What We Don't See, Part 1
By Darthanu
“Oh, but sister, don’t you see?” I say, voice quivering with emotion. “Kindness is the real way to achieve your dreams. Hatred won’t get us anywhere. Won’t you join us in the castle?”
Christa glares at me disdainfully. “Join you, in a castle? I don’t know what you did to that slipper to make it fit your gross little foot, but it’s not enough to trick me into thinking you’re a princess.” She spins on the spot, cloak whipping dramatically about her shoulders.
“Don’t expect to see me or mother ever again,” she snarls over her shoulder, and she stalks off into the night, cloak trailing behind her and covering the back of her head, so I can’t see the moon reflecting off her auburn hair. I stand on the castle steps and watch her leave, counting down the seconds before she disappears from view.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
And now she’s out of sight, faded away into the darkness.
“Goodbye, Aldredda,” I whisper, even though Christa is long gone. I stand silently, watching something off to my left in my peripheral vision.
The light of the moon suddenly fades out, and under cover of darkness, I sprint back into the castle.
***
“You look wonderful, my darling,” Janet sighs happily, eying the poofy white dress I jumped into a second ago. “I’m so proud of everything you’ve done.”
I’m incredibly out of breath, but I do my best to look happy and composed. “It was mostly you, Godmother.”
Janet laughs, and even though she’s wearing her silky fairy robe she still just looks like a cackly old lady to me. She puts her hand on my arm.
“Give yourself some credit! I’m just a magicky little fool who loves to see people falling in love.”
I pretend to laugh with her.
“Ok,” she says, eyes wide and shining. “Now’s your moment! Go out there and make everyone love you as much as your prince does.”
“Yes, Godmother.”
I turn away from her and make my way to the door, quickly stepping out of the changing closet and into the great hall. I head to the red carpet in the middle of the floor and follow it to the grand doors that lead to the ballroom. This is it. The big moment. The doormen drag the huge doors open and I step into the ballroom, trying to look as dainty and serene as possible.
I’m met with a deafening roar composed of millions of cheering voices. Several people are calling “Cinderella! Cinderella!” and I beam rosily at the crowd in response. Straight ahead of me, I see Gerrard, dressed in traditional prince garb, standing at a hastily-erected altar and accompanied by a man in the robes of a bishop.
Just above them, I can see the same thing I was watching out of my peripheral vision earlier.
Slowly, annoyingly slowly, I move across the ballroom, step by sluggish step in my plastic slippers. I’m sweating terribly in this horrific dress and I’m sure I don’t smell too good, but I keep my expression warm and content, not letting my eyes stray from Gerrard. I count the seconds between steps as I ignore the still-screaming crowd.
One. Two. Right foot.
One. Two. Left foot.
One. Two. Right foot.
It’s difficult not to watch the people around me. It must suck for them to have to scream for so long while I waft down the aisle, just smiling. I can see people flailing wildly out of the corner of my eye, but the thing above Gerrard’s head is watching me so I have to continue looking at him.
When I finally reach the altar, I keep my smile on my face as I ascend the stairs, holding up one side of my skirt in a gloved hand. Gerrard is smiling handsomely at me, dark hair slicked back and subtle makeup applied to his face to remove any flaws he might otherwise show. The noise of the crowd dies down as the bishop starts speaking, and I gaze into Gerrard’s deep, mischievous brown eyes.
I like blue eyes.
“…to witness the bonding of Prince Charles and his Cinderella in the holy sacrament of matrimony, and to recognize the first few moments of many that the two will spend together as husband and wife. Good people, today we finally see our beloved prince with someone whom he loves with a deep passion…”
Blah blah blah. I ignore the Bishop’s boring speech. I’ve heard it a million times already. Gerrard is smiling back at me, his expression so loving and genuine. I hope I look like that.
Should be in a few seconds or so…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One.
The stupid speech is over, and the bishop hands us both rings to put on. Once I’ve slipped mine over my gloved finger, glancing in awe at its beauty, I turn back to Gerrard. He’s beaming at me. I hear the cue from the bishop next to me, and Gerrard leans forward to kiss my lips.
His lips are rough and slightly chapped, but their texture is something I’ve grown used to. I’ve never kissed anyone except for him, so I don’t have anything to compare it to, but honestly? It’s fine. Not good, not bad. Just another kiss.
The people are roaring all around us, and I hear chants of “Prince Charles!” and “Cinderella!” echoing through the packed ballroom. And even though my eyes are closed as I kiss the man across from me, I can feel the presence of the same object I’ve been aware of all day, watching us, now positioned right next to our face.
He’s still kissing, I’m still kissing, we’re still kissing, but it’ll be over soon. If I can just count in my head…
Four,
Three,
Two,
…
One.
***
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand we’re DONE!” Janet shouts over the cacophony, and I pull away from Gerrard with relief. He looks a little disappointed.
The cheering and shouting around us has suddenly transformed into animated chatter and scattered laughter as the people begin to pile out of the ballroom. The bishop—I can never remember his name, too hard to pronounce, shucks his outfit like a banana peel, to reveal a skin-tight t-shirt and basketball shorts beneath.
“Great job, you two,” he grins at us. “Flawless, as always.”
I smirk as I step out of the stupid dress. Underneath I have the same style of clothing—skin tight and lightweight. “Well, I was sweating like a waterfall in that freaking thing. We might have to find a new one if this keeps up.”
The two of them laugh, and from behind me Christa walks up.
“Well, I guess I was wrong about them pausing it again,” she chirps, walking with us as Gerrard and I leave the bishop to head to the break rooms. I nod, relief etched in my body language. “I’m glad. I swear I almost fell over last time one of the Watchers had a bathroom break.”
All three of us laugh again, and for the first time in the last several hours I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. As Gerrard and Christa continue to talk about their performance, I glance behind me at the altar prop, still sitting in the middle of the now-empty ballroom. And I’m able to smile--really smile—when I see that the screen to the world of the Watchers, which I’ve been seeing out the corner of my eye all day, is gone.
“Oh, but sister, don’t you see?” I say, voice quivering with emotion. “Kindness is the real way to achieve your dreams. Hatred won’t get us anywhere. Won’t you join us in the castle?”
Christa glares at me disdainfully. “Join you, in a castle? I don’t know what you did to that slipper to make it fit your gross little foot, but it’s not enough to trick me into thinking you’re a princess.” She spins on the spot, cloak whipping dramatically about her shoulders.
“Don’t expect to see me or mother ever again,” she snarls over her shoulder, and she stalks off into the night, cloak trailing behind her and covering the back of her head, so I can’t see the moon reflecting off her auburn hair. I stand on the castle steps and watch her leave, counting down the seconds before she disappears from view.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
And now she’s out of sight, faded away into the darkness.
“Goodbye, Aldredda,” I whisper, even though Christa is long gone. I stand silently, watching something off to my left in my peripheral vision.
The light of the moon suddenly fades out, and under cover of darkness, I sprint back into the castle.
***
“You look wonderful, my darling,” Janet sighs happily, eying the poofy white dress I jumped into a second ago. “I’m so proud of everything you’ve done.”
I’m incredibly out of breath, but I do my best to look happy and composed. “It was mostly you, Godmother.”
Janet laughs, and even though she’s wearing her silky fairy robe she still just looks like a cackly old lady to me. She puts her hand on my arm.
“Give yourself some credit! I’m just a magicky little fool who loves to see people falling in love.”
I pretend to laugh with her.
“Ok,” she says, eyes wide and shining. “Now’s your moment! Go out there and make everyone love you as much as your prince does.”
“Yes, Godmother.”
I turn away from her and make my way to the door, quickly stepping out of the changing closet and into the great hall. I head to the red carpet in the middle of the floor and follow it to the grand doors that lead to the ballroom. This is it. The big moment. The doormen drag the huge doors open and I step into the ballroom, trying to look as dainty and serene as possible.
I’m met with a deafening roar composed of millions of cheering voices. Several people are calling “Cinderella! Cinderella!” and I beam rosily at the crowd in response. Straight ahead of me, I see Gerrard, dressed in traditional prince garb, standing at a hastily-erected altar and accompanied by a man in the robes of a bishop.
Just above them, I can see the same thing I was watching out of my peripheral vision earlier.
Slowly, annoyingly slowly, I move across the ballroom, step by sluggish step in my plastic slippers. I’m sweating terribly in this horrific dress and I’m sure I don’t smell too good, but I keep my expression warm and content, not letting my eyes stray from Gerrard. I count the seconds between steps as I ignore the still-screaming crowd.
One. Two. Right foot.
One. Two. Left foot.
One. Two. Right foot.
It’s difficult not to watch the people around me. It must suck for them to have to scream for so long while I waft down the aisle, just smiling. I can see people flailing wildly out of the corner of my eye, but the thing above Gerrard’s head is watching me so I have to continue looking at him.
When I finally reach the altar, I keep my smile on my face as I ascend the stairs, holding up one side of my skirt in a gloved hand. Gerrard is smiling handsomely at me, dark hair slicked back and subtle makeup applied to his face to remove any flaws he might otherwise show. The noise of the crowd dies down as the bishop starts speaking, and I gaze into Gerrard’s deep, mischievous brown eyes.
I like blue eyes.
“…to witness the bonding of Prince Charles and his Cinderella in the holy sacrament of matrimony, and to recognize the first few moments of many that the two will spend together as husband and wife. Good people, today we finally see our beloved prince with someone whom he loves with a deep passion…”
Blah blah blah. I ignore the Bishop’s boring speech. I’ve heard it a million times already. Gerrard is smiling back at me, his expression so loving and genuine. I hope I look like that.
Should be in a few seconds or so…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One.
The stupid speech is over, and the bishop hands us both rings to put on. Once I’ve slipped mine over my gloved finger, glancing in awe at its beauty, I turn back to Gerrard. He’s beaming at me. I hear the cue from the bishop next to me, and Gerrard leans forward to kiss my lips.
His lips are rough and slightly chapped, but their texture is something I’ve grown used to. I’ve never kissed anyone except for him, so I don’t have anything to compare it to, but honestly? It’s fine. Not good, not bad. Just another kiss.
The people are roaring all around us, and I hear chants of “Prince Charles!” and “Cinderella!” echoing through the packed ballroom. And even though my eyes are closed as I kiss the man across from me, I can feel the presence of the same object I’ve been aware of all day, watching us, now positioned right next to our face.
He’s still kissing, I’m still kissing, we’re still kissing, but it’ll be over soon. If I can just count in my head…
Four,
Three,
Two,
…
One.
***
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand we’re DONE!” Janet shouts over the cacophony, and I pull away from Gerrard with relief. He looks a little disappointed.
The cheering and shouting around us has suddenly transformed into animated chatter and scattered laughter as the people begin to pile out of the ballroom. The bishop—I can never remember his name, too hard to pronounce, shucks his outfit like a banana peel, to reveal a skin-tight t-shirt and basketball shorts beneath.
“Great job, you two,” he grins at us. “Flawless, as always.”
I smirk as I step out of the stupid dress. Underneath I have the same style of clothing—skin tight and lightweight. “Well, I was sweating like a waterfall in that freaking thing. We might have to find a new one if this keeps up.”
The two of them laugh, and from behind me Christa walks up.
“Well, I guess I was wrong about them pausing it again,” she chirps, walking with us as Gerrard and I leave the bishop to head to the break rooms. I nod, relief etched in my body language. “I’m glad. I swear I almost fell over last time one of the Watchers had a bathroom break.”
All three of us laugh again, and for the first time in the last several hours I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. As Gerrard and Christa continue to talk about their performance, I glance behind me at the altar prop, still sitting in the middle of the now-empty ballroom. And I’m able to smile--really smile—when I see that the screen to the world of the Watchers, which I’ve been seeing out the corner of my eye all day, is gone.