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Fairytale Twilight: Cinderella

Summary:
Modern retelling of Cinderella, with a Twilight twist. Bella, the adopted daughter of rich singer Rosalie, has been forced to life the hard way - she has to do all sorts of chores for her evil sep-mom and step-sisters. When she hears that the idol of her dreams, the famous pop singer and dancer Edward, is hosting a masked ball to determine his partner, Bella will do anything to get there...


Notes:
So read it, and enjoy! It doesnt take much to review, really - just clicking and typing "wow" or "ew" or "crap". Seriously, please r&r and hope you like it! Luv, Ash


2. Royal Bounty

Rating 5/5   Word Count 2761   Review this Chapter

“Oh my god! Oh my god! HE’S ON TV, MOM, JESS!”

Bella, who had been singing a tune inside her head and revelling in the serene silence, jerked to mental consciousness and hurried forward to see what happened; her haste was such that she slipped on the recently wet stairs which she had been mopping and landed with a thud on the fifth step from the bottom – and she, losing momentum, rolled over and landed with another thud on the step below. She gasped audibly, and her legs buckled under her in an uncomfortable position; she fell forward and landed on her chest at the bottom of the stairs, her legs curved over her back.

She moaned at the bruising she had gotten from slipping down the steps – her stomach was hurt, her legs were feeling a tad numb and bruised, her shins aching, and her butt was throbbing. A small tear of hurt welled on her left eye; she brushed it away without much ado and got her footing again, standing up and brushing herself.

Down the stairs, the ever so ugly Lauren walked hastily; her skirt was a super-micro-mini, her voluminous thighs juddering flabbily. Her tee was figure hugging, and Bella wanted to close her eyes and never look again once she saw the shudder-inducing sight of her horrible body in the slinky top. She was murdering fashion once more. Lauren passed Bella a scorching glance, and then juddered off to her sister, her mini limiting the length of her stride.

Almost at once, a distraught Rosalie came snailing down the stairs.

She moved with grace and fluidity, no doubt about that. Her stride was like gliding down the aisle, a swift but watery movement. Her long black robe was a halter – she wore it as a halter, and then the dress shrugged her figure till the waist – it then flared out like a huge gown, not bridal or poufy, but flowy and rippling. She had a silvery nightgown-like topcoat on, and her hair was pulled back into a slick high ponytail – her hair was just like Jessica Alba’s in Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer. Her face, however, went along with her hair – ghastly beautiful, but strict and stern. Her mouth was thin and pink, glistening and thinning by the moment as she saw Bella. Her eyes were a brilliant bluish grey, her lashes large and extensively spread to frame her brilliant eyes properly. Her nose was flawless – covered by the softest, fairest and most undisturbed stretch of skin that covered her face too – her cheeks were just so soft and looked carved. Rosalie Hale’s body was perfectly sculpted – and the whole image was a work of the many ageing creams and face-washes and fairness creams that littered her room – and the starvation diet she was on.

As she glided down the stairs, she threw a look of disdain towards Bella, her mouth thinning and her eyes flashing dangerously; Bella got up hastily and continued to scrub the floor, watching Rosalie from the corner of her eyes. Rosalie hardly ever spoke, but when she did, it was in varying tones – one could see how angry she was. Bella continued to watch Rosalie almost pass her, then pause, and then take a step down. She deliberately spat on the floor right behind Bella and smirked when she saw her whip around and look at the blob of spit disgustingly, and then throw Rosalie the most venomous look she could muster. It was amazing how the look couldn’t burn.

Rosalie ignored her, and continued to walk towards her daughters’ direction. Her long, blonde hair fluttered behind her, and the hoops dangling from her ears were flouncing in the air.

Bella heard Rosalie converse with her daughters’ in the TV room – she sounded excited. Jessica and Lauren were plain screaming and squealing like mice in their nasal voices.

Cautiously, Bella tiptoed over to the room from where she could hear the noise, to see what the entire hubbub was about. She made no sound as she sneakily slithered across the mantelpiece, her mop ready in case they caught her, and she slowly, warily, peered over the door frame.

The room was large, and it was etched in her memory, what with all the cleaning it underwent. The room was themed a classic white and gold, except for the ornate blue chandelier. The three women were sitting on the comfortable red L-shaped couch, the blonde hair of Rosalie in the middle, and the two quivering girls’ on either side of her.

Their eyes were fixed on the TV.

The flashing colours and dramatic shapes styled themselves into scenes and snippets. A beautiful reporter appeared on the TV. Her brilliant red hair was quivering despite the no-breeze condition, and her face was pale but well sculpted. She didn’t look exactly pretty, but there was something innocent about her, and something professional, that just drew people to the screen. Bella could see how much the lady had in common with Rachelle Lefevre – Bella was a huge fan.

Bella strained to see and listen now, as Jessica altered the volume, and the trio leaned in a little to the ginormous plasma screen.

“Hello, and Good Evening to all the residents of Forks, the most popular and rich town in North USA and to everyone watching this at home elsewhere. My name is Victoria and I am standing here at the Cullen Palace.”

Obviously, Bella thought. The news reporter was standing on a hill, with the Cullen manor in the background - while it was a majestic and mystical manor, this Hale house was a grand villa – why wouldn’t it be, considering that Rosalie was one of the world’s best actresses.

“Of course,” Victoria continued, “there have been rumours around here that the youngest of the Cullen children, Edward Cullen, is now reaching his twenty – first birthday, and he is still a bachelor. His birthday, which is a two weeks away, on the thirteenth of May, will be celebrated with a bang – the Cullen family has decided to find Edward Cullen a woman he can date, and then marry. The common question that has gone around is what they will be doing to organize such a social event – where the looks won’t get to Edward Cullen first. The Cullen family strictly wants the youngest Cullen to search for the heart, and not the beauty. And thus, this will be determined by a masked ball which will take place a day before his birthday, at the Cullen Manor, in the ballroom which is big enough to accommodate however many women want to come. And of course, since it will be a large family, the Cullens are encouraging many young men to come as well – who knows, maybe in such a large gathering, the marriage of many more couples will be fixed.”

Bella breath had already gone away.

Edward Cullen.

Single.

The news bowled her over like a game of ten-pin bowling. She was emotionless for the moment – her breath nonexistent.

The truth was that Bella had ALWAYS managed to see every episode or show or program with Edward in it, on TV. She was crazy about him – she was completely obsessed with him. His music, his movies, and his dance routines. She loved every bit of him. She had browsed through every single magazine she could find to cut out ANY articles on him and make a reminder to hide them safely in her scrapbook or her many folders. But this wasn’t just obsession – it was more than that. When Bella had managed to figured a lot out about him, especially his personality, she had moved on to that “crush” stage.

Bella turned away from the screen and pressed her back against the wall, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She had to go to that ball.

But could she? The manacles that bound her to the horrid house were invisible, but existent. She had to be here. She couldn’t go. She wouldn’t be allowed to.

But tired of being in the dark all the time, it was time for Bella to choose, and step forward to show herself who she was.

And at once, the name “Cullen” peered through the door again, and Bella instantly snapped back to her previous sneaky position.

The reporter was talking to a short girl whose hair was a spiky black halo around her head. She looked around nineteen, and her body was beautifully sculpted – dressed in the most diva-est, most fashionable French clothes ever to be designed. Her skin was a pale white, and her eyes were a glowing hazel, framed by promiscuous lashes that curled up mysteriously. Her nose was flat and button-y, but really cute. Her lips were full and plump, glittering pink, and they were pulled into an angelic, sincere smile that reached her bright eyes. Her cheeks were pretty and perfect – her sin flawless and smooth.

Bella could recognize the girl – she was the same age as her. The beautiful girl was Alice Cullen, and she was a girl whose decisions were well taken – every decision she made always happened to lead her in the right direction. She was Edward Cullen’s youngest sister.

Of course, she had met Edward’s parents, funnily enough. They had once come to see Rosalie and congratulate her on her new single hit song, Remind Me of How I Look Beautiful. They too were beautiful and pale, and they had acknowledged Bella, but with pity. She had been commanded cruelly by Rosalie to serve them food and the usual tempting services.

Bella could hear the girls titter edgily and shake in excitement, and she heard someone get up.

What could she do – she panicked.

And as soon as she panicked, she accidentally nudged the China vase on the mantelpiece, which teetered on the edge, swivelled around and then in slow motion, it crashed to the floor, flying off in smithereens – the blue and white pieces cleaved into many fragments and shooting off, with the most crashing, scaring sound ever.

And suddenly, Rosalie was standing in front of Bella, her face red, and contorted in anger.

“What are you doing here?” she said in a sugary, sweetened voice, which was quivering in antagonism.

Bella started to stutter about cleaning. And the words weren’t coming out well. But Bella was hopeless at lying – and she could never, ever lie to Rosalie, what with her intense and frightening presence and the severity as her murderous eyes shot daggers into Bella’s, and the brutality that shone out of her blonde hair stretched back, high in a braid. The words just came out all muddled up, and the words “Cullen” and “ball” and “going” were prominent, and Rosalie’s eyes flashed evilly with understanding.

“So you want to go to the ball do you?”

Bella couldn’t help it – her face crumpled and tears leaked out of her eyes. She knew this was the end of it all. She would never be allowed to go. But she nodded nevertheless.

“So you think he will choose you, then?”

Bella sniffed.

“Huh!” Rosalie did the most unexpected thing by bursting into laughter, hilarity mounting higher in every note she laughed out, guffawing now.

Lauren and Jessica, who were watching Bella jokingly also burst into laughter, guffawing in a tone that embarrassed Bella.

“He can choose me,” whispered Bella. “I’m his biggest fan. I have what it takes.”

Lauren and Jessica were laughing maniacally.

“You??? Hello,” Lauren giggled in a sing-song voice. “We are his biggest fans, and we are the ones who deserve to be there…!”

“And not some ugly broken down slave girl,” added Jessica, and they broke up into hilarious cackles of laughter, doubling over with Rosalie, their eyes streaming now, and their bodies quivering in joviality.

“What?” sniffed Bella. “You heard what they said. He’ll look for the heart, not the looks.”

Rosalie immediately stopped laughing, but her lips were pulled up in a more amused smirk.

“Pur-lease, little Miss Nobody,” she snorted. “Your heart is even uglier than you yourself.”

Bella instantaneously went red, with anger and embarrassment. She was quivering now, staring sharply at Rosalie.

“You would know,” Bella murmured. “Your heart is so dirty, neither your looks nor your money can compensate for it.”

And that was a huge mistake.

The smile vanished from Rosalie’s face as if she had been struck dead. A steaming, angry glare replaced it instead, her perfect face shaped into the ugliest mask of resentment possible – her severe hairstyle and her popping eyes scared Bella enough, who was now cowering slightly.

And then with every ounce of strength she could possibly muster, Rosalie reached out, swung her hand back, and whipped her hand on Bella’s white cheek. The force was so humongous – the sound of flesh against flesh echoed around the house.

But that wasn’t all – the vigour of the slap had sent Bella staggering; she tripped over her foot, her cheek smarting, and met the corner of the mantelpiece. Her stomach made a slight “dhouff” sound as it got bruised by the corner, and Bella desperately tried to hold on to something to prevent herself from tripping to the floor. She grabbed hold of the knob on the desk, and it held her for the moment, but the knob pulled out the shiny mirror that hung large and reflective on top, and the glass crashed on top of Bella’s head, smashing into smithereens on her head, and cleaved into many glistening pieces that were bloodstained, and scattered across the spotless polished floor.

Rosalie started murmuring profanities at her is a dead murderous voice, and Bella, who was in a painful limbo between pain and unconsciousness, strained to listen to her.

Great – she had to clean the mess up. Probably wherever she would go now, her place would be marked by a ginormous blood patch.

Bella however had enough. She stood up as soon as he had done holding in the pain where she could feel the glass had cut into her head and arms, she hauled herself upright, and holding the tight tears in, she ran as fast as possible to her room, the tears now spilling from her eyes as if a water balloon had just been slashed in half.

***

She moaned as the last piece of glass, which was large and jagged, had just been pulled out of the left top of her head by her gloved hand. She shivered as she saw how deep the cut was, and placed the shard of glass in the tray which was already full of them. The glass glimmered evilly, as if laughing at its intake of blood from her head, and she eyes it disgustingly as it clinked on top of the other shards.

She separated her hair in a partition where the cut was – it already stung a lot. She stained a small Band-Aid cotton wrap with some healing herbal cream, and proceeded to wrap it around the wound, also clinging on the other wrapped up white cloths covering her head for support.

She stepped bad and winced – her head looked huge – the band-aid turban was white, and her mahogany hair flew out from the back. There were red gashes all across her face, and a huge wrapped piece of the band-aid cloth around her biceps where some glass had sunk in. Her eyes were contorted in pain.

Angered, she stormed out of the bathroom and flung herself on the bed, depressed and crying at how bad hr life was right now, and hen she opened her teary, bloodshot eyes to look at her pink roof.

And there she saw a year-old HUGE poster of Edward Cullen with his latest album, looking as handsome as ever. His eyes twinkled down to her, his trademark crooked smile dazzling her right away, and his immobile bronze hair shining.

“He has no idea,” moaned Bella, her face contorted in many branches of emotional and physical pain. She would never get a chance to talk to him – to tell him about his work, and to get a chance at the big screen herself. Who would want to date, or even marry a ragged servant maid girl, especially one who was an adopted used-up scruffy step daughter of the Rosalie Hale?

She got back on her feet and went to the free wall where her biggest poster of him hung; she caressed his papered face with her fingers, tears leaking again from her eyes.

“You have no idea how much I like you,” she whispered, anguished.

And with a slow movement, she placed her smacked cheek against his poster-face, and she sunk to the floor, dissolving into saddened tears.