I really like how the very large majority of relationships in Cinderella's castle aren't just shoved into the whole 'platonic romantic familial' love. I'm going to go through most of the (positive) relationships in the show, because the negative ones need a whole nother post, especially the stepsisters and Ella. But all the relationships instead can be traced back to dedication and devotion.
Ella, Lucy, and Justine
This one does actually fall into those categories more. They have a very deep friendship and say the three of them are sisters. I think it switches from more platonic to familial as Ella admits about the trolls and the two of them immediately try to help her escape. They have a deep trust above all else - unfortunately, this doesn't last long. Throughout the show after this, they do fill the trope of "You killed my (family member). I want revenge." Although it's way better than 95% of all the dead wives in media. Ella is forever driven and devoted in avenging her friends, and that dedication both drives the plot and the way their relationship is viewed.
2. Ella and Sir Hop-a-lot
Their relationship is defined through dedication. Ella has the upper hand in the power dynamic throughout the show - when he's a normal frog set to be killed, when he is set to serve as her knight with magic, and when she rewards him in the end. Sir hop a lot is dedicated to her because of that, but not necessarily for that. They both are driven by a sense of purpose, to protect Ella and Ella is ready to accept his help in creating this world where Lucy and Justine are avenged. They're not exactly friends nor family and definitely no romance, but they're far from strangers. It's no dark reluctant respect and working together - of course there's only goodwill and determination, they have something they need to do. They are bounded in respect and dedication and purpose in a way that almost makes them one being.
3. Crumb! (with both Ella and Sir Hop-a-lot)
Sir Hop-a-lot and Crumb's relationship is largely comedic, a mentorship - a knight and his squire. Crumb is innocent and unknowledgeable - which Sir Hop-a-lot does lord over him, constantly proving Crumb wrong. But he's still proud of him in the end. Meanwhile Crumb is always following Sir Hop-a-lot and Ella, no matter what happens.
Crumb has far less of that intense purpose - but Ella is a star to him, and he looks at her with admiration. He is far more of his own self and wanting his own things - even when that things is belly rubs. in this situation, he is just a child and he has been that squire for all he can know - and he's happy, and wants to do what he can for a good world as a knight. It's likely as time would progress he'd go about being a knight somewhat different from Sir Hop-a-lot, and I do think if Ella were to be corrupted he'd eventually go against her, but he is a young mouse, learning.
4. Ella and Tadius
A bunch of people see them as romantic - but it's more than just a romance (and anyways that's never fully canon). Ella is more representative of an idea for Tadius, and an inspiration. She plants the idea in his head of the corruption in royalty. She is finally an equal - not someone to serve, or someone poor, he sees as below him. She keeps up with his every beat and makes him question what he's observed his whole life as he looks at what she is doing. Tadius does not question for a second that Ella is blessed, not cursed, and sees her as beautiful - even without fully knowing what she looks like. He is devoted. Tadius does the same for Ella, making her question what is necessary and what she may have to do for her happy ending. Tadius is the first real 'good' person she meets outside of from those she'd known from before her mother died. They spur on each other's characters, and do still represent those ideas. They truly see each other for the first time once Tadius dedicates him to bringing justice by his own will, and Ella decides to take up that role of responsibility. They each combine their ideals in the way of serving to kingdom in acts of devotion.
5. Ella and the Fairy Queen
Despite saying she is mother, their relationship is definitely not familial. The Fairy Queen is not quite a person - not good, not bad, but just being, forever. She is a reflection of Ella's own thoughts and makes her bring them to light. She finally gives Ella that opportunity. Because she could just add well be an object - she's not really a person, but it is in being personified that Ella sees a reflection of herself - her beliefs, both in gods and her wants, and actually, their relationship is really interesting given Ella's mother died trying to summon the Fairy Queen's magic - and in that way, the Fairy Queen is her mother, like the tree that grew with the roots dug into her corpse. But in that, the Fairy Queen is Ella's past in her mother, her present in her thoughts, and her future in the power and dedication she have her to get there.
6. Rancilda and Putrice
This one really is family - they do act like sisters - sisters who grew up in a place with really fucked up morals - and they do love each other, in their way. They are competitive and petty in a way siblings are, but they don't want to see each other die. Even as they do bad things towards each other, Rancilda still screams as Putrice is killed. They're sisters - in a different way than usually, but they're sisters. And they still hold the devotion of family. Even, in a way, Ella is like a sister in this. But Ella cannot function as a sister in this 'different way' and she is hurt. And they do not know, and they do not do anything.
7. The Stepmother and her daughters
The stepmother is loyal to no one, and only dedicated to herself. She is fine with her daughters dying. All she wants is for them to follow in her skin-wearing steps. If they don't do that, they are nothing. Better dead and like her than alive in any other way. The stepmother is the stepmother and she is driven by devotion to her own twisted ideals like no other troll or human - and eventually she falls, because her devotion and anger is lesser than Ella's.
Anyways there's more stuff obviously but. I have to perform a concert in less than half an hour and I've been writing this the whole time so. bye y'all.
A world where Justine Grizzwald Lives. TWs in the AO3 tags.
Word Count: 6496 AO3 Part 1
Justine wakes up to a sight that is simultaneously welcome and distressing. She recognizes the Ashmore kitchen in an instant, as familiar to her as her own. As girls, they had often snuck in to steal sweet buns fresh out of the oven. The cook was a no-nonsense woman who would chase them, shaking a wooden spoon, and they would flee from her with shrill squeals of delight. Justine knew every nook and cranny of this place, as only a mischievous child could.
But now, the kitchen is covered in dirt and grime. A black, tacky paste coats the countertops and jars of pickled atrocities fill the shelves. Among them, she can see toes and eyes, a few floating fragments of frogs and rats. One bottle bulges with what seems to be condensed mold. Some of the boxes on the shelf buck and buzz, as though the contents are still trying to flee this place. The smell of rot and decay is nearly blinding; just breathing in makes Justine's eyes water. She can't help but gag as she rolls off of a cot and onto all fours. It is stained and sticky under her hands. Black residue clings to her palms. When she tries to wipe it off, she only gets covered in more slime that was caked between the cobblestones. Even daring Lucy wouldn't-
And then the memory returns to her, and Justine convulses with renewed grief.
The recollection of Lucy brings a fresh pain to the wound that Justine knows will never heal. Lucy took a piece of her when she died, one that Justine had freely given and one she would never dare ask her sister to return. It aches, like a tear in the very core of her being. She doesn’t know how she is meant to keep going, how she is supposed to continue on with her life after-
“Justine!”
Ella. Ella is here. Justine reaches toward her distressed voice, unable to hold back a grateful sob.
“What is it? What hurts?” Her dear friend fusses as she crouches by Justine’s side. Hands flutter around her like butterflies fretting over where to land. “I did my best with the wounds,” Ella says, "but I didn't have many supplies-”
“Wounds?” Justine says, and even as she says it, she feels it.
She hadn't realized at first, the only pain registering being the hole in her heart where Lucy once resided. But the moment she spoke, her face ignites with a stabbing pain. It encompasses the left side of her face, from her forehead to the bottom of her jaw, just above her throat. Her hands fly to her face, meeting heavy layers of coarse gauze. She remembers that terrifying darkness, during what she thought was the end.
“I… I can see?” Justine says. But even as she says it, she realizes it is untrue. Her right eye is fine, but… Her left. Her left, it… It can’t be-
“Stepmother missed your eye, thank the gods,” Ella informs her. “I couldn’t leave it uncovered and still bandage the cuts. I had to tie it off behind your head, and didn’t risk it coming off. I… I don’t have any spares.” She admits, ducking her head in shame.
Justine reaches up, and gently feels the bandages tied around half of her head. Her fingers ghost over her lips, her cheek, her thankfully working eye. The skin aches even from the gentle touches, and Justine can’t help a wince.
Ella reaches up and pulls her hand, knotting their fingers together to stop Justine’s fussing. Justine clings to her on instinct, unsure she could deny Ella anything in this strange nightmarish world, where she is half of a pair. For as long as she could remember, she and Lucy had been a set, the Grizzwald Sisters. She isn’t sure she knows how to exist on her own.
Who is she, if not Lucy Grizzwald’s sister? The sensible one? The responsible one? The boring one? As the eldest, she bore the weight of her father’s expectations to guide her sister in all the things their late mother couldn’t. So, she had studied with her governesses, memorized each embroidery lesson, rule of etiquette, and dance step. She was a wealth of knowledge for someone who was no longer at her side, a life rendered pointless in one fell swoop. She can feel her breath tightening in her chest, as panic swells in her.
Ella squeezes her hand, tight enough to turn Justine’s fingers red, then white, until Justine’s body is her own again.
Ella’s warmth is grounding as she guides Justine to two stools set up by the counter. It soothes the pulsing ache in her chest, a ghostly injury that leaves no mark. Her brother Cornelius had once told her of hunters who still felt arms and legs they had lost in battle, phantom limbs that still ached with ghostly pains. She thinks losing a sister is the same. She can still feel her bond and love for Lucy, directionless as it is. The unanswered echo of her love threatens to drown her, and she holds fast to Ella with all she has in order to keep from going under.
Her friend looks different, far from the polished noblewoman that greeted Justine and Lucy this morning. Ella is in a frock that is more patches than original fabric. It is stained with a myriad of every color of rot and ruin. Her hair is wild and clumped with dust and debris. Soot and blood stain her face, and she looks every inch the servant she had sworn to be. Gods, she is thin. Out of the sunlight and in the sickly torch light in this dank chamber, her cheeks are nearly skeletal. Justine thinks even the poorest of her father’s servants are better fed than Ella. She remembers those terrible ingredients on the walls and wonders when Ella last ate food fit for human consumption.
On impulse, Justine reaches up, aiming to cup Ella’s cheek with her free hand, as if her touch could fill those thin cheeks. But Ella shies from her, and-
Justine had thought it impossible to feel more pain. Between the wounds on her face that pulse pain with every beat of her heart and the insurmountable emptiness left from Lucy’s death, she had thought herself at her limit. But the sting of Ella’s rejection proves that Justine still has more to lose, even now. She won’t even deign to look at Justine.
Amazingly, Justine’s heart finds a new way to break.
“Ella, please, won’t you look at me?” She is begging, she knows. Her father would tell her it is beneath her, but in this filthy basement, surrounded by decay and death, she needs this comfort.
Ella scoffs, a bitter sound that seems alien to the well-mannered girl Justine knows. “How could I even dare?”
Justine feels her throat tighten. “I… I know that I failed you-”
Ella jolts upright in her stool, as though plunged into cold water. “You failed me? I am the one who failed you!”
“What?” Justine gapes.
Ella gnaws at her lip. “I… I couldn’t stop her. I never can stop her. She- She hurt you, and there was so much blood, I thought-”
Justine realizes that Ella thought she hadn’t just lost Lucy, but that she had lost both of them. That they had found her only to once again leave her alone in this awful place. Justine moves Ella’s fingers to rest over her pulse point on her wrist, so Ella can feel the life within her. “I’m alive, you saved me. I would be dead without you. I… I owe you my life-”
Ella shakes her head, vigorously. “Don’t- Don’t say that-”
“It’s true!” Justine insists. She will shake her friend if she needs to, anything to get Ella to understand just how amazing she is.
“No!” Ella barks. She tries to pull away again, but Justine clings even tighter, until Ella concedes and collapses into her hold. “You… You don’t know what happened, while you were unconscious.” Tears well in her eyes, and gasps into Justine’s shoulder. Hot frantic breath skates over her shoulder and Justine shivers from the contact. “You didn’t see how horrible it was-”
“What… What was?” Justine is nearly afraid to ask. Lucy had been murdered. What else could have possibly happened that was worse than that? “What did they-?”
“They skinned her. They made her into one of their dresses.” Ella spits the word, like the vilest of curses.
Justine doesn’t dare ask who. She thinks a confirmation may be her undoing. “Oh,” she says distantly, suddenly feeling as though she has been disconnected from her body entirely. Justine had known trolls were capable of this. Cornelius had told her of this ability, and how it made them so difficult to hunt and kill. But the idea of it happening to Lucy, of her body walking and talking mere floors above them, seemed utterly impossible.
Ella swallows, and unconsciously squeezes Justine’s pulse. “We… We are going to need to bury her.”
But that doesn’t make sense. “Bury her? But… You said they took her. How can we…” Justine follows Ella’s gaze to a seemingly innocuous bundle of sackcloth resting in the corner. Now that she is looking at it, Justine can see the fresh pool of blood that pools around it. It outlines the soaked, dirty cloth like a halo.
Justine makes it to the wash basin just in time to vomit.
~~~
It is Ella who carries Lucy to the roots of the grand tree in the forest. Justine tried, but when she pulled the sack, the pieces within shifted, and she began her gagging anew. Ella is almost too sympathetic, never complaining about her surely aching shoulders and worn-raw hands. Justine carries a shovel dutifully behind her. It feels impossibly heavy in her hands, even though she knows she has the easier burden between the two of them. She uses it as a walking stick, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other rather than her bloodied dress or the task ahead of them.
They are silent throughout their journey. The silence feels sacred, a burial shroud draped around them. The night clings close; the trees make an unbroken archway along their path, stoic as pallbearers. Crickets sing an elegy into the night, serenading Lucy on her final journey. Fireflies ignite the trees by the thousands. They rise from the grass as they walk by, the only other mourners in their funeral procession. Justine sobs at the sight of them, and she can see tears running down Ella’s cheeks as well.
Lucy had loved catching fireflies. Of course they would come to say good-bye.
Justine is the one who breaks the ground of Lucy’s grave. Ella sits and rests as Justine moves the dirt like a mantra. It will be a pauper’s grave, unfit for a Grizzwald of Honeyhold, and each shovelful serves a prayer and an apology. But shamefully soon, Justine finds herself tiring. Blisters bloom and break on her palms and her delicate shoes tear on the rusted edge of the shovel as she stomps on the blade. She can feel blood leaking through the bandages Ella had so carefully wrapped around her face, and her sweat stings her cuts. Only once she is so dizzy her vision swims does she concede the shovel to Ella.
And Ella… Ella barely seems to feel it at all. She digs through the hard packed soil and roots and rocks with a single-minded focus that Justine can’t help but admire.
Her breath catches at the sight of Ella’s arms. They flex as she wields the shovel, glistening with sweat. Justine can almost imagine-
With a brutal ferocity, she clamps her fist shut. Her nails dig into her palms, and she smiles, pulling the gouges in her cheeks. The blinding pain is a balm on her tempestuous thoughts. She is meant to be past this, thought she had rid herself of this silly summer notion. It is unbecoming of a Lady of her age, and gods know Lucy would never let her-
She digs her nails in further, and forces herself to sit. The dewy grass soaks through her dress, and she hugs her legs tightly to her chest to fight the chill. Her shoulders ache, her thighs burn, she has blisters atop her blisters. She isn’t right for this. She isn’t the Grizzwald who hunts trolls or who climbs trees to avoid their maidservants. She thinks, not for the first time tonight, that she is the one who should have died instead of Lucy.
Time is meaningless, going by only in the schink of the shovel and Ella’s grunts of effort.
And then, it is done. The hole is complete. All that is left is to set her sister down inside.
Ella lifts Lucy gently in her arms, cradling the sack with utmost care. It is like Lucy merely fell asleep in the glen, and Ella has deigned to carry her back to her bed. Ella kisses the facsimile of Lucy’s forehead, and Justine feels the brittle walls she has constructed crumble to ash.
Tears pour from her eyes as she sobs. They seep into her bandages and the salt burns the still open wounds. At this rate, they are going to need to clean them again, but the pain is nothing more than Justine deserves. She surges forward, wrapping Ella and dear Lucy in her arms, a twisted parody of the reunion hug they had shared earlier. She sags against Ella and wails. Ella leans forward and kisses her forehead with the same gentle reverence she showed Lucy. Her touch is featherlight, so much so that Justine cannot feel it through the gauze, yet still Justine shakes under her touch.
She only has one thought as Ella lowers her sister into her grave.
It isn’t fair. None of this is fair.
And then, barely even to herself, We should have never come.
It’s a horrid thought, one Justine is immediately ashamed of. Perhaps she is a monster herself, no better than the Stepmother, to wish that she had never even known of her dear friend’s plight.
Only… it hadn’t mattered. Learning the horrifying truth of House Ashmore had changed nothing. Ella is still trapped. Her Stepmother still presides over House Ashmore. The only difference is that Justine has been imprisoned and Lucy is…
Justine cuts off the cruel, callous tangent in her mind. There are things one shouldn’t even deign to think.
Justine takes the shovel from Ella. “I’ve recovered,” she lies. It isn’t even close to true, and Justine has to lean most of her weight on the shovel to even stay upright, but Ella doesn’t deny her this. Justine staggers over the pile of stone and dirt beside the open maw in the earth that has swallowed her sister whole, with a determination she does not truly feel. She ignores the pain from her hands, her face, her heart, and focuses only on the repetitive motion of shoveling the dirt back into the hole from whence it came. It makes it easy to forget.
She doesn’t even realize her palms are once again slick with blood until Ella gingerly stops her and tells her to sit. She does so mindlessly, as Ella pats the grave firm. Justine stares down at her blood-soaked hands, and, on a vicious, fraught whim, rubs them on the grass beside her, as though that could wipe her clean.
The moment her blood drips into the dirt, the ground rumbles.
“What is-” That is all Ella has time to say before the Old Oak erupts in a plume of brilliant white light. The force of it knocks her to the ground and Justine cries out in alarm.
“Ella!” She crawls to her friend’s side, bracing against her as the roots and soil convulse beneath them. “What’s happening?”
“I don't know,” Ella says, clinging to Justine in turn. “We should-”
They both scream as large roots shoot up from the ground, tearing the earth open. Justine and Ella stumble back to avoid being struck as the Old Oak thrashes like a wild thing. The leaves rustle and roar as it convulses, like a thousand whispered words in a language Justine will never know. The roots knot together in a complicated weave, forming a tall arch, over twice their heights. The wood groans and creaks under the strain of the rapid growth, and for a moment, Justine fears it will fall down upon them. Flares of gold and green light wrap around the arch, reminding Justine of the auroras of the Northern Kingdoms. There is a mighty tear, as though the fabric of reality itself is torn asunder, and an inky blackness engulfs the interior of the arch.
It frightens Justine, this blackness. Looking into it makes something in the core of her shiver with terror. She looks into that dark place and knows that one day that blackness will devour her, will take everything she is, until even her memory no longer remains. It is the blackness that is the end of all things, and Justine ducks her head and hides her eyes, worried she may go mad if she stares into it too long.
Ella never looks away.
So it is her gasp that alerts Justine to the arrival of the goddess.
That is the only thing she can be, the woman who steps out of the devouring dark and stands among the glowing light of the Old Oak. No other being could be as ethereal and incomprehensible, so glorious and horrific. The mere sight of her tears a sob from Justine' s throat; whether out of terror or elation she isn't sure.
The woman towers over them, taller than any living thing Justine has seen. The platinum plaiting and budding flowers of her crown brush against the lowest branches of the Old Oak, some fifteen feet above their heads. Her hair is silver as running streams and green as lush meadows, flowing down her back to nearly reach her bare feet. She wears not mortal clothes, but woven strands of sunlight that writhe and dance like fireflies. Her shoulders are bulky, and Justine gasps when she realizes she had three sets of arms, one set held over her head and the other two tucked tightly to her back. She wonders if all six of the woman's hands are tipped with those needle-like diamond claws.
The goddess's face is mesmerizing. Her thick white eyebrows are flecked with moss that grows down to dot her cheekbones like river rocks. Her eyes are the color of the first leaves of spring and her lips are black as the void she entered from, the beginning and the end. She smiles, showing wide pearlescent fangs meant to entice and devour. She looks down on them with a knowing that feels illicit on a stranger's face, like coming home to a place you have never been before.
Justine feels small beneath her. She ducks her head into Ella's shoulder and tries to breathe. She prays she will wake in the guest chambers of House Ashmore. Prays to the Nine Good Gods with everything she has that she will open her eyes with a gasp, and Lucy will laugh at her for being so scared of a nightmare. Ella will smile at her over breakfast, and it will make the night’s horrors melt away with the morning frosts.
But the gouges across her cheek ache with a pain too fierce for any night terror. The heat and power radiating off the goddess before them is beyond even the wildest of Justine’s dreams, too inhuman for her mind to conjure. The scents of smoke and churned earth ground her in this one unfortunate truth.
All of this is real.
“Greetings, daughter of fire, daughter of hive.” The voice echoes in the glen, resonating like a string plucked in a hallowed temple. It echoes over itself, splendid and sure.
“The light, it burns,” Ella stammers, shielding her eyes with her hands. Justine’s own eyes water from the brilliance and from terror.
“Yes,” the goddess says. It is not apologetic, nor is it cruel. It just… is. An irrevocable truth of the universe, unchangeable since the beginning and continuing beyond any mortal notion of time. “Let it burn away the last of your tears. Yours, and your lady’s.” Justine shudders as the goddess’s attention flickers to her for the first time. The gaze pierces through her chest and feels like hot fire against her soul.
“What… what are you?” Ella asks, voice once again steady and sure. She is braver than Justine could ever dare be.
The goddess smirks, showing off her blade-sharp fangs. She seems amused by the question, and perhaps she should be. There is no doubt in Justine’s mind as to this being’s nature. “I am fae. I am god. I am mother.”
“Are you Thedrah? Goddess of love and light?” Ella asks. Justine knows the answer, even before the god cocks her head in confusion. Thedrah is a benevolent goddess, one of mercy and tenderness. This goddess is anything but tender. It is not mercy that radiates from her, but the certainty of annihilation.
“Thedrah?” the being asks. The name is stiff and stilted on her tongue, with the wrong emphasis. “I know not this name. And I know a great many things.”
“Her statue stands in every church, beside the Nine Good Gods!” Ella gasps. She seems taken aback, as though this explanation will solve any confusion they are having. As though the rules now are the same as those of the world five minutes prior.
“Gods are not good, nor evil,” the goddess chides. “They simply are.” Her eyes narrow, and the lights dancing around them flare with her rage. “And they are beyond your judgment.”
“Ella…” Justine warns, as she stares at the lights in distress. They are no bigger than the fireflies that lit their way, but they burn with a heat that rivals any forge.
Ella swallows. Her hand squeezes Justine’s elbow. “Forgive me…”
“I have seen many gods rise and fall. All of them false. More lies from the race of men,” the goddess hisses and Justine can’t help the whimper it tugs from her. Justine had always been devout. It was a point of pride for her, her unwavering faith. Her father had seen and encouraged her love for the gods, and her handling of her sister. Gods, the things she had said to Lucy, all the judgements she had cast. Had they all been for nothing? Trying to force her sister into a mold for something that didn’t even exist?
Her eyes burn.
She can’t even apologize for it.
Ella hugs her closer, rubbing her hand up and down her arm, as though cold was the reason for her shivering. She then glares at the goddess looking down upon them. “Have we not suffered enough tonight?” she snaps, and Justine shushes her, but it isn’t enough to stop her. “Must you take our faith from us as well? Be gone, spirit.”
“Be gone?” The goddess yells, and the leaves tremble with her rage. The light surges and burns Justine’s skin like standing too near a stove.
She can’t believe she survived an attack from a troll, only to be smote by a god in the same evening.
“It was you who summoned me here. Your righteous fury, the fire in your blood, called to me beyond the realm of death. A summons fueled by the blood of the innocent, one that cannot be ignored.” She gestures a regal hand to Justine. “Your lady was kind enough to complete the ritual.”
Justine stares down at her bloodied hands in horror. She looks at Ella, desperate to beg for forgiveness for putting into motion something she cannot stop. “I- I swear I didn't-”
“You apologize for being the catalyst for my gifts?” The goddess asks, and there is a dangerous edge to her voice. Years ago, her brother warned her of the dangers of offending the fae. He told her of their power and their riddles, their vanity and their vengeance. Cornelius had told her tales of their ruler, who not even death could end: The Faerie Queen of Sweet Dreams. Justine sees his tales in the fire beneath the goddess’s skin, and does not take the warning lightly.
“Of course not, goddess,” Justine answers meekly, bowing her head.
The goddess smiles. “Then I shall make good on our bargain.” She raises her hands to the heavens, and turns her full attention to Ella. “Tell me your sweet dreams, child of ash, and I will see them come true. What is thy desire?”
Ella looks up at the goddess in awe. “M-my desire?” She bows her head, and stumbles over her words. “I only want for this world to be a good and kind place.”
Justine clutches her hand over her heart, moved nearly to tears. That's her Ella, so kind and thoughtful-
“You would lie to a god?” The accusation is harsh and reverberating, knocking them to their hands and knees. Justine winces at the force of the impact. But… She can’t understand it. Surely Ella isn’t lying. Not now, not about this.
The goddess softens, and scolds Ella like a misbehaving child. “Your pretty words are chains. Cast them aside and tell me… What is thy desire?”
Ella pants for a moment, digging her fingers into the grass, twisting it from its roots. She shakes, and at first, Justine thinks she is weeping. Justine longs to hold her, to soothe the cruel assumptions of this goddess and assure Ella that she, at least, knows the contents of her heart. Because there is no doubt in her mind that Ella Ashmore is good.
But then, Ella looks up, and, for the first time, Justine sees it. She sees just how Ella has managed to keep going, through all the horror she has endured. She sees what fuels her friend even as the world fails her, again and again.
Justine sees the deep, endless rage, and is scorched by the heat of it.
“Revenge!”
The Faerie Queen of Sweet Dreams smiles, twisting her beautiful features into a snarl that matches Ella's own. Her teeth glint in the starlight. “And revenge you shall have.”
“How?” Ella rises from the ground, pulling away from Justine’s hold, even as Justine tries to hold her closer. Ella doesn’t look back at her, only walks forward toward the Faerie Queen, eyes bright as silver coins in her light. Hesitantly, Justine stands and follows.
The goddess pays her no mind. She has eyes only for Ella, looking down at her with obvious approval. “I give unto thee these gifts. Use them well. Deliver our fire to those who have forgotten us. First, a knight to do thy bidding and slay thine enemies.”
Ella laughs bitterly at that. “I have seen what passes for a knight in this kingdom. There is no man I would trust.”
There is a shimmer of golden magic in the air. Though Justine doesn't know how, she can tell that the world has fundamentally changed once again.
A booming voice rings out behind them. “Not a man, m’lady.” Justine and Ella whirl around, instinctively reaching for each other as they prepare to face whoever has snuck up upon them. Behind them, clad in gleaming armor, stands…
A giant, sword-wielding frog?
Justine blinks, as if the impossible image will fade into the forest, her tired eyes playing tricks on her. Instead, the frog bows to them. “But a knight nonetheless.”
“Impossible,” Justine murmurs. She feels dizzy just looking down upon this creature, as though the world is tilting beneath her feet.
“Sir Hop-A-Lot!” Ella greets the frog with seemingly genuine glee. Apparently, they had somehow met before, and it takes all of Justine’s will not to scream at the absurdity of it. She is so focused on biting her tongue, trying to make a good first impression on the magic frog, that she is shocked by the squeak behind her.
She turns to find herself face-to-face with-
Black beady eyes. Long thin teeth. A whipping, worm-pink tail.
Justine screams, and nearly falls backwards in fright.
The rat—mouse?—stumbles back from her just as quickly, scurrying down from the stump that had brought him to eye-level. “Oh! Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”
“Crumb! We have talked about this!” Sir Hop-A-Lot scolds. “You must be gentle with a damsel in distress. Chivalry is of the utmost importance for any knight.” He turns to Justine, genuine remorse on his face. His eyes are bulbous, though the sincerity in them is impossible to deny. His mustache (how does he have a mustache?) quivers with his resolve. “My apologies, lady of my lady. He is green as summer, but will make a fine knight one day. I swear it to you.” The warts on his skin glistens with slime and Justine can’t bear to look at him.
“It’s fine,” Justine assures the ground beside his feet. She absentmindedly rubs the scar on her hand, where a rat in the cellar had once bit her. Given Ella’s pitying look, the movement isn’t as subtle as she would have wanted. “I was just taken aback by his… ferocity.”
Sir Hop-A-Lot seems pleased with that, voice chipper with delight. “Yes! One day he will fight with the skill of a frog!”
“Thank you, Sir!” Crumb chirps, seemingly delighted. Justine’s faux pas is quickly forgotten as both creatures begin to proclaim Ella’s greatness.
They are both so… alive. Practically human, with seemingly no memory of their time as normal animals. A dark, wretched feeling swells in Justine’s heart at the sight of such powerful magic. If the Faerie Queen could make a frog into a knight, could turn a mouse into a squire then… Could she not…
Justine glares at the still dirt of her sister's grave.
As though sensing Justine’s ire, the Faerie Queen’s fierce gaze falls upon her. Under her attention, Justine feels stuck, like an insect pinned for safe keeping. “For your second gift, I will restore your lady-in-waiting.” Justine nearly protests, as she is no such thing. But before she can correct the mistake regarding her title, the Faerie Queen raises her arms, and the incandescent light around her pulses.
Justine’s face ignites with fiery agony, and she wails in pain.
She falls, and knows she would have hit the ground if Ella hadn’t caught her. Ella slowly lowers them to the forest floor, at the base of the tree. The position is a mockery of Justine’s final embrace with Lucy. She supposes it is fitting. After all, Justine feels like she is dying.
“What are you doing to her!” Brave, foolish Ella screams at a god. Justine tries to stop her, to tell her it isn’t worth it, but the only noise she can make is a whimper. “Hasn’t she suffered enough?”
“I am healing her. That is what you wanted, isn’t it?” the goddess asks.
“You’re hurting her!” Ella protests. Justine can’t see through the blinding pain, but she can imagine the fierce defiance on Ella’s face.
“Any suffering is irrelevant, neither a boon or a hindrance.”
Justine claws at the bandages, tearing them from her cheek. To her horror, they burn away in her hand, a silver fire reducing them to ash. For a moment, Justine fears she has done more damage to herself, has damaged her hands as badly as her face, but the silvery fire is cool in her hands, dousing the pain of her bloodied palms. The closest feeling she can compare it to is the damp smoothness of an untouched river rock, but with none of the weight or solidity. But… if it doesn’t hurt her hands, then why-
Justine’s hands jump to her cheek. The skin is smooth, but unnaturally so. It is thick and unmoving. She can feel harsh gouges in it, where the skin is completely gone and not regrown. The touch of her own fingertips on it feels far away, as though she is still applying pressure through the gauze. She tries to smile, but the skin is tight and unresponsive, and she knows it ends up as a lopsided grimace. Her cheek doesn’t move and her eye stays half-lidded.
She doesn’t need all that beauty, does she?
Justine hadn’t truly understood the weight of the words then, what exactly the Stepmother was doing to her. But she knows now, what has been stolen from her. It should be a small price to pay after everything, her beauty for her life. Yet, she can’t help the tears that well in her eyes. Her breath hitches, and she hides her face in Ella’s chest. She can’t bear the expression of disgust her friend is surely wearing, not yet.
You’ll need to get used to it, a practical voice in her chides, and the thought just makes her cry harder.
Ella, sweet, beautiful Ella, frets over her, coaxing Justine from her safe spot where she had hidden. Her hands, rough from servant work, cup Justine’s cheeks. She wipes Justine’s tears and flinches when she feels Justine’s scars. On impulse, Justine looks up. The only thing worse than seeing Ella’s expression is not seeing it.
Ella gasps at the sight of her. It is a short sharp sound, and Justine braces herself for the worse. Only… there is none of the disgust she had anticipated. Ella shows no sign of sickness, nor does she look away. She only continues to wipe the tears from Justine’s cheeks, giving both sides of her face the same gentle treatment.
“You said you were healing her,” Ella says, only a degree away from open accusation. “People will treat her poorly for this, do you understand that? She will be hated, a pariah, for something entirely out of her control.” The words are harsh, and indeed, part of Justine thinks she ought to be offended. But… Ella doesn’t say the words like they are insults. She says them with the weight of cruel experience, as she can clearly see the fate laid before Justine and feels the burden as if it were her own.
The goddess gazes down at them, and something like pity twinges her expression.
“Some things, once done, cannot be undone.”
Justine gets the feeling she isn’t only talking about the scars. That feeling inside her festers, and she forces herself to look away, lest she say something she can't take back.
The Faerie Queen must take her silence as deference because she turns back to Ella. She gestures to Justine, Hop-A-Lot, and Crumb with a grand sweep of her arm. “These three companions will escort you to the prince’s ball.”
“I’m going to the ball?” Ella asks as she helps Justine back to her feet. Justine finds she no longer needs the assistance. The dizziness and weakness that has plagued her all night are gone, and she feels refreshed as she did as when she woke up this morning. The Faerie Queen wasn’t lying, then; she truly is healed, for all the good it did her.
The Faerie Queen chuckles at Ella’s surprise. “Not in those humble rags.” She reaches down, gesturing towards Ella with those long, endless claws. “Take my hand and come with me.”
Ella looks to Justine. Justine shakes her head, as minutely as she can. Ella hesitates, then her face hardens. She steps toward the Faerie Queen. Justine reaches for her, but stops herself when she sees Sir Hop-A-Lot rest a hand on his blade. “Where?”
The Faerie Queen grins brilliantly, terrifying and triumphant. “Beyond space. Beyond time. To the end of all things.”
Ella reaches out, takes the goddess’s hand, and winks out of existence. There is no sound, no light; Ella is just… gone.
“Ella!” Justine feels something within her crumple, the last vestiges of that dam holding her rising rage disintegrating in her fingers. “What did you do to her!”
“Take heart, lady of my lady!” The frog croaks, placing a clammy hand on her shoulder. He doesn’t seem offended when Justine instinctively jerks away. “The Goddess of All That Is Green and Good would not harm our lady.”
“I would like to hear that from her,” Justine spits. Ella is gone, all Justine has is this cruel goddess and her unnatural gifts.
It's too much to bear.
She can’t remember having ever felt this angry before. She lost Lucy, she lost her faith, she lost her beauty… If she loses Ella, she thinks she will tear the world apart. If she is killed for her insolence, at least Lucy can laugh at her about it in the afterlife.
“Ella has accepted her role as my acolyte,” the goddess decrees. “The road she is on cannot be diverted. Now, I will need an answer from you, daughter of wax and honeycomb. For there is a great task, one that only you can hope to achieve.” The Fairy Queen looks upon Justine, radiant and terrible, and Justine is mortified to realize... The Fairy Queen knew her entirely and understood. She saw right to the depths of Justine's soul and witnessed the feelings she hid there, the feelings that had only swelled upon seeing Ella again. The frantic, fluttering feelings she hadn't been brave enough to tell even Lucy about.
(And now she never will.)
"Stars burn beautiful and bright," the goddess says, "But they can fall. The gifts of a god can be wearisome on a mortal form. Ella will need an anchor, grounding her humanity while she is full of my Starlight." The Faerie Queen's attention never leaves her. Her gaze burns, as though Justine is the one glowing with her power. "You have bound yourself to this ritual, though your own blood, and it cannot be completed without your conviction. She will not survive without your structure and sweetness. Will you take this task, Justine Grizzwald, and hold your Ella to this plane?"
And somehow, Justine hears it, buzzing in her head so strongly it makes her teeth ache.
Will you be able to love her enough to keep her human?
Justine thinks of Ella. Ella, who braided her flower crowns and played hide and seek with her in the glen. Ella, who faced a troll for her and buried her sister. Ella, who bore a depthless rage and desire for revenge that chilled Justine to the bone.
Of Ella Ashmore, the woman to whom she owes her life.
Of Ella Ashmore, daughter of witchcraft and weapon of the gods.
Of Ella Ashmore, her first and only love.
The answer is simple.
Justine nods.
"I will."
And when Ella returns, radiant as a fallen star, Justine knows there was never any other choice to make.
Scary dog privilege
i don’t know how why and where they came from other then crumb’s random drawings with them and ranboo’s responses to them but I am ready to kill for them both
