Diamonds and Ice

As they get ready, I collect myself to come out of the damp darkness and get on with my evening chores. If I could, I would have stayed there until they’re out, but can’t wait that long. Otherwise, I will be up till midnight cleaning up the house for the day and setting things ready for the next.

Oksana and Irina admire their news dresses and try on accessories as if nothing happened earlier. I, learned my lesson that I will always and forever be the servant, keep to my house duties.

“Hey, Victoria!” Oksana calls as she wraps a fox fur around her neck. “Do you want us to bring you a piece of cake from the dessert bar?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want anything,” I shake my head.

“That’s what we thought,” cheerful and confident in her look, Irina pouts her red lips at the hallway mirror.

“Victoria, for breakfast tomorrow make fresh raisin bread to help us with our handover and brew coffee instead of tea,” step mother gives me a glance as she exits behind her daughters.

“Yes, step mother,” with a broom in my hand, I watch the door close behind them.

As the evening grows darker, I work quickly to finish up with the chores. Dinner pots and plates washed. Check. Floor mopped. Check. Clean laundry put away. Check. Area rugs beaten. Check. Firewood brought in. Check. Chickens gathered back into the coop, bird cage cleaned, and raisin dough folded and sat to rise. Check, check and check.

For three years I’ve been a slave in my own home, but still remember what it takes to be a lady. Or at least smell like one. Hiding in that spiderweb infested cellar, got me itching for a long, hot bath and with the step family gone, this gives the peace to lean my head back. But just as my pores soak in the wild lavender I dried myself, that stupid door bell rings.

You’ve got to be kidding me! Not even knowing whoever it might be, I curse the visitor for making me get out of the tub and forcing me get decent in my fluffy bathrobe. This could be a late delivery for either Oksana or Irina, and ignoring the call is not an option.

“Hello,” I open the door, bracing my wet self against the cold. “Working over time, I see,” I nod at the pastel boxes the middle aged delivery man is holding.

By the looks of the tiny ice crystals on his beard I can tell this has been a long work day, but his long black fur coat makes the job bearable.

“Well, I’ve been instructed to deliver these at exactly 10 o’clock on this night, Miss.”

“That’s kind of late, but I’m sure my step mother had her reasons. The Arlova sisters will just have to open them tomorrow,” eager to get this over with, I take them off his hands.

“No, Miss, the receiver’s name is not Arlova,” he checks the tags. “It says it’s for... Sterling? Victoria Sterling? ”

“Oh,” I frown. “That will be me.”

“Alright then, you have yourself a good night, miss,” the delivery man bids a farewell as he hands me the packages.

“Thank you,” that’s all I can think to say, otherwise I’m speechless. Forgetting the winter air bitting at my bare feet, I slowly close the door.

A envelope, hopefully with some answers for what is the meaning of this, is attached to the top box. My hands rip it open to make sure that this is really for me and this is not just some freak accident and I happen to be the wrong Victoria Sterling.

Out loud, I read the note of most beautiful calligraphy.

My dear friend,

I hope this note finds you with your step mother and step sisters already absent. I heard of the Winter’s Ball and this occasion calls to give you more than just a pair of new mittens. If I’m overstepping my boundaries, forgive me. Please, accept these gifts and wear them. I pray to see you at the ball tonight.

With deepest respect,

Your friend from the forest.

My friend from the forest? And why would this sender mention the mittens? A single realization and the only thing that can make sense of this hits me like a train. Gasping, I drop the note. Could this be? No it can’t be! Wolves can’t write. Or go dancing! But then, they shouldn’t be able to speak either.

Maybe this is a prank. Maybe my step sisters aren’t done torturing me for asking about the dance. Cautiously, I lift up the lid and see that this is not a joke. This is for real. And so must be these diamonds, delicately sown into the layers of sheer fabric. In the next box, I’m surprised with a pair of silk heels. In the next one I find green and white gems. When I open the last and biggest one, I find a white winter coat with the fluffiest fur collar I’ve ever touched.

This strange, but yet pleasant friendship has only began and it already exceeded my wildest expectations. I’ll have to hurry up with my bath and get ready. Tempted, I bite my lip. This can get me into serious trouble if step mother catches me, but how can I possibly worry about that. After all, I miss wearing diamonds and going dancing never sounded this much fun.