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I examine my reflection in the finished dress four days later. I straighten and smile at the mirror bravely, then slouch in defeat. The dress is a disaster. Despite my efforts to suit it to me, it still looks like my step-mother's dress. The dress does not show any personal taste besides being blue.

I shrug out of it and back into the periwinkle dress I had been wearing. I decide that a stroll around the town is in order. Perhaps by seeing other styles of dresses, I can make some last minute adjustments to improve the dress. I glance in the mirror at my bruises. They are nearly gone, but the faint yellow-green hue to their remnants does not flatter my complexion. I sigh as this is impossible to fix and head downstairs.

I saddle Phantom and ride into the town square. I dismount and tie Phantom to a hitching post.

I wander through the town, glancing in shop windows. Fine soaps and perfumes are heralded in some pristine windows; other grittier windows show painters' supplies and ceramics. I move past these, weaving through ladies with impossible large hoop skirts and snobby men in top hats.

I see them then. My step-family. They turn toward me, and I duck into a shop. I hide behind a counter and peer over the top as they pass by. I breathe a sigh and leave the shop.

I continue on my way. When I reach the dress shops, I enter and speak with the owners. I explain my dilemma and ask for their advice. They examine my body, my face, and my eyes. I leave feeling awkward but slightly more confident on what to do with the dress.

I ride back to the house and stable Phantom. I feed her a handful of oats as a reward for her patience. I then enter the house and walk up the wide grand staircase to the second floor. I then enter Jemma's room (which I have claimed as my own sewing room) to begin working on the dress.

I see the bed and stop dead in my tracks. The dress is gone. Nothing is there save the covers. Panic inches up my throat, and I dash to the wardrobe. I fling open the doors. Empty.

I rush to the other wardrobes to find them pillaged as well. In my step-mother's I find a note.

"You may have kicked us out, but your security is lax. We've taken back our things. By the way, the dress you modified is absolutely hideous. It never would have worked out. Good luck going to the ball in your rags, Cinderella."

I let loose a scream of frustration and then collapse sobbing. I have one day until I meet the prince and nothing to wear.