By Isabella Roh
I never wanted to leave the luxurious south for the frigid north, but my parents’ decision was firm. I still despised the cold and the frozen landscape. I huddled on my window seat, watching the lone star that illuminated the snow.
“If,” I whispered, “the first star truly grants a wish…”
But I couldn’t voice it.
Abruptly, I climbed in bed, kicking my too-large dance slippers under the bed. The thin quilt didn’t provide enough warmth, but sleep was my only refuge from reality.
I shot upright, unsure what had woken me. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and new dance shoes fastened themselves onto my feet, fitting perfectly. When I stood, my nightgown grew heavy as the fabric materialized around me, transforming into an exquisite ball gown. Layers of petticoats floated around me. The fine, creamy silks were perfectly pleated, and each stitch in the lacey neckline was flawlessly placed. A chilly breeze fluttered across my bare shoulders. I smiled. Father would have insisted I wear a shawl with the dress, and Mother would have hesitated to let me leave the house. But here in my room, I could wear anything—be anyone.
A magical tingling prickled at my hairline. I closed my eyes, relishing the intoxicating luxury of fingers styling my hair. When I opened them, my hair lay elegantly heaped atop my head.
Can this be real?
I touched the cold glass of the mirror in my room, hoping to shock myself back into reality, but it rippled beneath my touch, dissolving, then reforming as a silvery staircase. I hesitated slightly before sweeping up my skirts and tiptoeing down to enter an exquisite ballroom. Every step across its crystal floor felt as if I walked on a cloud, the ethereal spell broken only by the echo of my heels.
Footsteps and bizarre, whimsical music overcame the near silence. I turned in wonder as a laughing crowd arrived, filling the ballroom. A young man with dark hair and penetrating eyes approached me and held out his arm.
I took it.
He guided me through the steps, leading with certainty. “Welcome, Sophia.”
The tone of his voice and the look in his eye made me melt. He knew me—welcomed me as an honored guest. I smiled, soaring in his arms as the music enveloped us. This wasn’t dancing—it was flying.
I waltzed with his six brothers, each dance more heavenly than the last. Brilliant light, beauty, and warmth flowed together.
“It’s time for you to return,” the first dancer said.
I grasped his arm. “No, please let me stay. Or… at least come again.”
He smiled. “You may come every night if you wish.”
When he released my hand, that world melted away. I lay in my own bed. Out my window, the stars lingered above the horizon even as dawn broke.
“I do wish.”
I didn’t mind being sleepy that day. Or the next, or the day after that. The nights were worth it. I survived the cold northern dreariness, clinging to the ballroom’s warmth each night. Every visit brought a different gown and hairstyle, but they were always accompanied by the satisfying click of my shoe-buckles and melting of the mirror. The touch of the dancers was always gentle but firm, and each night I flew with them.
A year passed, and I began to notice new details, like the void outside the staircase. My shoes stretched and shifted with age, rubbing blisters on my heels. My exhaustion from the nightly dancing crept up on me. I huddled in my window seat before bed.
“I am so very tired,” I whispered to the star. “When my shoes clamp on, it is not a perfect, dream-like fit. No, they lock, becoming shackles around my ankles. When the mirror melts away, it’s no magical portal; it’s a cursed whirlpool, sucking me into gilded, empty pleasure.”
I leaned my head against the window’s cold glass. “The dancers seem less interested and caring every night. Even the first dancer no longer has the gentle touch which enchanted me. His arm reaches farther and farther around me each night.”
I looked back up. “I’m constantly ashamed of how the revealing gowns make me feel as I dance—plastered to him. I must rest.”
Out my window, the lone star twinkled brightly.
“I only know this began with an unfinished wish.”
The star flickered back at me.
I climbed into bed and tried to sleep, but my mind wandered. It was ironic, how desperately I used to wish for pleasures that now consumed me.
Finally, I slept. When the magic woke me, I pulled the old quilt over my head. But it was hopeless. The tingling magic forced me out of bed and propped me up. My shoes slithered around my feet, the clasps locking as always. My nightgown transformed, and my hair was yanked into place, but this time, before the staircase could suck me into the ballroom, I snatched a shawl and clutched it around my bare shoulders.
My feet ached with each step as the slippers carried me down the staircase. When I reached the ballroom, I tried to remove them, but the buckles were unyielding. The first dancer approached, and the shawl’s coarse yarn scratched my skin as I pulled it tighter.
As we danced, he whispered in my ear. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want this anymore. It’s not real. I don’t even know your name.”
“Sophia, you chose this.”
I met his piercing eye. “Then I chose wrongly that night! I felt honored and happy, unlike at home…”
“And if the shoe fits…”
“But the shoe doesn’t fit.”
He smiled. “There you have it.”
A freezing draft brushed my cheek, waking me in my own bed. Midnight stars still cast a dim light. I fingered my knit shawl, relishing its texture—its realness. I rose, walked to the window, and pulled on my old, fuzzy slippers.
They fit perfectly.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This story was lovely, Bella! I enjoyed reading it – well done!
Love it, Bella!!!!
This was great, Bella!! Good job incorporating the theme!
So good! I thought for sure this would end with a twist that she’s actually a ballerina in a music box, but I like your ending better!
This gave me The Twelve Dancing Princesses vibes!