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Fairy Tales & Folklore - Adaptations
her palace, where the girl could be treated as befitted her birth. The only catch was that she would need to do it before midnight, but without being observed.
Ellen was about to ask if there was any other way, or if she shouldn't wait until everyone was asleep (which would be some time after midnight), when the sound of the latch turning made her jump and spill the rest of the water down her skirt.
Lydia, the maid who shared Ellen's room, put her hands on her hips in disgust. "Now I'll have to carry up another pitcher of water while you change," she groused.
"I'm sorry," Ellen whispered.
But it was no good. Lydia hated her. She had to make Ellen's bed every day, because Mrs. Hanks required the maids' rooms to be kept tidy at all times, and Ellen could never get the sheets to lie flat. Ellen could never remember to bring up two pitchers of water, one for her and one for Lydia, either. The one time she had remembered, she'd spilled both on her
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way up the stairs, and had to mop up the spill and refill the pitchers. It was just like all of her other chores: no matter how hard she tried, she was useless.
And Ellen found that she was even more useless for the rest of the day. Thoughts of meeting her godmother in person, of setting foot in a palace where she wouldn't be expected to iron anything, filled her head. She tripped and tore the hem of her gown, spilled tea all over Poppy's coverlet, and dropped Marianne's freshly laundered handkerchiefs into a coal scuttle.
It was with great relief that Ellen found herself banished to the guest rooms to dust knickknacks with an ostrich plume. No one would look for her for hours, and she could always finish dusting after midnight, when she returned from her visit.
Besides, there were few valuable ornaments here and if she broke any, it would be no great loss. In fact, she rather thought that Lady Margaret might thank her for breaking one particular vase: it had a lopsided eagle painted on it, and one of the other maids had told Ellen that it would have been thrown out long ago if it hadn't been a gift from His Lordship's great-aunt.
As she hastily built a fire in the smallest and least-used guest room, Ellen kept her ears pricked for any sound from the corridor. The tinder wouldn't take, and in the end she threw her own handkerchief in to get things going. Building fires was another thing she could never do properly.
But at last she had a merry little blaze, which she promptly poured a glass of water over. Cringing, Ellen stuck her face into the smoke that roiled up and said, as instructed, "Cinders, cinders, smoke and water, take me to visit my dear godmother!"
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The fireplace expanded, stretching like a waking cat until it was a tall doorway. Ellen scrambled to her feet and hiked her skirts high to step over the fender, into the mucky remains of her fire, and then on into the dark corridor beyond.
Her heart was hammering loudly in her throat, but more with excitement than fear. At the end of the corridor was a bright light, and she could hear music.
After eight years of neglect, she had finally found someone who wanted her.
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***
nightmare
Running down endless hallways carved of black stone, Poppy gasped and lifted her long trailing skirts higher. She couldn't remember how she got here, but she knew precisely where she was: the King Under Stone's palace of black rock and despair. Dressed in one of the bruise-colored Under Stone court gowns, she raced down corridor after corridor. None of the doors would open to her frantic tugging, but even if one of them did it wouldn't help her escape. There was only one door out of the Palace Under Stone, and she could not find it.
She turned a corner, and there before her was the silver gilt arch that led into the ballroom. The tall candles within were brightly lit, and she could hear shrill music and sharp laughter. She whirled around, wanting to avoid the attention of Under Stone and his sons, but the corridor behind her had
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