Cinder Elli

Ellanore hefted the small purse, letting the coins jingle a little as she bounced it in her hand. He stared at it with despair, thinking of the outfit he'd planned to buy. That he couldn't afford with the fifteen cents left over from today's shopping.

"Please..." The word slipped out of his mouth without his realizing, coming more from Cinder Elli than Elliot. The role she'd be trapped in for the rest of her life, if he couldn't escape.

"Perhaps you'll have better luck next time," his stepmother continued. "I'll even donate a nice dress to the cause, once your fortune has been split among my sons. Cinder Elli."

"Please... You can have my father's wealth; I don't care, just let me go to the ball, just... Please-"

"Please what?." His stepmother's lips turned upward into a broader grin, showing off her teeth. "Please give you a chance to woo the princess? Please let you ruin all my plans? I think not. Though I will give you tomorrow night off - if you care to arrive in that ragged thing, like you did at the market. I think you'll have plenty of cleaning to do in your own room, though. Cinder Elli."

The name felt like a physical punch to the blond boy's stomach. He crouched in on himself, trying to find that spark of anger and defiance that had kept him going for so long. Allowed him to keep separate from that name, and these dresses, no matter how deep he went into the disguise.

It was useless. The spark had gone out. All that remained was a tiny reserve of stubbornness, not a spark or a flame but a stagnant pool that would soon be drained away. He would become Cinder Elli, for good, at his stepmother's next convenience - he knew that, now. It wouldn't even be so bad; he knew she would still be mistreated, but a simple maid like Cinder Elli expected no better. Wanted nothing more than food and lodging, however shabby.

"Cinder Elli?" his mistress asked, and he could hear the smile in her words. "Did you have anything to add?"

"...No. Miss." Elliot bowed his head, trying not to see the smile on her face, as he walked across the floorboards, past the warm fire, and toward the stairs to the attic. He moved silently, making sure the floors wouldn't creak and wake his stepbrothers, the young masters of the house. He made his way upward at a near crawl, the staircase only becoming squeakier, the steps a little looser as he crawled up them toward the trap door that marked entrance to the attic. He put his shoulder under it, and heaved upward. Then grasped at the edge so that he could slowly lower it to the ground. Climbing up afterward, he focused all of his attention on shutting the attic door, and then pulling out a small lantern and some matches he could light.

It took three attempts to find a match that didn't simply break when he struck it. Then another four attempts to actually light the tiny candle stub inside, and close the lantern's glass door before the drafty winds could burn it out. When he was finally finished, he shined the dim light across his room. Peering at the damage.

It was bad. A few of the floorboards had been pulled up, no doubt by overeager stepsiblings who didn't realize there was nothing underneath except for the cross beams. He carefully put those in place, grimacing a little as the already rotted and warped wood squeaked into place, leaving behind bulges in the floor that he could trip on.

A stone from the chimney had also been removed, but he left that on the ground, for now. It was a tunnel that ran all the way from the ground floor to the outside world, and he sometimes liked to hear the noises that came through. His brothers liked to discuss their plans for him, around the fire, and he'd always found it useful to mentally prepare. Or he had. Now he didn't care.

Elliot peered around the rest of the room. The closet had been ransacked, and his mother's dresses turned inside out and upside down before being strewn across the floor. There was hay all over the ground, from what had formerly been a makeshift pillow. The worst thing, though, was the bedding.

The ragged white blanket they used had been tossed to the side, among the more rotten planks of wood. The thin material of the mattress had been viciously attacked, deep slashes running through the length of the material, with more hay leaking out. The place he slept, the one respite he had from the world, had been destroyed. Looking for a bag of money that would never have been able to fit inside. A bag that had actually simply rested on the shelf, a little above eye sight, the entire time.

Elliot expected himself to be angry. He expected himself to scream. Instead he simply leaned down next to the bed, flipping it over. Then he gathered up the hay into a new pillow, blew out the lamp, and flopped down on the thin material of his mattress. It was over. He had lost. Elliot would die, and Cinder Elli would live a life of happy denial in his stead.

That thought echoed in his mind as he fell asleep. He dreamed of what it would have been like, if he was born female. Born Elli, happy and sincere. His father might have written her into his will; if a queen could rule a country, and a wife could rule a household, there was certainly no reason a daughter couldn't inherit money. Enough for a dowry, at least - even if she didn't possess any better assets in that reality than she did now.

She dreamed of a world where her dowry was set in stone. Where her stepmother didn't see her as a threat to her sons, and where they might have even gotten along. They were both intelligent women, after all. She could have learned how to wrap a man about her finger. Avoiding spending too much on her dowry and save some extra for her siblings. Who would dote on her, and glare at any potential... husband.

Husband. That word sent little shivers of distaste through her, sending a fracture through the otherwise perfect dreamscape. If she was a girl, she should marry a man. She was a girl, so she should marry a man. She frowned, within the dream, and stood. The tableau of happy brothers and a loving mother faded away, everything losing its distinctive shape until she was just a single woman in a field of colors. Husband... Perhaps if she tried to imagine him, attribute by attribute?

She tried to imagine it. Slender build, strong arms. Soft lips that would kiss her gently on the ear, while a delicate hand pressed itself against her chest, pulling her back into the soft pressure of twin bulges against her spine. Another hand, nails painted pink, reaching under her dress. Gently touching her where no man had ever touched before. A soft feminine purr, and then a sudden plunge of fingers into flesh.

Elliot woke up with a startled cry, the still-dirty gown now drenched with sweat. He... He'd been dreaming. About something. He tried to remember what, but all that came to him were colors, and a feeling of lips, and. A woman. A beautiful woman. The blond's cheeks flushed red, and he turned aside to the small round window that was set in the wall. The glass was poorly made, thick with bubbles so that you couldn't even see through it. It did allow a distorted sort of light into the room, though, and he gauged it to be about noon. He could hear voices through the chimney, though he'd have to get closer to make it out.

He didn't bother. It was the same sounds he'd heard at last year's ball, only louder. The princess hadn't picked a husband last year, and everyone knew her family was putting on pressure. If she wanted to marry for love, this might be the last year she could do so. Not that it would matter to Elliot if the balls stopped. Elli wouldn't care about anything but how pretty the princess's brown hair looked.

The all-but-broken maid rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling. He didn't plot anything; he just stared. He stared as his mistress screamed on below, and the young masters grumbled about having to dress themselves in such stiff clothing, and his mistress yelled some more. He stared at the wall until the light in the room began to dim, and there was the slamming of a door and the sound of something large moving out front. Horses, and a carriage.

Then everyone else was gone; it was just Elliot, staring at the wall, the time clicking quietly closer to the ball's end at midnight. In the morning, he would be yelled at for not cleaning, even though he'd supposedly been given the night off. His stepmother would use that as an excuse to finally break him, making him not just Elli but Cinder Elli. He could just imagine it: a maid who couldn't care for her own appearance, allowed to keep her job by the grace of a wonderful mistress. Her charitable mistress. Elliot would disappear, for good.

The maid rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. There was no hope, no chance, no conceivable way he was escaping this. There was nothing to do but stare at the ceiling, and hope it would be over quickly. Stare as the time quietly ticked away, until he judged it was about nine. That was when he heard a crash through the opening in the chimney. Someone, he knew, had just broken into his home.

His mistress's home, the blond reminded himself, frowning. He had no reason to care if anyone broke in downstairs. So long as they didn't come to the attic, he had no reason to care. He stood up, anyway. He moved toward the stairs. He was being ridiculous. He had no real reason to go downstairs, he had no stake in whether or not this place was robbed. He knew that. He also knew that this was, originally, his mother's home; and that someone had just broken the window.

His brothers' fists had helped Elliot memorize each stair. Where it was most squeaky, which ones to skip. He was able to creep his way down each stair in silence, giving no warning to whoever had broken in through the window. Down to the second floor, then to the first, and finally he was stepping off the staircase. He held his breath as he moved across the floors, putting weight on the tips of his toes so as to not make a sound. There was no one in the parlor or the dining room. He made his way into the kitchen, thinking maybe they had slipped their way out the back door, but they hadn't. They were lying on the floor, beneath a shattered window.

The intruder was a woman. A small woman, maybe four feet tall, with a narrow build, and a waist so tiny Elliot could have wrapped his hands entirely around it. Long silver hair cascaded down her back, weaving around two translucent wings and ending at a perky butt. Her dress had been pulled up in the crash, revealing a pair of white panties. He stared at them for a moment, licking his lips as he felt the slight flush of arousal. He felt like a creep, staring, but the alternative was to look at her wings.

She had wings. Dragonfly wings, but... bigger. They were completely clear, with pink veins running through the membranes, and peering through them didn't even tint the blue dress she was wearing. It was a cute dress, actually, with a low scooping neckline that showed off a pair of small breasts and a bare hint of cleavage. He had to bend down and peer sideways to see under them, since she was mostly on her back, and just slightly tilted to her side. Also, he was ignoring the wings again. She had wings. People didn't just have wings.

The tiny woman, with her impossible wings and white panties and small breasts and wings, began to stir. She blinked slowly upward, her gaze starting at Elliot's socks and moving up the ash stained blue fabric of his dress. She settled on his face, blinking again, and he realized he'd never taken off the makeup from before. It was probably smeared, the black charcoal he used on his eyelashes smudged, and the red paint on his lips running. "...Elli?" she whispered, slowly starting to push herself up and onto her feet. "Cinder Elli?"

"Y-Yeah..." Cinder Elli whispered, her voice soft. Her voice was a little husky, but so long as she kept her voice down she could escape with only light teasing from the merchants. She knew she was dealing with an intruder, a common thief, but that thief could still talk; and people might listen to a girl with wings talking about a man who wore women's clothing. "That's. Me."

The intruder stood up, shaking a few shards of glass from her silver hair. She smiled brightly at the woman in front of her, and offered a hand. Elli reluctantly took it, and the small creature wrapped warm fingers about the blond's. "I'm Galindi! The fairy godmother assigned to your case. I understand you wish to go to the ball? But your stepmother won't allow it... Really terrible! I was so sad when I heard it, I rushed right over! Only..." She blushed, pale skin turning a bright red. "I was crying so hard for you, I didn't notice the window was closed. Fairies have trouble with glass, you know."

"...Right..." Cinder Elli whispered. She wasn't really listening. Her heart was in her throat, her mind reeling with possibilities. A fairy godmother; someone whose only job was to finally get her into the princess's ball. "You can... you can really help me?"

"Of course." The fairy beamed up at her charge, looking the blonde over again. Her smile slowly slipped, lips turning down into a frown. "Well, first, we'll need to get you out of this... mess" She gestured at him, circling her hand to encompass. Everything. "It's completely wrong for you..."

Cinder Elli nodded, eagerly. It was time to shed the raggedy dress. With a proper suit, she would have a much easier time finding a woman at the party. Or. Elliot would. It was Elliot that needed a change - and the fairy had been talking specifically to Cinder Elli. Combined with how easily she'd slipped into being Elli - what if this ditzy fairy actually thought she was a real girl?

"Wait!" Elliot cried out, using his normal voice now. "I'm-" he was cut off by a finger to his lips. A finger that glowed with a slight silver light, and caused a warm tingling in his lips. It spread down, enveloping his throat. He decided to talk around it, not caring if it was rude - but only a choked sound emerged. The warmth suddenly disappeared; he couldn't feel his throat. He couldn't move his neck. He lifted his hands, resting them on her narrow shoulder and trying to push against her. She stepped back, willingly, grinning as she held up a small bronze orb. Again, he tried to talk, but this time absolutely nothing came out.

"It's your voice!" Galindi explained. "Or. The essence of it? I never really listened when the teachers explained it, but basically I'm going to tweak it a little and return it. After it fits you a little better... Oh! And after I take care of your body..."

Elliot lifted his hands, thinking maybe he could wave them in protest, make her listen to him. His godmother - Cinder Elli's godmother - grasped his hands as he held them out. She interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed softly. As before, the blond felt warm tingles spreading through his hands and down his arms. It crashed against his body like twin waves, colliding into each other mid-chest, causing his nipples to stand rigid as the warm sensation cascaded through his body. He felt it in his legs, in his neck, his head, dulling his senses. He watched with only dim awareness as his hands glowed a soft pink, slowly starting to dissolve from between Galindi's fingers.

The fairy reached out her newly freed right hand, pressing into Elliot's chest. He felt her fingers closing around his heart, squeezing the pumping organ until it stopped, then gently pulling it out of what had been his chest, what was now just pink light. He watched his own body dissolve, from within her hand. He watched his mother's blue dress fall to the floor, with nothing inside it but black socks. It was like he was entirely contained within the heart, except that he knew instinctively that he wasn't a heart. He was another orb, a pink orb lightly pulsating in Galindi's hand. She wrapped her hand around it, and there was suddenly nothing but soft pink light and pale flesh all around him.

There was a small squeeze around his orb, a whole new level of warmth and energy that made his essence glow so much brighter. The hands parted from around him, letting him suddenly expand outward in an explosion of light. Elliot suddenly had form again - but it was still made of light, a simple silhouette, still waiting to be given its final shape. The hand that had been holding him lifted upward, and the essence of Elliot felt the light beginning to contract inwards as a new body was defined.

His feet were formed first, smaller than they had been. From tiny toes, to the graceful arch of his petite feet, and the small smooth heels, there was not a single callus or mark of use. He wasn't sure how something that small and perfect could even support his frame.

Slender ankles slid smoothly into existence followed by the gentle flow of legs. Long legs, with barely a hint of muscular tone, soon sliding into soft and tender thighs. He eyed the creamy skin that had never once been damaged by the sun, or scarred by a fall. There had been a small scar under Elliot's left knee, but now there was nothing but smooth, hairless skin with invisibly tiny pores. There were veins and tendons forming, and weak muscles that had never once been used. He knew already that they would be strong enough to support his weight, but not much more.

The legs began to shake as a simple thread of flesh weaved its way from both of them, connecting in the middle and slowly weaving itself into something, the beginnings of a groin and torso. There were hips, wider than his old ones, with a little extra fat. Just enough that one could grasp them without being jabbed by bone. Where the thighs met, there was also a new warmth. A tiny little button, set deep within the groin. At first, Elliot assumed it would grow into his manhood; it didn't. Instead, the pattern of the weave began to change; there was a hole, right there in his groin, and over it flowed pink folds, closing together as soft and tender lips were brought into place.

Elliot had a vagina. He should have been reacting to that. Except, he didn't really have a brain yet. He couldn't feel terror, or worry; there was no anger. There was just a quiet fascination, as he felt his bottom begin to form. It was small, in keeping with the rest of his body, but it was pert. There was a gentle lift to it, a cleft one could slide their fingers beneath and lift. Though her cheeks were small, they were warm and firm and more than enough to fill someone's hands. It was a woman's bottom.

Above it formed a slender waist. It wasn't quite so tiny as the fairy's, but still small enough that a large pair of hands could encompass the curve of her waist and the flatness of her stomach, meeting in the center without strain. From there, the body curved upward. There was flesh, and a ribcage, and organs - everything familiar, yet somehow new. Pure, unstrained by time - and with new additions: a uterus, fallopian tubes, and fully-stocked ovaries. He could feel them all inside him, and something more: he was growing breasts.

Smooth hills of flesh, swelling into something more like mountains. They were soft, gentle things that would spill out of almost any hand. As Elliot's shoulders, arms and hands formed, he actually lifted the breasts up to feel their weight. His fingers pressed into the soft skin, finding a firm core beneath. The maid - was he still a maid? - traced fingers around the flesh of his breasts. He circled slowly around the smooth skin, until he finally found the wide pink disks of his areola. They were wide enough to encompass both his thumbs, and still leave room for the thick nipples between them. Elliot pinched and kneaded the skin, until the nipples stiffened into hard knots between his fingertips.

Elliot lifted his hands. As his neck began to form, and his head, his sky blue eyes slowly took in his hands. The digits were small and thin, the nails neatly clipped and filed into neat little ovals. The hands were attached to fragile wrists, and hairless arms. Arms with even less muscle than his legs. He slid the left hand back up to his breast, and pressed the right hand lightly between his thighs. Blond hair was beginning to grow out of his scalp and cascade down his back, ending with a little upward curl at his pert bottom. He wanted to push his fingers inside, but a hand gently took his arm, and pulled it away. That was when Elliot finally remembered the fairy.