The next few days passed in a blur for Isabelle. Though she carried out her usual chores with diligence, her mind was constantly drawn back to the mysterious events in the forest. The vision in the well, the sensation of being watched, and the strange voice that had warned her to leave—it all felt like the beginnings of a story she wasn't yet ready to understand.
Her stepmother and stepsisters remained oblivious to her inner turmoil, consumed as they were by the village's latest gossip: the announcement of a grand royal ball. It was to be held in the capital, hosted by the reclusive prince who had not been seen in years. Whispers spread of his cursed fate, though no one dared speak openly of the rumored magic that shrouded the castle and its occupants.
The news of the ball, however, sent Lady Evelina into a frenzy of preparations. She was determined to secure invitations for herself and her daughters, convinced that this event was their chance to elevate their standing.
"Maribelle, Drusilla, you must be ready," Evelina instructed sharply as she inspected the fabric for their gowns. "This ball could be the key to our future. The prince may be reclusive, but he is still royalty, and a royal marriage would change everything."
Isabelle listened quietly from the corner of the room, her hands busy mending an old dress. The mention of the ball stirred something in her—a longing she hadn't felt in years. The idea of attending such an event, of escaping the drudgery of her life even for a single night, was intoxicating. But she knew better than to entertain such dreams. Her place was here, in the shadows.
"You'll make sure our gowns are perfect, won't you, Isabelle?" Drusilla sneered, her tone mocking. "After all, you wouldn't want to disappoint us."
Isabelle forced a smile, her voice calm. "Of course, Drusilla."
As the days went by, the excitement in the village grew. Invitations were rare, and only those of notable status were expected to attend. Despite Lady Evelina's best efforts, no invitation had arrived for them, and the air in the cottage grew tense with frustration.
Then, on a quiet afternoon, a knock at the door interrupted their routine. Evelina, ever suspicious, rose to answer it. When she opened the door, a tall, regal-looking man stood on the threshold. He wore a fine cloak embroidered with the royal crest, and in his hands, he held an ornate scroll.
"Good day," the man announced, his voice deep and commanding. "I am here on behalf of the prince, with an invitation to the royal ball."
Evelina's eyes lit up with greed, though she tried to mask it with feigned politeness. "How delightful! We were hoping for such an honor."
The man's gaze was steady as he handed the scroll to Evelina. "The prince invites Lady Evelina and her daughters, Maribelle and Drusilla, to attend the ball at the royal castle."
Evelina accepted the scroll with a gracious nod, though her mind was already racing with plans. "Thank you, good sir. We are deeply honored."
The man gave a slight bow and turned to leave, but before he stepped away, his eyes flicked to Isabelle, who stood silently in the background. For a moment, his gaze lingered, as if seeing something beyond her worn appearance. Then, without another word, he departed.
As soon as the door closed, Evelina turned to her daughters with triumph. "At last! We are invited. This is our chance to secure our future."
Maribelle and Drusilla squealed with excitement, already discussing their plans for the evening. Isabelle, however, felt a pang of sadness. She had known she wouldn't be included, but the confirmation stung nonetheless.
That night, as she prepared for bed, Isabelle couldn't shake the feeling that the invitation was more than it seemed. The man's gaze had been knowing, almost as if he recognized her. She wondered if the prince himself had chosen the guests, and if so, why?
Far away in the castle, Alaric sat in his study, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace. Lucien stood nearby, his wings folded neatly, watching the prince with quiet concern.
"She will come," Lucien said softly, breaking the silence. "I ensured her stepmother received an invitation. It is up to Isabelle now."
Alaric's expression was unreadable, a mix of hope and fear etched into his features. "And if she doesn't come? What then, Lucien? Am I doomed to remain like this forever?"
Lucien stepped forward, his eyes filled with determination. "You cannot give up hope, Your Highness. She is different. I can feel it. If anyone can break the curse, it is her."
Alaric sighed, the weight of his curse pressing heavily on his heart. "I have waited so long, Lucien. Sometimes, it feels as though hope is a cruel joke."
Lucien placed a comforting hand on Alaric's shoulder. "Hope is never a joke, my prince. It is what keeps us alive, even in the darkest of times."
As the night of the ball approached, the household buzzed with activity. Evelina and her daughters spent hours preparing their gowns and adorning themselves with jewels. Isabelle worked tirelessly to ensure everything was perfect, her own feelings of longing buried beneath her duties.
On the evening of the ball, as Evelina and her daughters departed in a grand carriage, Isabelle stood in the doorway, watching them leave. The flickering lanterns of the village cast long shadows, and for a moment, she felt utterly alone.
But then, a soft breeze brushed past her, carrying with it the faintest whisper—"Come."
Isabelle's heart leapt in her chest. She glanced around, but the street was empty. The whisper had felt so real, so urgent, that she couldn't ignore it. Without thinking, she turned and ran back into the cottage, her mind racing.
In the attic, hidden beneath an old chest, she found a small box that had once belonged to her mother. Inside was a delicate gown, simple yet beautiful, and a pair of worn slippers. Isabelle held the gown close, tears welling in her eyes. This was her chance—a chance to escape, even if only for a night.
With trembling hands, she slipped into the gown, the fabric fitting perfectly. She brushed her hair and took a deep breath, the weight of her decision settling over her. She didn't know what awaited her at the castle, but something deep inside urged her to go.
As she stepped outside, the moonlight illuminated the path before her, and with each step, she felt a sense of destiny guiding her. The forest loomed ahead, and beyond it, the castle awaited.
And so, with hope in her heart and a whisper in her ear, Isabelle began her journey toward the unknown, unaware of the magic and love that awaited her.