FSE

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Cinderwerefox!

By (in alphabetical order)

Sami Deveraux, (Vulpine)

And SilverDragon, (SilverDragon)

Chapter 1:

Nine years later:

"Fox! Get down here!"

"Yes, Stepmother Lovelace!" Fox called back. He ran down the stairs three at a time, and dashed around the corner into the kitchen.

It wasn't good to keep Stepmother Lovelace waiting.

As he came into the kitchen Lady Lovelace stood with a broom in her hand and handed it to him. "Help me clean up in here, will you?"

"Like I have a choice.." he thought to himself, though a bright "Yes, M'am," was what he actually said, taking the broom from her and starting to sweep the dust as she left the room.

When Fox was almost done cleaning the kitchen his stepbrother came in.

"Hey Foxy.. would you mind bringing me some food later, I have things to do."

Fox sighed softly to himself before speaking. "Sure..." he said quietly, but continued in his mind with a rhetorical "it's not like I have anything better to do, right?" that probably would've gotten him hit if he had said it out loud. He felt like punching his stepbrother himself, but knew that Lady Lovelace would punish him badly for something like that.

"Fox Fox Fox, you're busy cleaning.. throw these out when you are done okay?" His stepsister asked as she came in, putting down some lilies on the table. She walked out again without even looking to see him nod to her. He went over to the table and looked at the flowers as he picked them up, and noticed that the gray blossoms still smelled quite fresh while he was walking with them to the trash can. Pausing for a moment, he decided to take them up to his room instead of throwing them out, so he at least would have something nice to look at this evening before he changed. He could always get rid of them tomorrow.

Finishing the cleaning, he set the broom and pan away in the cupboard and ran upstairs with the flowers, the boy letting himself into the same small cramped attic room that he had lived in since he came to his stepmother's house and carefully closing the door behind him.

He fished a slightly chipped china bowl out from under the desk, and set it on his dresser, putting the flowers inside, where they lay in a lopsided circle. The slowly dimming sunlight streaming through the window struck the long trumpet-shaped blossoms from behind, making them glow like the lantern mantles did when night fell and they were set alight.

He stared at them for a while, their delicate and it reminded him of his family for some reason, and also of his little fox friend he had back home. It had been a while since he had thought of the little fox, the one who got him into all of this mess (though not through its own fault, he reminded himself once more). Sometimes he wished he had never met the little fox, but when he had first left home, he was comforted by his small friend nearly every night when he slept, the little creature keeping him company even when he wasn't himself, anymore.

Presently, a loud Caw! came from outside, and Fox looked up from the flowers, out of the window and saw that it was already getting late.

"I guess I should get undressed, it's almost time.." he said to himself, and he started to remove his clothes, discarding his plain shirt, then the rough breeches his stepmother left him in turn, casting them on the edge of the bed.

He thought back to when he had first come to his stepmother's house, nine years before, and sighed, looking over his arms, and his hands, neither of which were scarred by the grueling work he was put through every day since he had arrived.

At first, Fox had believed that his stepmother would be able to put things right in just a few days, and he worked extra hard, to show her how grateful he was. But that first day was the last day he ever saw the colors that made up the world, and as time passed he grew no better, regardless of the incantations his stepmother mumbled over him hurriedly in the evenings after dinner.

And his stepbrother and stepsister saw how eager he was to help, and they put him to work. Once they found out how dextrous he was with his paws and fingers, they set him to sewing clothes for them in the most extravagant and new patterns, after he had spent all day cleaning the house, and scrubbing the china clean.

Fox learned tailoring very fast, finding that at night, his paws were even more clever than his hands, and after a while, he started saving the fragments, gray and lighter gray, and shades of white and black, from the cloth and leather that his brother and sister gave him to work with.

He was sure that the pieces were bright and colorful, because his stepsiblings had talked energetically about the beautiful shades of blue and green, their morning sunrises of royal purple, the golden yellow as pure as the first ray of sun.

But as soon as they found out that he couldn't see color anymore, even when he was a boy, they stopped telling him the color's true names. He found this out when he took a piece he'd saved, that he knew was blue, and asked each one separately, and they told him red, and green.

It wasn't until several weeks had passed where he had worked all night, every night, trying to sew the complicated patterns in the dim moonlight from his window, for his brother and sister never gave him a single candle to use, that he slowly realized his body was different than it had been before. He didn't seem to need sleep anymore, and only felt slightly tired when he changed back to being a boy again with the coming of the dawn.

Presently, his skill improved, so he could begin to work on his own patterns and designs in the extra time he had to himself. He used the measuring tape they gave him to understand his own new shape, and on spare scraps of paper from the old books he found in the room, and a bit of pencil that came from under the table downstairs, he scratched out a pattern that was for himself, one that could be his own and his alone.

And as the months turned into years, he sewed himself a set of clothes to wear, the likes of which had never been seen before.

The scraps were very small, and he only knew the colors of a few of them, so he was careful to sew them together last of all, making himself a several copies of a his design: an argent fox, party per bend sinister sable and vert, with a chief azure decrescent moon of pale hue rising mysteriously above the primary figure

So, the pattern would have the silver fox in the center, with a diagonal division going from the upper right to the lower left, the top section in a dark shade of green close to black, the lower in a lighter one. Above the main figure, in the background of the design, a crescent waning moon tilted with horns to the left is stitched in a pale shade of blue. (If a heraldry expert could check and make sure my amateur description corresponds, I'd quite appreciate the help.). He attached the finest of these to the sinister side of the shirt he had made for himself, and the others to the other pieces of clothing which he wore.

He'd even tried his paw at cobbling, and had made a little pair of sandals which he could wear to protect his hindpaws when he hurried.

Fox then opened the dresser and took out the clothes he had made for himself, his shirt, with its silver fox, which he set out on his desk. The slacks were next, with a V cut in back to give his thick tail a place to go. And last of all came the pride of his work, a pair of leather gloves made to fit his paws that he had sewn together with stitches of silken thread so fine the result looked and felt as if they had been cut of a single piece of skin.

As the years with his curse passed, he could tell when he was about to change, and this time he closed his eyes just as the odd shiver came, the discomfort as his body re-arranged much less than it had been that long time ago, a little electric rush running down the fur that covered his neck as he felt his muzzle shift back out. He sighed faintly, and opened his eyes again.

Everything was sharper, although still in shades of gray. The silver moonlight that filtered through the window was more than enough for him to slip into his new clothes. But first he had his last chore to finish. He quickly slipped out through his door, then pulled it fast closed. If one good thing could be said of his stepfamily, they did respect his privacy, and never went into his room whether he was there, or not.

So he ran downstairs, clad only in his natural coat, and tapped at the door to the kitchen. No one was there, because the cook left shortly after dinner. But Stepmother Lovelace had told him to never go through a door without knocking first, and if he heard an unfamiliar voice to stay in the shadows, for she wanted not to ever explain her nephew turned into a monster at night.

Opening the door, he quickly found the food in the larder, and put it on a tray, carrying it upstairs to his stepbrother's room. He tapped on the door, and the laughter inside stopped abruptly.

"Who's there?" came his brother's voice.

"M..me," Fox said hesitantly, his voice quieter than it was when he was a boy, but more melodic as well. Another thing that his stepsiblings hated about their strange cousin.

"Come in," said the voice "I'm alone."

And Fox pushed the door open, and in the firelight cast from the room he saw his stepbrother, and another boy, one of his cousin's friends, which he didn't know very well.

The other boy stared at Fox fixedly, then finally said "I see," coldly, and reached in his pocket, removed a twenty quartermain note, and gave it to his stepbrother.

"S-sorry," Fox said quickly, setting the tray down, glad his fluffy fur hid the burning blush that he had from shame.

And as he quickly hurried away, he heard the two laughing together again. He tried not to listen, but his hearing was sharp, and their cruel comments about the 'dirty creature,' that lived in his stepmother's attic didn't quite escape his drooping ears.

So, discouraged again, he returned to his room, shut the door behind him fast, and made his way over to his desk, to change into his clothes for the night.

First came the gloves, which slipped on swiftly, fitting snugly over the soft pads on his palm and fingers, but leaving his claws exposed, the better for climbing with.

Second came his shirt, which he stepped into from above. Since he had grown, Fox had found his waist was very narrow compared to how it used to be, so he had cut his shirt narrowly beneath, and needed to button it securely over each of his shoulders, the better for staying with him when he leapt.

Third came his slacks, which were like his shirt made of fine silk. He wasn't sure about the colors of the pieces that he made them with, but each were matched by shade of gray, to have a slow transition from the paler shades of silk near the top to the darker ones near his ankles, the better to blend into the grasses with at night.

He tied his slacks close with a cord about his waist, above his thick tail, and then stepped silently over to the dresser, taking last of all from its single drawer a folded travelling cloak, also emblazoned with his shield, and slipped it on, tying it about his waist with a sash, the better to keep it from flapping in the breeze when he ran.

And he let the hood fall over his perky ears, laying them back against his head, the cloak of cloth cut the better to hide his shameful shape.

He heard a sound of footsteps outside his door. And a moment later, a knocking.

"You in there?" It was Stepmother Lovelace.

"Y-yes," he replied, just loud enough for her to hear, and silently slipped his leather sandals on, tying the little strap to his ankle, the better to keep them from tipping off his toes when he came to sudden stops.

Every night, she still locked him in. The better for him not to accidentally hurt himself, she had said, but he knew the reason was that she didn't want to chance him wandering around the house while the family slept.

"Good," she replied shortly, and there was a little snick! as the bolt threw closed, locking him in.

Or so she thought.

Fox waited a few more moments, until the footsteps went past the creaky board on the stairs, then stepped over to the window, and threw it full open.

The cool outdoor air, filled with mysterious scents, and the silver moonlight both streamed into his little room, making it as large a palace as a prince could dream of, the delightful sensation of energy that the night air brought him making his tail swish across his cloak in pleasure.

And he leapt through, silent as the night, and landed noiselessly on the roof just outside.

Fox swiftly moved over the roofs, sticking to the shadowy sides, the hybrid vulpine both silent and nearly invisible. He doesn't really mind where he is going, as it feels really good to get out of that musty house, even if he was still alone. This is also the only time he really got to leave his Aunt's, so he made sure that he enjoyed it every time.

As he made his way quickly into town, he came to one of his favorite places to visit at night.. the theater.

Perching in a poplar close enough to the theater that he can hear every word inside, he relaxes for a while, just enjoying the sounds of the play within as they mixed with the night noises without that were was so familiar. As the laughter from the audience dimmed to hushed gasps as the performance turned from its initial lightheartedness to a more serious mood, Fox started in his well-concealed place. It was already quite late!

Knowing that he doesn't have too much time to spend outside, Fox leaps out of the tree onto another roof, making his way to the church, hoping to catch the night service. He was just in time to enter before it began, and pulled his hood down low and put his paws in his pockets, slipping in and standing near a row of half-empty pews near the back of the nave. Being at the church made him feel a bit better about his curse for some reason, as if the evil was driven from his heart as he listened in reverent silence to the service.

Tonight it was a little longer than usual, speaking warningly of darkness derived from the passions of the heart, and warmly of the spiritual alternatives. When the communion began, Fox slipped away again, heart groaning silently, for he could not hide his secret if he was observed up close. As he was leaving, he noticed several discarded candles near the entrance, and he slipped them into the pocket in the lining of his coat, glancing to make sure the coast was clear before stepping back out into the quiet street.

The city was well maintained due to the command of the king, and there was nearly never a tile that Fox found out-of-place as he dashed and leapt from roof to roof, his silent athletic artistry without reproach as he dashed and jumped, cartwheeled and climbed towards the light of the silver moon. Sliding down a bracketed drain, he landed silently in a narrow alley, the cloaked figure searching around for a few minutes in a disorganized pile of plants, and finally finding several pale lilacs which were yet fresh, he tucked them into his cloak and was swiftly running (more carefully now, for he had found the flowers were fragile the hard way) towards the edge of the city once more as the moon slowly followed the Fox back, hanging over his shoulder and watching over him silently.

The night drawing towards its close once more, he arrived at the quiet graveyard just outside the city, which rested on the slope under both the protection of the tall silhouette of the castle a few hills farther, the church, which had been swallowed by the city, almost equidistant.

He slipped over the low wall, and padded silently along the grass, until coming to a small grave of white marble. The fox bowed his head, and tried to say a few words, then finally laid the three flowers under the headstone and turned to go.

As he turns around he hears horses on the other side of the graveyard wall and leaps onto the wall to see what's going on, staying in the darkness and out of sight and listening closely. He hears at least two people going by on horses.

"My Lord, we have to return to the castle, it's dark and a dangerous hour. There might be thieves about."

"Yes, I know. I just want to stay a few more minutes... I love the night sounds and scents."

"That's him... the prince." Fox thinks for himself, hoping to get a glimpse of him.

"Sire, you also have to get your rest for tomorrow nights ball. There will be a great number of fair young women which you must dance with."

The prince gives a slight sigh before talking, knowing that he probably won't like any of them, but also knowing his duties as the eldest son of the king.

"Yes, I have a long day tomorrow..." He said at last with a sigh, and took another long breath of the fragrant night air before acquiescing to his knight. "Let's go."

Fox sits on the wall for a while until the the prince is out of his range of sight, his ears perking high and listening to the occasional snuffs of their mounts, and the faint clop-clop of their horseshoes on the cobbles as they went on down the road. It was a long time indeed, for his eyes were sharper than they had ever been. And then, when he was alone without even the sounds of the crickets for company, Fox runs and jumps from the graveyard wall to the rooftop of the caretaker's cottage and heads home, dashing and leaping faster as he felt the moon's light begin to wane, for dawn was swiftly approaching.

He passed into his room in a moment, the window, just as he had left it, sliding closed soundlessly at the touch of his half-gloved paw.

Alone in his room, Fox could not stop thinking about the prince and the ball the next night at the castle, wishing he could go, even if only to get another glimpse at the prince. He sat down at his table in thought, and reached into his cloak, taking out one of the half-used candles and staring at it for several minutes. At last, brow furrowed with concentration, he slowly moved his claws, turning his paw in a quarter circle forwards, then touching the candle's wick very delicately.

There was a sudden flicker of bluish-white light as the stolen magic worked, and a faint crackle, the candle catching. Then his room was warmed by the candle's faint yellow flame. While Fox had been growing up in the Lovelace house, he had watched his stepmother carefully, and though he never had instruction, his intense observation had allowed him to master a few small spells.

With the candle lit, he stared into space, lost in his own thoughts, which wandered from the castle and the prince to himself as he looked at his odd gloved paw. Turning it over, he saw his own pads in the flickering candlelight, and he was back home again, with his friend and playmate, chasing him through the forest, then running and being chased. At last, he caught up to the little fox, who yipped twice, then touched his hand with its paw. And as suddenly, the daydream was gone, and he was all alone in his room once more.

Lost in thought, Fox chewed his lip slightly and stared into the flame. It might have been a minute, or it might have been ten, but after a little while, he was startled when he felt a sudden breeze, and, glancing up, saw a figure, cloaked in shadows as dark as distilled vinegar (and smelling faintly of the same), sitting in his window, which had been opened. The moonlight was almost gone, and dawn had not yet arrived, making it impossible to tell who it could possibly be, for the candleflame was weak, and flickered but dimly.

"Who's there?" Fox cries out.

"I... am your fairy god-fox," a gentle voice speaks back at him.

"I don't understand..."