"At last!" Ella cried, racing down the stairs.

As she flung open the door, the smile on her face faltered, replaced with a confused expression. A farmer stood in the doorway. He held his hat in one hand. In his other hand, he held the reins of Galahad's bridle. The big horse's head was hung low, the cart behind him empty. Her father was nowhere to be seen.

This was too much to bear. Ella's vision began to blur and the blood drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaking. She reached out a hand and clutched the doorframe for support. Behind her, Lady Tremaine, Anastasia, and Drisella appeared.

The days blurred one into another, with Ella the constant victim of her stepmother's increasing demands. The only things that kept her going were her father's letters and the thought of her father's eventual return. And then, one afternoon, she heard the familiar clop of hoofbeats outside and a loud knock at the door.

The farmer looked at the ground and then slowly back up, his eyes sad. "It's your father, miss. He took ill on the road. He's passed on, miss. He's gone."

Ella met her stepmother's gaze. A flicker of compassion stirred deep inside. Can it be? she thought. Did her stepmother share her sorrow? But then Lady Tremaine spoke again.

Lady Tremaine's mouth narrowed.

Unaware of the impact of his words, the farmer went on: "I was to give you this." Reaching into a bag at his side, he pulled out a dried branch.

"We're ruined," she said. "How will we live?" She ushered her daughters away. Behind her, Ella thanked the farmer and slowly shut the door. When no one was looking, she collapsed against it, her heart broken. She was well and truly alone. And she couldn't help wondering, what would happen to her now?

The farmer looked crestfallen. "To the end, he spoke of no one but you, miss," he said, trying to help. "And your mother."

"Can't you see?" Lady Tremaine snapped. "None of that matters."

Tears welled in her eyes as Ella gingerly took the branch and held it to her heart. Behind her, Anastasia and Drisella began to whine. "But what about my lace?" Anastasia asked. "And my parasol?" Drisella added.

She saw how her stepmother looked at her -- as just another mouth to feed, an interloper in the house that now belonged to her. But Ella had made promises -- the one years earlier to her mother and the more recent one to her father. And she would not break those promises. Even if, as the days passed, she became less a sister and daughter and more a servant.

Ella didn't have to wait long to find out her fate. Within days of receiving news of Ella's father's death, Lady Tremaine let the household staff go. With them gone, and her stepmother apparently too weak with grief to do anything, the duties of the house now fell fully on Ella's shoulders. It was left to her to pack up her father's clothes and sell them for whatever meager price they would fetch. When her sisters required their daily baths, it was Ella who made her way to the well and fetched buckets of water, then carried them slowly back to the house.

Anyone else might have buckled under the added burdens, but no matter what task Lady Tremaine or her stepsisters threw at her, Ella focused on staying positive. She hummed while she picked vegetables from the greenhouse. She sang as she washed and ironed. She even smiled as she helped Lady Tremaine into her dresses that cost more than the fired staff.

One night, after a particularly long day, she found herself too exhausted to eat. Putting the small chunk of bread and meager serving of cheese on the floor, she called out to her only friends -- the mice Jacqueline and Gus. They appeared quickly, followed by their two small children, whom Ella had named Esau and Jacob. She watched as they ate their dinner. Ella was happy to see someone enjoying it.

Ella woke with a start. The embers in the fireplace had long since grown cold, and she could hear her stepsisters and stepmother rustling about upstairs. Panicked, she leapt to her feet and scrambled around the kitchen, putting breakfast together. As the water began to boil, she rang the bell indicating breakfast was ready. The Tremaines had been taking their meals downstairs as of late, and they expected breakfast at the same time every morning.

At night, after the last of her chores was done and her stepmother and sisters were tucked into their beds, Ella was finally able to rest. Only then would her humming end, and she would let some sadness creep into her heart.

And then, too tired to walk up the stairs to the attic, she curled up on the hearth of the fireplace and fell asleep, the dying embers providing at least a little heat for her chilled and aching bones…

"I thought breakfast was ready," she said, her mouth turning down at the corners.

A few minutes later, Ella entered the drawing room to stoke the fire. Her stepfamily had already arrived, and she was greeted with a cold stare from Lady Tremaine.

This reply did not seem to ease Lady Tremaine's anger. "In the future," she snapped, "can we not be called until the work is done?"

"It's ash from the fireplace!" Anastasia exclaimed, laughing out loud. Drisella quickly joined in.

"What is that on your face?" she asked.

"It is, madam," Ella answered. "I am only mending the fire."

Ella nodded. "As you wish." She went to retrieve the eggs and tea and then quickly returned. As she began to serve, Lady Tremaine raised an eyebrow.

Ella lifted a hand and gently wiped it across her cheek. Her fingers, when she looked at them, were covered in a fine layer of black soot.

"Clean yourself up," Lady Tremaine said. "You'll get cinders in our tea." While her tone was disapproving, Ella couldn't help noticing that her stepmother seemed pleased to see her in such a state. And her stepsisters were clearly thrilled.

"Cinderella!" Drisella exclaimed. "That's what we'll call you."

As her stepsisters continued to tease her, Ella tried to ignore them and serve breakfast. When her stepfamily had their food, she moved to her seat at the table. Until then, this had been the only meal she was still able to share with her "family." But Lady Tremaine's voice stopped her.

Drisella bounced in her seat, clapping her hands in glee. "I've got a new name for her!" she cried. "Cinderwench!"

"Who's this for?" she asked, pointing at Ella's plate. "Is there someone we've forgot?"

Anastasia looked Ella up and down. "I couldn't bear to look so dirty." Then, smiling cruelly, she added, "Dirty Ella."

For a moment, Ella said nothing. Her stepsisters looked on as if waiting for her to oppose their mother. But instead, Ella simply nodded and said, "If you please, madam." Then, picking up her plate, she left the room.

Lady Tremaine shook her head. "It just seems too much to expect you to prepare breakfast, serve it, and still sit with us. Wouldn't you prefer to eat when all the work is done, Ella? Or, should I say, Cinderella?"

"It is my place," Ella said.

It was only when she was safely in the kitchen that tears filled Ella's eyes. Then her hands began to shake violently, causing her to drop her plate. It fell to the floor and shattered, causing Ella's tears to fall faster.

Kneeling, she began to pick up the pieces. Ella caught sight of her reflection in the copper pot hanging from the hearth and gasped. Her face was indeed covered in ashes, and her blond hair was tangled and unruly. She was Cinderella.

Suddenly, something inside Ella broke. For so long she had been trying to be the girl her mother and father would be proud of. She had kept her promises and tried to be gentle and kind. She had been courageous in the face of many unknownsand stayed strong when left alone. But now it seemed all for naught. Her new "family" had turned her into a creature of ash and toil. She was nothing but their plaything, someone to mock and order about. It was all too much.

Jumping to her feet, Ella threw off her apron, and she raced for the stable. A moment later, Ella had Galahad in the aisle and was pulling herself up onto his strong back. Before anyone could stop her, she urged the horse forward and they took off.

The trees whipped by in a blur and the wind prickled Ella's eyes, but she didn't care. Beneath her, Galahad's strong stride was calming and reassuring, a reminder of days gone by when she would ride for hours around the meadow, her father teaching her how to post, pick up the proper lead, and, eventually, take small jumps. Now, immersed in the fresh air, Ella felt like she could breathe for the first time in a long while. As they continued to race along, a smile spread across her face.

Galahad reared back, spooked, almost throwing Ella to the ground. Her legs gripped the horse's sides and she stayed astride. When she was sure Galahad wouldn't rear again, she began to rub his neck, calming him. It was only then that she noticed the sounds of an approaching hunt: the baying of hounds, along with the shouts of men and the pounding of horses' hooves. Ella knew that if the hunt caught up with this beautiful creature, he would be killed. She couldn't let that happen. "Run!" she called to the stag. "Go! Quickly!"

And then, right in front of them, a stag leapt out of the woods.

Suddenly, another rider appeared beside them, pulling at Galahad's reins and slowing him to a trot. Ella patted Galahad's mane, eager to make sure Galahad was okay.

Then she found herself peering up at the other horse. A tall, athletic horse. And on the tall horse's back, peering at her with an amused expression on his face, was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

As if he understood, the stag bolted into the trees, disappearing into the thick brush. Moments later, the forest exploded with the sounds of the hunters, who seemed to be very nearby now. Spooked once more, Galahad started to gallop as fast as he could. Ella tried to slow him, pulling the reins and calling to him.