Cinderella

Her father hugged her and lifted her above his head, laughing all the while.

“My little daughter,” he shouted over her protests, “married to the prince! Aha!”

“Papa, put me down,” she said sternly, though her lip twitched in amusement at his overjoyed expression.

Her tall, broad father acquiesced, setting his much more petite daughter firmly on the ground with a chuckle.

“And a nice dress you have, I see. How exactly did you manage this? And to think I was going to give you a lashing for being out all night...!”

“I can certainly trust you not to read a letter,” she laughed, kissing him on the cheek and walking past him into the cottage.

The cottage was small and homey, everything she'd known growing up, though a grander life was just a long walk away.

“What letter?” her father asked, admiring the dress from behind. He didn't know much about dressmaking, but the cloth was shining with an unnatural glitter, and a golden ribbon was looped about the waist.

“It came weeks ago, Papa,” she laughed, taking a rag and scrubbing the edge of a pot. “Honestly, don't you clean up after yourself? This pot is disgusting.”

“The letter, Heloise,” her father prompted, skimming over the slight to his cleanliness.

“The invitation to the royal ball, remember?” she continued. “The prince was to choose a wife, and ta da! I was chosen.”

“Well, that's easy enough to believe, with how beautiful you are,” her father conceded. “But why didn't you tell me? I would have gone with you!”

“Oh, Papa,” she sighed, putting the rag back in the bucket, heedless of the dirt accumulating on the fine dress. “You wouldn't have known the first thing to do.”

“And you did?” he said grumpily, offended at her lack of faith in him.

“But I'm the lady,” she said seriously, though with a joking smile. “That makes it alright.”

She put her hands on her hips and smiled at him with the same condescending smile she'd inherited from her mother. The air was suddenly thick between them, and Harold twisted his hands, looking to the pot she'd just wiped the grime from.

“So, what are you going to do now?” he asked awkwardly.

“Move in to the palace, of course,” she said, laughing brightly. “But don't worry, Papa. I'll come visit.”

“Promise me,” he said, putting on a brave smile and holding both her hands firmly. “Promise me you won't forget your old Papa.”

“Never, Papa,” she said reassuringly, kissing both cheeks, then headed for the door.

“Wait, Heloise! Must you leave so soon?”

“They're waiting for me,” she explained. “I have to go.”

“When will you come visit?” he asked, stepping forward and taking her hand in both of his.

“Very soon,” she promised. “Right after Dal and I return from our trip. We're going to the mountains!”

“How long will you be gone?” he asked worriedly.

“No more than a month,” she said offhandedly, patting his hands and extricating her own. “I'll be back before you know it.”

Harold wasn't sure what else to say, so he nodded. Heloise didn't seem to notice his sadness as she smiled happily at him and waved goodbye, closing the door behind her. The royal carriage was waiting outside the door, and as soon as she climbed into it, she burst into tears.

Inspiration: It started out as a compulsory marriage sort of scene, inspired by my imaginings of an alternate ending for The Bachelor, but then it had a mind of its own.