Fiona’s Fabulous Footwear

By H. L. Davis

It was the day before Elle’s ball, and I was desperate. So I traveled with all haste to my cousin’s shoppe, Fiona’s Fabulous Footwear.

I know, I know. I’m Elle’s fairy godmother. I should have known how to make some simple slippers. But while I can create the most ornate carriages, the most magnificent animals, and the most exquisite gowns, I can’t make a decent pair of shoes to save my life. When I’ve tried before—and believe me, I’ve tried—I produced footwear that imperiled both life and limb.

The first pair I attempted were an interesting surprise: iron platforms with a striking scarlet shimmer. But attempting to slip on the devils resulted in burnt toes of a similar shade.

The second pair was more promising: luxurious fur boots. My feet made it safely inside them, so I was optimistic. Then I took one step that whisked me seven leagues away.

I’ve never been so grateful I wasn’t turned toward the mountains. Or so ungrateful for my horrible motion sickness.

Yes, a visit to Fiona’s was, by far, my safest option.

I expected quite a crowd when I came within sight of the shoppe. Ever since Fiona had crafted a shoe house for that old woman with dozens of children, the name of her shoppe was famous throughout the world. And throughout worlds beyond that! But conveniently enough, on that day no giant line snaked down the street. I glided through the doors, and a tinkling silver bell announced my arrival.

“As the sign clearly states”—my cousin’s voice sounded frazzled in the next room—“the only creatures who may enter the premises today are those with prescheduled appointments!” She huffed into the room, her cheeks red as apples. “Oh, Daphne! I thought you might be that infuriating cat coming in to inquire yet again about when his boots will be mended. This isn’t your usual day to visit.”

I grabbed my compact, anxiously powdered my nose, then shoved it back in my pocket. “Fiona, I’m in an absolute tizzy! The ball of Elle’s dreams is happening tomorrow night, and I must find her the perfect pair of shoes!”

Fiona’s eyes twinkled. She knew all about my footwear fiascos. “I’m happy to help, dear, but our current selections are few. And you may want to run to the back of the shoppe for a bit, because my next customer—”

The door burst open in a rush of wind, sending the bell into fits. I squinted at the silhouette in the doorway. That Wicked Witch of the East with her dramatic entrances.

The witch’s black eyes glittered as she strode inside. “I’m here for my order. Is it ready?”

“Yes, of course! Allow me to fetch it for you!” Fiona hurried from the room, throwing me a warning look.

I tapped my hand with the tip of my wand and nodded curtly. “Morrisa.”

“Daphne.” She grinned, revealing teeth as pointy as her hat. “I hear you made an unexpected journey recently. Have you recovered?”

Drat. The seven-league boots story had already reached Oz.

I patted my periwinkle curls. “Oh, you must mean my travels to Snorah for the princess’s christening last month. It was a most charming occasion.” At least, it was until an ill-tempered insomniac blessed the infant with a hundred years of sleep.

Before Morrisa could reply, Fiona rushed back to the counter with a silver package. “Here they are!”

The witch snatched up the order. “My sister will be green with envy.” Cackling, Morrisa handed Fiona a gold piece. “Until next time!” Morissa departed in a haze of smoke, leaving us alone once more.

“She always gives me the shivers”—Fiona rubbed her arms briskly—“but she pays well and has excellent taste in footwear. If only I had a similar pair of shoes for Elle.”

I glanced around at dozens of bare shelves. “Heavens, you spoke the truth about having little selection!”

My cousin shrugged. “There have been so many customers lately, it’s been difficult to keep up with demand. But with the new elves I’ve hired, we should fill the shelves back up in no time.”

“No time is my dilemma! Have you no plain dancing slippers?”

“Afraid not, dear. A king traveled from afar and bought them all for his twelve daughters. Apparently, they wear out their shoes daily.”

“Bare feet sounds like a suitable choice for them, then,” I muttered. I continued scanning the room until my eyes caught a glimmer near the far ceiling. I floated over to it, eyes widening.

“Glass slippers?”

“Oh, those.” Fiona sighed. “Marvin made them. His glass shoppe hasn’t been doing too well, and with all the business here, he thought someone might like them. He even put a little charm on them so they’ll perfectly fit the feet of their owner! I tried to tell him they were the silliest—”

“I’ll take them!”

Fiona stared. “Daphne, you’re not serious?”

“I most certainly am! They’re marvelous. Who ever heard of someone wearing glass slippers? They’ll be a sensation, and the prince won’t be able to resist the charm of a maiden with such smashing footwear.” I cringed at my choice of words and cradled the shoes. “Please thank Marvin for me! And”—I sniffed daintily—“have you any protective bags?”

I flew from the shoppe in the height of exhilaration, determined that Elle’s glass slippers would soon become the world’s most famous pair of shoes—and I the most wonderful of all godmothers.

After all, couldn’t a fairy dream?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

H. L. Davis is a Christian, wife, and homeschool mom who calls the South home. She first discovered the joys of writing at ten years of age, and it is a craft she is delighted to pursue once again. When she isn’t brainstorming ideas and weaving words into stories, she enjoys reading, graphic design, and quality time with her family and friends. You can hear an audio narration of “Fiona’s Fabulous Footwear” on the Finding Fantasy Reads podcast.

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