(no subject)

[vivien]

August, Two years ago

“Hullo, Ingress,” said Tom slipping into Ingress’s bedroom. “Door had to answer a note one of the rats brought her, so she sent me to read your bedtime story.” He made an attempt at a smile as he clutched the books of fairy stories tightly to his chest.

“Okay,” Ingress said, looking past him, hoping Door was really right on his heels. “Door always reads my bedtime stories.”

“I know. She said I should try. Er, I brought a few she said you liked. Want to pick one?” He took a tentative step towards her. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the little girl. He just hadn’t spent time with children her age before.

“No,” said Ingress. “Door reads the books. You tell me stories.”

“What?” He dimly recalled telling a few silly stories one rainy afternoon, but that was it. Tom glanced at the books. “But- but these are good ones.”
“You can tell me one, and then Door can read me one.” She patted the side of the bed, delighted by this option. Tom was nice. He was Door’s prince, just like in the stories.

“Um.” He glanced at the little girl. This was such a foreign thing, caring for, well, for anyone, much less a child. “Alright.”

He sat down, close to the edge, and started as she snuggled closer to him. “Yes, well, er, what story shall I tell you?”

“Cinderella!”

Tom racked his brains. He’d read the story as a child, along with the other classic children’s tales in his orphanage library. He dimly recalled the plot.

“Once upon a time,” he began, knowing from accompanying Door for previous good night stories that that’s how these things started, “there was a girl called Cinderella, and, er, her parents, um.” He didn’t want to say ‘Died’ what with the fate of Ingress’s own parents hanging over them. “Her parents went away on a very long trip, leaving her with, um.” Well, that wouldn’t work. A step-mother wouldn’t be around if both parents went away on a trip.
This was not going well.

“No they didn’t. The mummy died and then the daddy married a lady and then he died. And the lady had the two mean daughters,” Ingress supplied helpfully.

“Oh yes, yes, quite right,” Tom said, slightly amazed by the matter-of-factness in the child’s voice. “And so the step-mother made Ella do all the work, and she had to sleep by the fire, and not in a comfortable bed. So they took to calling her Cinderella. One day, one of the king’s men came to their house with an invitation to a grand ball. He had a son, and this prince needed to find a bride, so the king decided to invite all the young ladies in the kingdom. Cinderella wanted to go, but the step-mother said, ‘No, you can’t. You’ve work to do, and besides whatever would you wear?’”

Ingress interrupted. “You have to do her voice.”

“What?”

“You know, the step-mother’s talking. So you have to do her voice all mean like. That’s what daddy used to do. He made all the voices when he told stories.”

Tom stared down at Ingress, realizing a fair few things all at once. “Ah.” He had choices. He could excuse himself, right now. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. He could tell her the story the only way he knew how, or insist on reading one of the books, whether she liked it or not. Or he could try.

He’d made this many changes, he might as well keep going. He frowned and raised his voice in a cold falsetto. ‘No, you can’t. You’ve work to do, and besides whatever would you wear?’”

Ingress beamed up at Tom, and he continued on, making voices he’d never thought would issue forth from his mouth. Being a Parselmouth, that really said something.

So it was that Door walked into the room amidst the sound of laughter as the wicked stepmother was thwarted soundly by the handsome prince. Despite her exhaustion, despite all that was going terribly wrong, here was one thing that was going terribly right. She giggled. Tom looked up in surprise, so caught up he was in the story. He immediately ducked his head, color blooming in his cheeks.

“Don’t let me stop the story. I want to hear it, too.” She crawled onto the bed, to take Ingress in her arms. Tom leaned back a little and draped his arm around both of them and continued on. When he got to “And they lived happily ever after”, his eyes met Door’s. They held a promise neither had discussed in length, but which lay between them, waiting to flower.

Ingress cheered and hugged Tom. “You tell good stories.”

“Thank you, little one,” he replied. He took Door’s hand. “I think I like telling them.”

At that moment, Door reckoned she knew just how Cinderella felt when the glass slipper was placed on her foot: safe, saved, and most importantly, loved.