Hollow stepsister
Title: No Song To Sing
Day/Theme: February 23rd, "The Nightingale's Eye"
Series: Cinderella
Character/Pairing: Drizella
Rating: PG
Drizella need not be told that her singing was horrible, though she did not have any ego to admit it out loud. Yet she herself cringed whenever the sound escaped from her lips, no matter how hard she tried, she could not get it right. She did not want to hear that horrendous voice no more; a voice she did not want to believe was hers.
"Mother," Drizella started, slightly anxious. "Can I not sing anymore?"
"But why, Drizella?" Her mother asked stiffly, flexing her fingers behind the piano. "You used to sing all day."
"I don't like it anymore," Drizella blurted.
"Well, we can't have that," Her mother simply said. "You girls will have to be proficient in the fine arts to have a gentleman of high caliber to look your way. It is not your choice, it is a must. What kind of husband would choose a tune deaf wife?"
Drizella wanted to explain that she was already tune deaf, and always will be, but held her tongue.
"Yes mother," she settled.
"Very well," Her mother said and flashed her a smile bereft of warmth. "Now get into position with your sister."
Drizella stalked to her counterpart, and snatched the grey flute away from Anastasia.
"This time, I'll play and you'll sing," she commanded her bewildered sister.
As the afternoon drifted on, Drizella realized that she was equally pathetic with the instrument.
*
After Drizella was an old maid of twenty-five, mother finally stopped her daily training in arts and music, expressing that no worthy man was to marry her now. The lone sister knew she should feel ashamed, but was secretly relieved that she need not undergo personal humiliation anymore.
In mother's presence, she was unallowed to speak of Anastasia, who ran off to marry with a lowly street baker. But did Drizella long to shove the fact in mother's face, not because her sister was daring enough to defy them, but that her husband married her even though she was also a total duck at the fine arts mother regarded so highly.
On a cold, long winter, mother finally died, and the house became lonelier for Drizella. Anastasia only returned for her mother's funeral, but she could not stay long. She did not even bring her five children to mourn over their grandmother's death.
"Remember how we used to practice our music with mother, with one of us playing the flute?" She tried to make conversation. "I never told you but I often hear Cinderella singing below us, and she was much better than either of us were."
She was. Drizella knew it too, but she did not particularly care at this late point in life.
"Want to sing one last time? For mother, I mean," Anastasia offered weakly.
Drizella could. The simpler songs were still etched in her mind, and the yellowing scores were still kept under the piano sheet.
"No," she gave her answer. "Not ever."
*
Once Anastasia left, she threw the scores into the fire place and watched them burn into crisp black before eventually disintegrating into worthless ashes.
Emotionless and empty, she retired to her bedroom and opened the window to let the air in. Then her ears picked up a melody, and she realized that the night songstress was singing tonight.
Sing, sweet nightingale…
Sing, sweet nightingale…
High….above me…
Oh, sing sweet nightingale…
She climbed to bed and the last thing she thought as she closed her eyes was that somewhere out there, Lucifer was having the bird for dinner.
Day/Theme: February 23rd, "The Nightingale's Eye"
Series: Cinderella
Character/Pairing: Drizella
Rating: PG
Drizella need not be told that her singing was horrible, though she did not have any ego to admit it out loud. Yet she herself cringed whenever the sound escaped from her lips, no matter how hard she tried, she could not get it right. She did not want to hear that horrendous voice no more; a voice she did not want to believe was hers.
"Mother," Drizella started, slightly anxious. "Can I not sing anymore?"
"But why, Drizella?" Her mother asked stiffly, flexing her fingers behind the piano. "You used to sing all day."
"I don't like it anymore," Drizella blurted.
"Well, we can't have that," Her mother simply said. "You girls will have to be proficient in the fine arts to have a gentleman of high caliber to look your way. It is not your choice, it is a must. What kind of husband would choose a tune deaf wife?"
Drizella wanted to explain that she was already tune deaf, and always will be, but held her tongue.
"Yes mother," she settled.
"Very well," Her mother said and flashed her a smile bereft of warmth. "Now get into position with your sister."
Drizella stalked to her counterpart, and snatched the grey flute away from Anastasia.
"This time, I'll play and you'll sing," she commanded her bewildered sister.
As the afternoon drifted on, Drizella realized that she was equally pathetic with the instrument.
*
After Drizella was an old maid of twenty-five, mother finally stopped her daily training in arts and music, expressing that no worthy man was to marry her now. The lone sister knew she should feel ashamed, but was secretly relieved that she need not undergo personal humiliation anymore.
In mother's presence, she was unallowed to speak of Anastasia, who ran off to marry with a lowly street baker. But did Drizella long to shove the fact in mother's face, not because her sister was daring enough to defy them, but that her husband married her even though she was also a total duck at the fine arts mother regarded so highly.
On a cold, long winter, mother finally died, and the house became lonelier for Drizella. Anastasia only returned for her mother's funeral, but she could not stay long. She did not even bring her five children to mourn over their grandmother's death.
"Remember how we used to practice our music with mother, with one of us playing the flute?" She tried to make conversation. "I never told you but I often hear Cinderella singing below us, and she was much better than either of us were."
She was. Drizella knew it too, but she did not particularly care at this late point in life.
"Want to sing one last time? For mother, I mean," Anastasia offered weakly.
Drizella could. The simpler songs were still etched in her mind, and the yellowing scores were still kept under the piano sheet.
"No," she gave her answer. "Not ever."
*
Once Anastasia left, she threw the scores into the fire place and watched them burn into crisp black before eventually disintegrating into worthless ashes.
Emotionless and empty, she retired to her bedroom and opened the window to let the air in. Then her ears picked up a melody, and she realized that the night songstress was singing tonight.
Sing, sweet nightingale…
Sing, sweet nightingale…
High….above me…
Oh, sing sweet nightingale…
She climbed to bed and the last thing she thought as she closed her eyes was that somewhere out there, Lucifer was having the bird for dinner.