Once Upon a Time

Third place winner in the "Grimm Fairy Tales" version of the "Invalid Item" 

… there was a woodcutter with three young and beautiful daughters. His wife had loved flowers so much that she named her three daughters after her three favorite flowers. The oldest was Rose, the middle was Violet, and the youngest and most beautiful was Buttercup.

Now when Buttercup was a small child, her mother caught a fever. Despite everything her older daughters and husband tried to do, the poor woman died. Buttercup was so young and her father was worried about her getting sick that she wasn’t allowed near her mother. The child wasn’t allowed to say good-bye.

The older girls blamed Buttercup for the death of their mother, even though the poor child hadn’t done anything. They were ten and twelve years older than the small child and their mother had not been well since her birth. It was this weakness that made her susceptible to the fever that caused her death.

Since the older girls were left in charge of the house, they made life miserable for Buttercup. As soon as she was big enough, they began forcing her to do all the chores. Buttercup wouldn’t have minded this much, for she was a cheerful, helpful girl, but the girls berated and screamed at her no matter how hard she worked. They would stop her just as they heard their father coming home; they always had plenty of warning because he was always whistling cheerfully when he arrived home, plop her into their mother’s rocking chair and stick a book in her hands. Buttercup couldn’t complain to her father about the way they were treating her because Rose and Violet always insisted that she spent the day reading and he had no reason not to believe them. Despite their lack of money, their father saw that they had books and that all three girls were able to read. Their poor father never noticed how rough and chapped her hands were becoming or saw the bruises on her knees from where she knelt all day.

Despite the way they treated her, they were never completely cruel. She still had a bed to sleep in and new clothes when the family could afford them. This all changed the day their father died. Without the woodcutter to monitor their behavior, even as little as he did, the sisters stripped their younger sister of the few comforts she had. First the sisters sold their home and land and bought a smaller house in the village, one with only two bedrooms. Buttercup was regulated to a pallet in the kitchen where at least she had the banked fire to keep her warm on the cold winter nights.

Being a virtual slave in her own home did not change Buttercup’s happy disposition though. She hummed and sang her way through the day. She often had a smile on her face as she did her sisters’ washing, cooking, or cleaned up after them. The older girls took in sewing, that Buttercup actually did, for money and Violet took a job working in one of the local shops. Since she didn’t do anything all day except sit and talk to customers, she didn’t really see it as work. Rose stayed home today and tended to the house. She had to look respectable and clerking wasn’t exactly the right position for her.

One morning, Buttercup was humming softly as she swept the front steps. Although she did this every day, the dust from the road always crept back into the yard and onto the steps. She found it peaceful to sweep the steps since Violet was often at work when she did it and Rose refused to come outside in the sun. The sun, after all, might ruin her complexion.

Right now, Buttercup was trying to eek out a few more moments of peace before going back inside to face her taskmistress. Her mind was on the far-off places that she used to read about in books during happier times. That was one of the things her sisters had taken away from her. Although she didn’t have the books anymore, she could still visit them in her memories. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear the horse tromp up to the gate. It was the creaking of the gate that alerted her to another’s presence and she looked up as a man in the king’s livery came up the path.

The silver on the blue and silver livery glittered in the sunlight and the lion embalm reflected the sun back at her. Buttercup recognized the man as one of the herald’s that often delivered messages and announcements for the king. She had seen him in the town square while on errands for Rose or Violet, calling out to the assembled people. She wondered why he was coming up the path to their house. They weren’t normally on the list of people to be personally notified when changes were made in the government. She hoped her sisters’ hadn’t done something to get them all in trouble.

Buttercup stopped her sweeping and came down the steps, inclining her head in a show of respect. “How may I be of service, herald?”

“I would speak to the unmarried daughters of the house and to your master,” the herald replied.

“I have no master, only a mistress. I shall fetch her. Her sister is in town.”

Buttercup rested her broom against the side of the house and dusted off her skirts before going inside to find Rose. Her oldest sister was sitting in the parlor, steadily stitching a sampler. She looked up as Buttercup entered the room. “Have you finished all your chores?” she demanded.

“No, Rose, but there is a herald outside who wishes to speak to you.” Rose set her sewing aside and proceeded Buttercup out of the room. The younger girl, curious to hear the herald for herself, hurried after her sister.

The herald stood where Buttercup had left him, although he was now holding a scroll in his hands. When the two girls appeared, he began to read, “To the unmarried daughters of the kingdom of Thalia, His Majesty the King has declared that His Royal Highness the Prince must marry. Since there are no princesses suitable, the King has declared that the Prince shall be permitted to marry a commoner. In a fortnight, His Majesty the King shall hold a ball. All of the unmarried girls between the ages of sixteen and thirty are to attend and His Royal Highness the Prince will choose his bride from among those attending. All unmarried girls that fall within the age range must attend, even if they are servants.” He lowered the scroll. “Do you understand the King’s decree?”

Rose inclined her head and answered, “We understand and will obey.” The herald rolled up his scroll, turned, and left the yard. Rose waited until she was sure the man was out of sight before she turned to Buttercup. “Go into town and fetch Violet. She should be almost done with her day anyway.”

Buttercup knew what the answer would most likely be, despite what the herald had read, but felt she had to ask anyway, “Will I be allowed to attend the ball?”

“Don’t be silly, you’re only fifteen,” Rose replied, her mind already occupied with the plans that needed to be completed before the ball.

“But if the ball isn’t for a fortnight, I will be sixteen,” Buttercup reminded her sister. “My birthday is in eleven days.”

Rose didn’t want her youngest sister at the ball. The young girl was in the flush of her youth and even with work roughened hands and the burden of her life of servitude, she was much prettier than both her sisters. “If you complete all your chores and assist Violet and me with our preparations, you can go. You’re on your own for finding a dress though and getting yourself ready.”

“Thank you, Rose.” Buttercup smiled happily.

“Now go fetch Violet.”

Buttercup left her apron on because she didn’t think Rose would give her a chance to put it in the house and leaving it outside would only cause her to be yelled at. She hiked up her skirt when she was out of the yard and ran for the town. Although they didn’t live as far out as they used to, it still took ten minutes to reach the outskirts of town. She lowered her skirts when she was within sight of the town and calmed her racing heart. She was perfectly composed when she entered the store where her sister worked. She waited until Violet finished speaking with the customer in front of her before approaching Violet. “Miss Violet,” she greeted her, “your sister would like to see you at home.”

Violet nodded. “All right. I just have to let Mistress Bethany know.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

* * * * *

For the next two weeks, Buttercup worked harder than ever. During the day, she did her regular chores and worked on her sisters’ dresses, sewing and embellishing them. At night, she stayed up until late and by firelight worked on her own dress. She had found one of her mother’s dresses and worked diligently on altering. Rose had refused to allow her any money to purchase the items she needed so she rifled through trunks in the attic and bartered for her supplies.

The night before the ball, Buttercup stayed up even later than she had been, putting the finishing touches on her dress. She was up so late that the sky was already beginning to show the change from night to day when she finally hid her dress and curled up on her pallet to sleep.

She was startled awake the next morning when Rose dumped her off the pallet. The sun was high in the sky, streaming in through the kitchen window, and the fire had burned down to coals. The look on Rose’s face was murderous. “What are you doing still asleep?” she screeched. “You should have been up hours ago, getting breakfast and our baths ready. Get your lazy butt up!”

Buttercup scrambled to her feet. She twisted her hair up into a bun and quickly began to make breakfast. Rose watched for a moment to make sure her sister was working, then swept from the room.

Once she was finished making breakfast and had served both her sisters in their rooms, she began to haul water from the well and heat it in the kitchen. Rose and Violet would have to bathe in the kitchen since Buttercup was not strong enough to carry the water filled tub to their rooms. She dragged the tub into the middle of the room and laid out towels for her sisters while the water heated.

When she was sure it was ready, she fetched Rose and left her to bathe herself. Thankful that her sister didn’t require her services as a bath attendant. While the kitchen was occupied, she quickly did the most desperate of her other chores and set out the dresses the women would wear that night. Rose came out of the kitchen wrapped in a dressing gown and Buttercup went back to empty the tub and refill it with more water for Violet’s bath. She spent all day running back and forth for her sisters, helping them get dressed and fixing their hair. Her sisters’ hair was dark black, a strong contrast to her own blonde locks. All three girls had long hair though that fell well below their waists and unless it was simple style, it took another person to fix it. Buttercup used numerous pins to anchor each sister’s hair into an upswept style.

Finally the two older sisters were relaxing in the parlor and Buttercup was free to get herself ready for the ball. Buttercup was almost beside herself in excitement. There weren’t many social events in the village they lived in and most of them Buttercup wasn’t allowed to attend. Her fingers shook with excitement as she laced herself into a corset and buttoned up her dress. She tied the sash at her waist, then tied her hair back from her face. She knew neither of her sisters would assist her with her hair so she settled on a simple style that just held her hair off her face.

Rose and Violet looked up as Buttercup entered the parlor. The two older sisters immediately exchanged irate looks. Even though Buttercup hadn’t had any money and had scrounged her entire dress and the accompaniments, she far outshone her sisters. Both girls immediately reacted with rage and advanced on their naïve sister. Before Buttercup could defend herself, the girls had pinned her arms and dragged her upstairs to the attic.

They tied her right arm to the arm of the rocking chair that was gathering dust in the far corner. Another piece of rope bound her ankles to the bottom of the chair. They had the poor girl trussed up faster than she could think. Before Buttercup could even attempt to try to untie the knot, they had left the attic, slamming and locking the door behind them. Buttercup listened with dismay as the carriage they had hired rattled up to the door and then about ten minutes later rattled away again. She was all alone in the house.

In the fading light, she could just make out the lump that was the rope and knot that bound her to the chair. They hadn’t set her in the chair but rather beside it so her arm was stretched above her head. Her bound ankles caused her body to be twisted painfully at an awkward angle. This made it difficult for her to reach the knot that held her arm and she was unable to untie the bindings on her ankle one-handed. Patiently, she extended her free hand and began to fumble with the knot that fastened her other hand to the chair. Long minutes passed as she worked the knot. Luckily three years of very little work had made her sisters inept at tying ropes.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she found both hands free. She unkinked her body and sat up straight so she could work on untying her ankles. With both hands liberated, it was much easier to untie the knots that connected her lower extremities. Much quicker than she had thought possible, she was standing on shaky feet. Although she was sure the door was locked, she couldn’t resist trying the door. She sighed with frustration as she contemplated her jail.

She knew she had to get out of the attic and to the castle if she had any hope of meeting a husband. She knew that other unmarried men would be there, even if she didn’t catch the Prince’s eye, she might catch the eye of one of them. She didn’t really care who her husband was, just that he got her away from her sisters. She would be happy to keep house for a simple farmer even. Anything would be better than being a virtual slave for her ungrateful family.

Buttercup went back to the rocking chair and picked up the ropes that had bound her. With the pieces that had held her captive and a few others she scrounged from around the attic, she had a long enough length to reach the ground. Although she was in the attic, it was actually only two stories off the ground. She wrestled with the window for a few moments but was unable to open it. The hasp opened but the window itself didn’t. Apparently sometime in the past it had been painted shut. Frustrated, she grabbed a small trunk and threw it through the window.

It shattered and a second later, she heard a crash as the trunk hit the ground below. She tied the rope to a near-by dresser than started to climb out the window. She only had one leg out when she realized she might rip her dress. She unbuttoned it and shimmied out of it. She held it out the window, intending to toss it down to the ground but decided that it would just land in the mud. Figuring that there wasn’t anyone around to see her if she ran around in her underclothes, she laid the dress out on her mother’s trunk.

She slid a little as she lowered herself to the ground but her hands were tough enough that the rough rope didn’t draw blood. Hurrying around to the front of the house, she let herself in the unlocked door then made her way up to the attic and retrieved her dress. After redressing herself and straightening her hair, she began to make her way to the castle.

She was walking along the road when she heard a wagon clattering behind her. She stepped off the road and turned to watch it pass. It rolled past her, then stopped, and the driver turned around to face her. “Where are you headed, my lady?” he asked, choosing the lowest form of address but still respectful.

Buttercup felt a little thrill as she was addressed as a noble. “I am bound for the palace. My carriage lost a wheel and my footman bade me continue whilst he tried to fix it.”

The farmer seemed strangely convinced by her story. “Well,” he said, looking her over as if not understanding why a lady was walking along this country road, “if you don’t mind the humble ride of a wagon, I would be glad to offer transportation.”

Buttercup hurried over to the wagon and clambered up, using the wheel to boost herself into the seat. “I would be happy to accept a ride from you. Thank you, kind sir.”

The farmer chatted to her as they rattled along the bumpy road. Buttercup interjected comments here and there but didn’t really listen to the prattle. All too soon the palace was in sight. She thought at first she should stop the farmer and make the rest of the way on foot, then decided that if she was questioned she could change her story slightly and simply say that the farmer had come upon her and her broken-down carriage and offered assistance.

He stopped in front of the stairs to the palace and hopped down, coming around to give Buttercup a hand down before she could jump. “My lady, I wish you the best of luck with His Highness the Prince. I am sure you will be the belle of the ball.”

She thanked him with a gracious smile and made her way sedately up the stairs. At the top, the footman bowed her through the doors where she was stopped by the Master of Ceremonies. “Whom shall I announce?” he asked, looking down his nose at her.

“Lady Primrose,” Buttercup replied. She felt confident using her mother’s name. Although her sisters would recognize it, they would have no reason to associate it with her.

The Master of Ceremonies stuck the floor with his standard pole and announced in a bellowing voice, “The Lady Primrose.” There was a scattering of applause, more polite than interested. Buttercup stared in awe at the colors and people swirling below her. The Master of Ceremonies leaned close to her and said in a kind but hushed tone, “You should descend the stair now, my lady.”

Buttercup graced him with a dazzling smile. “Thank you,” she murmured and gracefully paraded down the stairs.

She wandered the lower floor, watching the other dancers, and nibbling on the food that was being circulated by servers but did not join in the dance herself. She wasn’t sure of the steps and all of the people crowded into one room, threatening to overwhelm her. She was too shy to approach anyone herself so stayed close to the walls.

She was just about to ascend the stair and leave the palace when a hand on her arm stopped her forward momentum. She turned and was confronted with the kindest brown eyes she had ever seen. “My lady,” the man said in a soft, low voice, “please consent to dance with me.”

“I would be honored, my lord,” she replied, sinking into a deep curtsy.

Buttercup allowed him to lead her onto the floor and guide her through the steps of the dance. He wasn’t upset when she missed a step or turned the wrong way but gently corrected her and had nothing but kind words for her. After four dances, dinner was announced. He led her from the floor and sat her beside him to eat, offering her the choicest meats and delicacies from the platters. He waited attendance on her all night, fetching her drinks when she was thirsty and even requesting the one dance she quickly mastered again and again.

Buttercup looked up in horror as the large clock tolled midnight. She had to beat her sisters back to the house and lock herself in the attic again before they discovered that she had escaped. With whispered words of regret, she pulled away from her escort, and ran from the room. As she ran down the outside steps, she realized the man was dashing after her and she sped up, losing one of her shoes on the steps as she ran. She dared not return for it since he was quick on her heels. Instead, she pulled the other slipper off, hiked her skirts up higher and fled into the night.

She had just locked herself in the attic and was tying herself back up when she heard her sisters enter the house. The women let her out of the attic, not noticing that she wasn’t tied in the same way due to the alcohol they had consumed. As she helped them get ready for bed, she was amused to find out that neither of them had actually met the Prince, since he had been occupied for most of the ball by a strange woman in a dark blue dress. Apparently he had found her hiding along the wall and drawn her out onto the dance floor before escorting her to dinner. Buttercup was amused that someone else had had a similar night to herself.

* * * * *

The next morning, Buttercup was awakened by her sisters’ strident voices complaining about their heads. She fetched them cold cloths and buckets when their stomachs protested their drinking from the night before. She was in the yard, cleaning out one of the buckets, when a carriage rolled up in front and two footmen descended. One of them threw the carriage door open and the master of ceremonies from the night before exited, followed by Buttercup’s savior.

Buttercup quickly realized that her savior was none other than the Prince himself. The master of ceremonies confirmed her thoughts when he announced, “His Most Royal Highness Prince Westley would like an audience with the ladies of the house.”

Buttercup quickly lowered herself into the deepest curtsy she could manage and bowed her head so she wasn’t looking the Prince in the eye. She was sorry to lose the comfort she had felt with the man the night before but knew she could not look him in the eye. “I will fetch the ladies of the house,” she murmured. “May I escort you to the parlor first?”

She got them settled in the parlor and offered them refreshments before scurrying to her sisters’ rooms and cajoling them into clothes. She finally informed them the Prince was sitting in parlor which was what spurred them out of their beds and into their second best dresses.

When they entered the parlor, Buttercup hung back trying not to draw attention to herself. She was sure that her sisters would lock her in the attic again if they realized she was there. The prince produced a shoe from a bag one of the footmen held and showed it to the women. “Last night I danced with my future wife. Unfortunately before I could find out her name, she fled, leaving me with just this shoe. Since I know the woman is from somewhere in the area, I am visiting all the houses until I find her.”

Both Rose and Violet immediately recognized the shoe as one of the ones Buttercup had been wearing the night before. Although they had no idea how their little sister had gotten out of the attic and then back in, they were determined not to let her win the Prince.

Rose accepted the slipper from the footman and was about to slip it on her foot when she remembered that Buttercup had an abnormally small foot. She smiled sunily at the Prince. “I can’t remember if I wore that shoe last night or Violet. Please excuse us for a moment while we go check our rooms for the other shoe.”

The girls curtsied to the Prince and as they left the room, they grabbed Buttercup by the arms, dragging her with them. “If you say that it’s your shoe, I will sell you to the first passing trader as a slave and make sure you are taken far away,” Rose threatened. “Now you are going to help us so that one of us fit into that shoe. Once one of us is engaged to the Prince, we’ll turn this house over to you and you can live as you chose.”

Buttercup nodded in fear and followed her sisters through the house and out into the back yard. Rose gathered up their father’s small axe, the one Buttercup used to chop the wood into smaller more manageable pieces, then led them back into the kitchen. She built up the fire and stuck iron into it. She grabbed the largest butcher knife from the counter and motioned Buttercup closer. “You’re going to cut off the meat of my heel with this knife, then close the wound by putting the iron against it. Then take the axe and chop of Violet’s big toe.” When it looked like Violet was going to protest, she grabbed her. “You can get carried everywhere for the rest of your life. We just need the shoe to fit one of us.”

Both girls bit down on towels as Buttercup followed her oldest sister’s directions. Even the towels didn’t quite muffle their screams and whimpers of pain, but Rose didn’t think any of the sounds carried to the front of the house and the parlor. Despite her best efforts, Buttercup’s skirt was soon splotched with her sister’s blood. It soaked through the material and stuck her dress to her legs. She quickly applied the iron to both wounds, sealing them as best she could.

The two sisters leaned on each other and hobbled back to the parlor about twenty minutes after Buttercup had preformed her surgery. Buttercup followed slowly behind them but didn’t dare to enter the room herself with her bloodstained dress.

“We couldn’t find the other shoe,” she explained. “If you don’t mind we’ll both try on the shoe.” Rose eased herself into a chair as the Prince nodded and accepted the shoe from the footman. Despite her best efforts, the shoe refused to slide onto her injured foot. “Well, apparently it isn’t mine,” she said, smiling at the Prince. She handed the shoe over to Violet who sat next to her. “It must be Violet’s.”

Violet took the shoe and could not control her wince as she attempted to make the shoe fit. “I could have sworn it was mine,” she said as she handed it back. The footman noticed a smear of blood on the shoe as he accepted it but wasn’t sure if it had been there before. He chose not to say anything to the Prince.

The Prince frowned at the two sisters. He knew something was going on with the two of them but he wasn’t sure what it was. “What about your servant girl? The one who met us in the yard.”

“Oh, it couldn’t have been her,” Rose said. “She’s only fifteen. She wasn’t allowed to attend the ball.”

Buttercup decided she couldn’t allow this to go on any longer. She took the other slipper out of her pocket, then she entered the room. “Your Highness, I believe that slipper is mine. See I have its mate right here.” She held the one in her hand out to him. “If you’ll allow me to sit, I can put both of them on and show you that they fit.”

Now that he was able to get a good look at her face, the Prince recognized her from the night before. “No need, my lady. I am happy to see you again.”

“Please, allow me to put them both on just so there is no question,” Buttercup begged.

With an infatuated smile, the Prince guided her to the chair he had been sitting in and knelt in front of her to slip the shoes on himself. Both shoes slid easily onto her feet. “What is your name, my love?” he requested quietly.

“Buttercup, Your Highness,” she replied, captivated once again by his eyes.

“And you will call me Westley.” He raised her to her feet and prepared to escort her out of the room. He turned back to the stupefied sisters just before they exited. “My bride shall decide your fate,” he informed them.

Three weeks later, Westley and Buttercup were married with all the pomp and circumstance that befitted his position. Buttercup’s sisters were in attendance with their future husbands, dukes that lived on the far sides of Westley’s domain and were not often at court. Buttercup felt that was a fitting punishment for her sisters’ crimes. They would be safely away from her and yet did not have the power that their youngest sister now wielded.




Special thanks to Miranda Foix who got the ball rolling on how Buttercup escaped from the attic.

So does anyone know who my “Cinderella” and Prince are named after?