mother, waving her hands to the front door.

Ana and I bustled to the door, marching like a polite princess.

“Hello, sir. How may I help you?” I asked, batting my thick dark eyelashes at the young teenager, around eighteen.

The young teenager gave me a little smile, his shoulders straight, and announced; “The Prince shall be holding a ball tonight at exactly eight o’clock p.m. All young ladies of the age of sixteen to nineteen may attend. Then, the Prince may choose his bride.”

I felt my heart stop beating for a moment, “Bride? As in the queen?”

The boy nodded.

“Mother!” Ana and I squealed, “We shall go!”

Mother clapped her hands, “Yes! Tell the Prince we shall attend. Lady Tremaine, Drizella, and Anastasia!”

The boy nodded.

Suddenly Cinderella was at the door, poking her stupid nose around, “What about me, Mother? May I attend?”

The boy piped up, “She can attend. It is your choice, m’am.” He said, looking at Mother.

Mother’s eyes narrowed, “No. She has been a bad lady. She will stay at home to scrub the floors.”

The boy nodded, “All right.” And ran off.

Cinderella’s eyes brimmed with tears, “Yes, Mother.”

Mother turned to Ana and I, “Well? What are you waiting for? Choose your dresses we are going to a ball tonight!”

“I claim the pink gown!” yelled Ana, while I was yelling, “The green gown is for I!”

“Cinderella! Help your sisters!” scolded Mother.

Cinderella looked away sadly, “Yes, Mother. I will have them ready by a quarter to seven.”


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