If the Slipper Fits...

"Would you shut up?"

I've never yelled at the birds outside my bedroom window. Part of me feels bad. We have a routine: I wake up, open the windows, sing a song, and we get ready together. But I just want to lie in this impossibly soft California King canopy bed. I readjust the blankets and turn over, burying my face deeper into the silk pillowcase.

It's only now dawning on me that my pillow is stuffed with bird feathers, but my best friends are also birds—the irony. I sort of thought we would part ways after I got married and moved into this big ass castle. But alas, they're still here.

The chirps grow louder. Before I can cover my ears, I feel a tug at my back, and my feet are on the floor.

I look up at the ceiling. I've only heard whispers about The Owner, the person who writes my story. I imagine him somewhere up there, controlling my every movement and word like a master puppeteer. I didn't mind when I was young, and my story was still being written. But now that I have my Happily Ever After, things have been... well, the same.

I walk over to the window, ready to offer apologies to my tiny comrades. The little blue bird, the one that's been nursing a broken foot since my story began, is especially irritated with my morning outburst. I speak his language, but today he isn't giving me the dignity of a chirp.

"Good morning," I offer in my best princess voice, an octave higher than my natural speaking voice. "I'm sorry I kept you all waiting. Shall we start our day with a song?"

I start with some la-la-las (I've never had singing lessons), and the bird choir joins in. Little Blue Bird isn't having it. He just stares at me with his big cartoon eyes.

I shrug at him between breaths. I'm not a bitch. A girl just wants to sleep in for once, okay?

After our song, a few of the birds fly into my room, while the others tweet their farewells. I take a seat at my vanity and begin brushing my impossibly soft blonde hair. Then I gently pull my hair up and together, and the birds tie it with a blue satin ribbon.

"Thank you, friends," I sing-song, still feeling a little guilty. Little Blue Bird gives me a final scowl before flying away.

I quickly change out of my silk blue chemise into a simple blue dress (I have twenty of the same one) and hurry down the stairs to the dining hall. I can't describe it, but my feet feel like they're floating, beckoning me to keep in step.

"Good morning, Your Majesty." Ms. Fairchild greets me at the foot of the staircase. She's the head housekeeper. I've been living at the castle for a few months, but she doesn't seem interested in exchanging more than pleasantries. A tough nut to crack.

She also reminds me of my stepmother—not that I would ever say that out loud.

"Good morning. I'm late for breakfast." I actually don't know if I am, but apologizing is a habit at this point. Blame my upbringing.

"Not at all, ma'am. You're right on time."

Right on time? I look around for a clock. Now that I think about it, I haven't bothered to check one in ages. Before I can question my warped sense of time, I'm pushed into the dining hall for breakfast with Prince.

Prince is not his name (neither is Charming), but no one ever calls him by his real name, except in official decrees. He's also technically a king, but I forget that.

I take in his scent as he kisses me on the cheek. He smells like fresh grass and honey.

"My sweet," he says, looking deeply into my eyes. "It's a lovely day."

"It is. The birds… greeted me this morning."

He motions for me to sit across from him. I don't know why we eat the most casual meal of the day at opposite ends of a long table in one of the largest rooms in the castle, but whatever.

"How did you sleep?" He takes a sip from his teacup.

"Well," I say as a server takes the cloche off my plate. It's an impossibly perfect breakfast: eggs, bacon, and two pancakes with a side of fruit. I mouth a "thank you." It's weird being served when you've spent most of your life serving others.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. I usually love these pancakes. They're soft on the inside and slightly crunchy on the edges. But for some reason, they taste off. Loads of syrup isn't doing the trick, either.

"Is something the matter?" Prince finally asks. He's signing a very important-looking scroll. He takes a bite of his eggs as an attendant swoops in to retrieve the document.

"No, not at all," It's an automatic reply, like I'm hearing a recording of someone else. Weird.

We return to our breakfast. A few more minutes pass.

"Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you," I start, my fork shaking in my hand. I feel my cheeks grow hot.

Prince looks up. "Anything, my love."

His big, dopey eyes put me at ease. I feel silly for getting nervous. "Do you ever… I don't know… want to do something new?"

"New?"

"Well, I just mean something different. We wake up every day and have breakfast. You run the kingdom, and I—"

"Tend to the castle." Prince smiles, pleased with himself.

"Ms. Fairchild tends to the castle." I look over at her, hoping she'll agree, but she's a statue in the corner of the room, her eyes averting my gaze.

"But you're Queen."

I look back at Prince. He's sweet and encouraging, but not always in the most helpful ways. I sometimes wonder if his character is two-dimensional, like the paper dolls I played with as a little girl.

"It's just a title," I say, taking a bite of pancake.

He goes back to signing the paper mound. It's somehow even higher than it was before.

Mercifully, a footman, John, comes to take my plate away. "Are you finished, ma'am?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you." He gingerly gathers the utensils like they're recently discovered buried treasure. "You know, John, I haven't asked where you're from."

"I'm from the countryside, ma'am.”

One of my people. Maybe he even knows my father's family. "I am, as well. What part?"

"The countryside." His reply is matter-of-fact.

"Yes." Now I'm wondering if I asked a dumb question. "How close to the river? North or south?"

"I'm from the countryside, ma'am."

Okayyy. I give Donald a pass. He's probably not used to small talk. I'm not either, obviously.

I look over at Prince. He's wiping his chin with a napkin, oblivious to my side chat with John from the Countryside.

"I'm off to run the kingdom," he says finally. He makes this announcement every day. Then he goes off to his study, and I don't see him until lunch. And then dinner.

"May I join you?" I actually have no idea what he does, so I'm intrigued.

"Oh, darling, you would be bored."

"Maybe not. What are some of the things you do?"

"Hmm. Well, I read things… and write other things."

Before I can ask more questions, he's at my end of the table. He kisses the top of my head. "Why don't you read in the library? You love books." And then he's off.

I let out a big sigh, my elbows collapsing onto the table. I catch a glimpse of the rose garden outside. It's impossibly perfect, just like everything else in this impossibly perfect place.

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" Ms. Fairchild's voice snaps me out of my privileged pity party.

"Oh, it's nothing. I just feel off." I attempt my best smile. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"Your usual, ma'am. Tea in the library to start."

"And what will you do?"

"What I always do, ma'am. Tend to the castle."

I detect her almost-smirk. She did hear me earlier.

"So what did you do before this? I mean, before all this." I sweep my arms up and around. This place really is huge.

"Hmm." Ms. Fairchild purses her lips. "I don't remember."

"Well, is there anything you like to do for fun? Like a hobby?" I figure a softball question is a better route.

"I enjoy helping you, ma'am."

The pattern is becoming clearer.

I hop up from the table and look her in the eye. It's terrifying (She's terrifying), but I'm realizing my rut—and whatever is going on with the staff in this castle—is the bigger problem. "Why don't we switch things up today?"

"Would you like your tea in the parlor instead, ma'am?"

I laugh, but she just stares at me. Moving on... "I mean, that sounds lovely, but we can drink tea any day. Why don't we… take the day off instead?"

Ms. Fairchild bends her head forward ever so slightly. "I don't think that's a good idea."

I mean, I get it. When you work so hard, and your job is to wait on people hand and foot (literally sometimes), it's just easier to keep going.

But now my goal is to reassure her. "I give you full permission, Ms. Fairchild. Do whatever you want for the rest of the day. I mean, we all deserve a day to do whatever we want now and again, right?"

Crack.

A snapping sound sends shivers down my back. When I turn around, I'm relieved to see the noise was just thunder. The rain falls hard against the windowpanes, and lightning flashes beyond the hills. I clench my shoulders, waiting for the second boom.

Ms. Fairchild is already at the center window. She nods to the attendants, and they follow her lead in closing the curtains across the wall.

"What's going on?" I ask. The thunder is a little scary, but all this scrambling seems a bit intense.

She turns back to me, half of her face concealed in shadow. "The Owner doesn't approve."

"The Owner? You know about him?"

Crack.

"Shhh…" Ms. Fairchild grabs my hand, takes a candle, and pulls me to the hallway, away from the rest of the staff. "Keep your voice down."

I try to keep my cool, but I'm utterly confused. "What's going—?"

"So what do you know?" Her voice is barely audible.

"Umm." I try to think straight. "I mean, not much. The Owner writes my story—"

"No, the Owners control your story. They didn't write it. Well, they wrote this version"—she looks me up and down—"of you."

Huh? I'm lost, obviously.

Ms. Fairchild continues. "You know how in books there's always a main character? The character the story revolves around?"

I nod. Yes, of course, I know what a main character is.

"Well, that's you. You're the main character in this story."

Okay… "So what about you? You, Prince, the attendants—"

"Supporting characters," Ms. Fairchild smirks. "And so is everyone else you've ever met in your life."

Her words replay in my mind. It's weird—I mean, I always knew I had a story. I just didn't know it was my story.

I pace up and down the hallway for a few minutes, watching Ms. Fairchild's candle drip wax out of the corner of my eye.

A million thoughts are rolling through my mind, but one is at the top. "So If I'm the main character in my story, where's the action? It's like I got married and now I'm stuck in story purgatory or something."

"They don't tell me much," Ms. Fairchild says, patting me on the shoulder. At this point, I don't know if she actually feels sorry for me or if it's her job to keep me appeased and compliant, locked away in this impossibly beautiful prison.

I turn around to steal a private moment. I don't know why I'm tearing up. The Owners are good to me. I got my fairytale ending, and I'm better off than most.

And then I remember I was covered in ashes for a good chunk of my life, not to mention the indentured servitude to my wicked stepmother and stepsisters. But then again, poor John from the Countryside doesn't even have a backstory.

I look around the hallway, studying the walls for the first time. Will they fall if I push too hard? Were they built to keep me here until they figure out what to do with me? Do they even care anymore?

I'm not waiting to find out.

"So what happens if I leave? What if I want my story to keep going?" I ask.

Ms. Fairchild shrugs. At this point, I can't tell if she's lying or just doesn't want me to know what happens. But it doesn't matter either way.

"I'm going out," I announce.

Before she can stop me, I'm running down the hallway and up the grand staircase. It's dark, but I can see fuzzy outlines of the steps.

Ms. Fairchild chases after me. "But it's raining cats and dogs! You can't go out!"

"Funny!" I call back.

I'm on a mission as I enter the bedroom and open the wardrobe doors. Now where are they…

I tear through the dresses, throwing them as I look for my shoes. The shoes.

"What are you doing?" Ms. Fairchild pants. She takes a handkerchief from her pocket and starts fanning herself. Clearly, she wasn't written to run.

"The last time something good happened to me, I was wearing…" I'm on my hands and knees, scouring the floor. I finally find them—in the back corner, no less.

Ms. Fairchild's eyes grow wide when I dust myself off to show her. "Those are…"

"Yes." Everyone in the kingdom knows these shoes. My shoes—the ones my fairy godmother gave me. "I mean, they hurt like hell, but it was the best night of my life.”

Ms. Fairchild fans herself again. I've never seen her so frazzled, her usually sleek hair slightly askew. She leans against the bedpost as I put on my long cloak and slip on a pair of flats. "So you're really doing this."

I shrug. "I told you. I'm going out."

"At least let me pack you a bag," she says.

As we walk down the stairs together, a full satchel on my shoulder, I realize just how protected I am in the castle. While I've been here, I've never wanted for anything—until today.

I learned to be self-reliant once, but can I do it again?

My thoughts are swirling as we approach the front door. Ms. Fairchild waves off the guard. She's the real queen around here, I've come to realize.

"I can't protect you once you're outside the gates," she says. It's my final warning, my out if I want it.

"Do you want to come?" I ask.

Ms. Fairchild laughs. "I'm a supporting character, remember? This is main character stuff."

"I guess so." I don't argue. I don't ask again. Hell, I'm not even sure I won't be struck by lightning when I step off the property.

But I won't be stuck in story purgatory forever. Not like this.

I take a deep breath as the door opens. The storm has passed, leaving behind a foggy mist.

"You will try to come back, won't you?" Ms. Fairchild asks, her eyes searching mine.

I see the inkling of a rainbow peeking out of a cloud in the distance. I smile, tucking the heels of my glass slippers back into my bag. "I'll be back by midnight."