The Girl Who Was Forgotten and Became Aschenputtel

{ Author's Note: This chapter means more to me than any of the other chapters I've written. It was a true labor of love, and I hope it resonates with you as much as it did with me }

As Ryo and the Fairy Greatmother walked through the manor's big, quiet halls, a strong feeling of sadness and memories washed over him. The walls were covered in old, dark cloth pictures showing fancy parties and rich guests—so different from the simple life Cinderella once lived here.

The wooden ceiling creaked above them, like it was trying to speak. The air smelled like old candles and books. Ryo felt like he'd stepped into a fairytale, just like the old 1697 story of Cinderella.

The manor looked stuck in time—dusty, grand, but sad, like it had once been full of happiness but now only held regret. Even the old paintings on the walls seemed to watch him with cold, unfriendly eyes—just like the stepfamily in the story.

Finally, they arrived at the room where Ryo would begin his subtle interrogation—the main parlor.

Stepmother's voice broke the silence, icy and commanding.

"We will talk here in the main parlor."

Ryo looked around the room and knew it right away. The long, fancy couch by the wall, the big fireplace with leftover ash, and the delicate porcelain figures—he had seen them in the story before.

This was the place where Cinderella spent her days, scrubbing the floors and cleaning corners, while the same family in front of him treated her badly. For a moment, he thought about how much she had suffered—but he pushed the thought away. He had a job to do.

Seraphine, her voice sweet but tinged with mischief, broke the silence.

"Ummm, Sherlock Holmes…"

Ryo raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a small smile.

"You can just call me Sherlock, no need to include my surname, Seraphine."

Seraphine blushed, a playful sparkle in her eyes, and gestured toward the settee.

"Is that so handsome? Then, Sherlock, Ms. Roselia, you both can sit here on the settee."

Ryo squinted, not wanting another flirtatious moment. "Seraphine... better drop the flirting, will ya?"

The atmosphere lightened for a moment as Seraphine giggled, clearly enjoying herself, but the tension in the room was easy to feel.

Ryo and the Fairy Greatmother seated themselves on the settee, while Seraphine, Clarisse, and Stepmother took their seats across from them. Stepmother sat in the center, as though she were the queen of this decaying castle.

With a sharp clap of her hands, Stepmother called out, her voice icy and commanding.

"Elise! Sophie!"

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hall, and two young women entered the parlor, both of them dressed in the humble attire typical of servants in the late 17th century. Sophie, around seventeen, wore a faded brown dress with a white apron and a kerchief tied over her hair.

Elise, younger, around twelve, had a similar outfit, though her apron was slightly too large for her small frame. Both girls looked nervous but dutiful, eyes cast down as they moved to stand by the Stepmother.

Stepmother gestured commandingly. "Prepare tea and dessert for our guest."

Elise and Sophie bowed quickly, speaking in unison. "Right away, Madam Rosalind!"

As they dashed off to the kitchen, Ryo turned his attention to Stepmother.

"Are they your new hires, madam?"

Stepmother, her voice sharp, nodded with a cold smile.

"Yes, ever since Cinderella was taken by the prince to the palace, I decided to hire new servants to replace her."

Clarisse, eager to explain with a touch of her own arrogance, added.

"Sophie is our scullery maid, and Elise is our kitchen girl. They're both sisters."

Ryo watched with interest. It seemed the stepfamily, now used to the work Cinderella used to do, had decided they needed two servants to keep the manor in order.

They expected too much from just one girl to keep this place running—especially with how cruel they had been to her—which said a lot.

Minutes passed before the two girls returned with a tray, balancing a delicate fruit tart and freshly brewed tea. As they placed the tray on the table, Ryo couldn't help but notice how they both moved with quiet grace, despite their obvious nervousness.

Fairy Greatmother smiled warmly at them, her tone gentle and kind.

"Thank you very much, Sophie, Elise."

Sophie raised her hand defensively, shaking her head.

"Oh, you don't need to call us by our names, esteemed guest!"

Elise, smiling timidly, added, "That's right, madam, we're just servants. You can treat us like we're invisible!"

Fairy Greatmother's expression softened, and she looked at the two girls with genuine compassion, her voice warm with sincerity.

"No, everyone of us, especially you two servants, are human. You don't have to act like you don't exist, and we appreciate all the hard work you do to serve us, the guests."

Sophie blinked, touched by the kindness in her words, while Elise looked up, her cheeks flushed.

"You mean… we're not invisible?" Sophie asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Fairy Greatmother smiled kindly, her eyes warm with understanding.

"Not at all. Your efforts do not go unnoticed, and we are grateful."

Ryo leaned back in his seat, a smug grin spreading across his face as he glanced over at the stepfamily.

"And that's how you should treat your servants."

The stepfamily flinched, their guilt written plainly across their faces. Stepmother's lips tightened, and Clarisse and Seraphine looked down, visibly ashamed of how they had once treated Cinderella.

The tension in the room thickened, but Ryo's sharp tone had made its mark.

The two girls, no longer quite so shy, bowed politely before retreating from the room. Ryo pulled a notebook and pen from his backpack, flipping it open in his hand as he held the pen above the page. His eyes flickered over the stepfamily, his expression unreadable.

"Then, shall we get started?" he asked, his voice cool and calculated.

The stepfamily nodded, their eyes betraying the unease that was starting to grow within them. Ryo was ready to begin his questioning, though he knew he couldn't reveal his full intentions just yet.

Ryo understood he couldn't dive straight into interrogation mode. He wasn't here to point fingers or stir panic—especially not when his goal was to prove the Ravenswood family's innocence. Accusations could wait.

For now, he needed to keep things casual, approachable. Gain their trust first. Besides, if Cinderella's life in this world truly differed from the classic tale he knew, he had to understand what her past looked like here.

Holding his notebook and pen, Ryo leaned forward with a calm voice.

"Madam Rosalind, could you tell me about Cinderella? From her early years... up to the day she became princess?"

The Stepmother crossed her arms, her sharp gaze fixed on him.

"Alright, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

But what she said next knocked the air out of the room like a sudden thunderclap.

"I shall tell you about Cinderella's past... or should I say—Aschenputtel—which, I regret to admit, is what we once called her during the time we mistreated her."

Ryo's eyes flew wide. His breath caught.

He gasped, dropping both his notebook and pen with a loud thunk. In a flash, he stood up and slammed both palms against the table, his voice rising in disbelief.

"WHAT?! DID YOU JUST SAY 'ASCHENPUTTEL'?!"

The entire room froze.

The stepfamily flinched in their seats. Fairy Greatmother's calm smile faded into a worried expression.

Fairy Greatmother, her voice concerned yet gentle. "Mr. Detective, is something wrong?"

Seraphine, eyes wide and voice laced with worry. "Sherlock, why the sudden outburst?"

Stepmother, leaning forward with a narrowed gaze. "Did I say something wrong, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

Ryo stood frozen, lips parted, as his mind raced.

Aschenputtel…

That name wasn't French. It was German.

It wasn't the 1697 Cendrillon tale by Charles Perrault, the one with the fairy godmother, magical gown, and pumpkin carriage—except in this version, it was a fairy greatmother instead, which he thought he was in.

No, Aschenputtel came from the Grimm Brothers, published in 1812—a much darker version, where the magical gifts came from Cinderella's mother's grave and her stepsisters cut their own feet to fit into the slipper.

"This world… it's not just one version of the story," Ryo thought, feeling the chill crawl up his spine. "It's… blending both."

Both the whimsical and the grim.

He fell into a stunned silence, eyes wide, brain spinning with possibilities. But then—

Clarisse, impatient and loud. "HEY, SHERLOCK!"

Ryo blinked. "Ah!"

Clarisse, arms crossed, face twisted in concern. "You looked like you saw a ghost. Are you okay?"

Ryo chuckled awkwardly and slowly sat back down. "Oh yeah, it's nothing. Hahaha..."

Clarisse raised an eyebrow. "Jeez, I nearly had a heart attack. You frightened me to death."

Still recovering from the shock, Ryo forced a sheepish grin, trying to play it cool. He masked the truth behind a casual lie.

"Sorry... it's just, the name 'Aschenputtel'—it reminded me of someone I know."

Stepmother shook her head slowly, her tone cold but laced with a hint of regret, as if she pitied someone's misfortune.

"If someone you know bears that name, I'm afraid they're being insulted. That name was never a title of affection. It meant 'Little Ash Girl'—and that's all we saw her as back then."

Seraphine nodded, a touch of remorse in her voice.

"It was a cruel nickname. We only called her that because she was always covered in soot and ash… when she was still serving us."

Ryo narrowed his eyes subtly, casting a sudden glance toward the Fairy Greatmother beside him.

She blinked in surprise, clearly puzzled—caught off guard by his unexpected look.

Something wasn't adding up.

In the Grimms' version of the tale, there was no fairy godmother. No pumpkin. No magical transformation. The magic came from a hazel tree grown on the grave of Cinderella's mother. That tree—and the spirit of her mother—was what granted the gown and the slippers.

Yet sitting next to Ryo was a living Fairy Greatmother, a figure who, unlike the Fairy Godmother from Perrault's French version, seemed to take her place. That shouldn't be possible in a world shaped by the Grimms' lore… unless—

Unless both tales somehow coexist here.

Ryo's curiosity deepened…

Cinderella's mother's grave...

The hazel tree...

It might still exist in this world.

That would have to be an investigation for later.

He picked up his notebook and pen from the floor, clicked the pen open, and gave an awkward chuckle.

"Sorry about that. Let's… continue."

Stepmother, now watching him with narrowed eyes and raised suspicion.

"Very well. But if you interrupt me again—then out you both go."

Ryo rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "No problem, madam. Once again… my apologies."

And with that, the questioning resumed—but now, Ryo's mind wasn't just on Cinderella's past. It was on something far more complex…

A fairytale world where two different versions of the same story are overlapping.

But before stepmother could open her mouth to begin the story, Ryo raised his hand, a thoughtful look shadowing his face.

"Excuse me, Madam Rosalind, just one more thing before you start. May I ask… what is Cinderella's full name? And what was her real mother's name?"

The stepmother tilted her head, brow raised with a hint of skepticism.

"Is that really important?"

Ryo smiled casually, trying to play it off as harmless curiosity. "Yeah, I just want to understand her better. That's all."

The stepmother sighed softly, then gave in. "Alright then. Cinderella's full name is 'Cinderella Eloise de Cendrière.'"

In Ryo's mind…

"Whew… looks like Cinderella's got a full name here too… and a fancy one. That surname's a mouthful—'de Sen-dree-air-what-now'? How do the nobles even pronounce that without biting their tongues?"

Madam Rosalind continued. "As for her mother, her name was 'Aurelia de Cendrière.'"

Ryo internally deadpanned.

"Great, Aurelia's got the same surname but shorter and still elegant… sounds like the name of a queen or a fallen star. Beautiful, sure, but definitely not something I'll try saying three times fast. I'll just call her Aurelia when I visit her grave… and pay my respects properly."

Ryo, now settled, clicked his pen and nodded politely. "Alright, Madam Rosalind. You may begin."

The stepmother gave a small nod… and began.

Nineteen years ago, on a night when thunder wept from the skies and wind howled through the trees, a desperate woman fled through the forest. Her clothes were soaked, her face pale with fear, and in her arms, wrapped tightly in cloth, was a sleeping baby.

Every snap of a branch behind her sent her flinching, eyes darting, lips trembling in silent prayer.

When she reached the front steps of the Ravenswood manor, she pounded on the door with all her remaining strength.

"PLEASE OPEN UP, HELP ME!" she cried.

Madam Rosalind, younger then, was startled by the sudden knocks. She rushed to the door and opened it, finding a soaked and shaking stranger clutching the baby close to her chest.

"Who are you, my lady? Why do you look so panicked? What are you doing here this late at night during a storm?"

The woman, breathless and exhausted, forced the words out.

"My apologies. My name is Aurelia de Cendrière. Please… I'm begging you. Take my baby. Otherwise… she'll be killed."

The stepmother's eyes widened, stunned by the plea.

"What do you mean, killed?! She's your child!"

But Aurelia pressed the baby into her arms, trembling.

"Her name is Cinderella… Cinderella Eloise de Cendrière. She is my precious child. She means the world to me. Please… take care of my beloved daughter."

Madam Rosalind blinked, bewildered, arms cradling the infant as Aurelia stepped back into the rain.

"But—she's your child—I can't just take her from—!"

Aurelia didn't answer. She turned, running into the storm once more, her soaked hair clinging to her face. Rosalind reached after her, calling out desperately.

"WAIT! MADAM AURELIA!"

Aurelia paused. She turned her head one final time, her face stained with rain and tears. Her voice trembled as she whispered into the night.

"Cinderella… Dear child, remain pious and good, and then our dear God will always protect you, and I will look down on you from heaven and be near you."

She said it with the hollow finality of someone who knew she would not survive the night. Then she vanished into the storm, her silhouette swallowed by the darkness.

Rosalind stood in the doorway, clutching the sleeping infant, shaken to her core.

"Such a poor child you are," she whispered as she closed the door. "Don't worry, Cinderella… I'll find your mother soon."

But the next morning, fate delivered its blow.

A scream in the village. A lifeless body lying in a small puddle, blood trailing from a deep slash across the throat. Villagers gathered, whispering. Madam Rosalind rushed through the crowd.

It was Aurelia.

Her eyes were empty. Her skin pale. The noble woman who had begged for her child's life had been murdered. There was no sign of her pursuer—only the tragedy left behind.

Rosalind felt her knees weaken. In silent sorrow, she arranged a respectful funeral. A proper grave for the woman who died to protect her child.

She stood beside that grave with baby Cinderella in her arms. The storm had passed, but the sorrow lingered.

"I can never replace your mother, Cinderella," she said, her voice soft and trembling, "but I swear that I'll take good care of you, and raise you into a fine, proper woman."

And with that, she brought Cinderella home.

The years passed in warmth and laughter. Cinderella grew under the care of Madam Rosalind, alongside her daughters, Clarisse and Seraphine. They played together, ran through the halls, shared toys and stories. They were inseparable—like real sisters. And Rosalind? She loved Cinderella as if she were her own.

But when Cinderella turned fifteen, everything changed.

Her beauty bloomed like the first light of spring. Her kindness deepened. And soon, whispers began to swirl—whispers of noblemen drawn to her grace, her heart, her smile.

Rosalind, once proud, became afraid. Would her own daughters be forgotten in Cinderella's shadow?

Envy took root.

What began as quiet tension turned into harsh words. Jealous glances became cruel commands. Clarisse and Seraphine, once loving sisters, grew distant and sharp.

And Cinderella… Cinderella was pushed from the parlor into the cinders. She became the housemaid. The girl in rags.

And that's when they began calling her Aschenputtel—Little Ash Girl. An insult. A name meant to bury the grace of her real one, until even 'Cinderella' was forgotten.

But even in soot and silence… Cinderella still shone.

She cried in secret. She endured quietly. And in time… her suffering reached its peak.

Four years later, the prince's servant arrived at the door. He held a glass slipper.

The rest was history.

The shoe fit. She was brought to the palace. And just like that… Cinderella became a princess.

She never looked back.

Madam Rosalind would later learn that Cinderella had indeed gone to the royal ball—but not as a servant. She had appeared as a mysterious beauty no one could recognize. Her gown? Breathtaking. Almost magical.

And when midnight came, she fled in a panic.

The prince had chased after her.

To this day, Madam Rosalind has no idea how Cinderella got to the ball… or how she came into such divine elegance.

That... was the stepmother's story.

A tale of love, sorrow, and regret… and a mystery still unraveling.

The story was tragic.

All the ladies in the room were overwhelmed by emotion.

Clarisse sobbed openly, covering her face as her voice cracked, "I'm so sorry, Cinderella… my dear sister." At last, she said it—not as a label, but with sincerity. Despite not sharing blood, Clarisse now saw Cinderella as her sister once more.

Even the stepmother wept. Tears streamed down her face, her voice lost in grief. She had once cradled Cinderella as her own—loved her, raised her, protected her like a precious daughter. Now all she could do was wonder…

Where did I go wrong?

Why had she let jealousy twist her heart into cruelty?

Why had she allowed bitterness to bury the love she once felt?

Even after Cinderella had already lost her real mother, life had dealt her another blow—an unfair, needless hardship. And now, the stepmother could only ask herself the hardest question of all…

…Was it too late to make things right?

Seraphine, with tears brimming in her eyes, gently offered a handkerchief to Fairy Greatmother.

Seraphine smiled through her sorrow. "Here's a handkerchief for you, Ms. Roselia."

Fairy Greatmother accepted it with trembling fingers, eyes glistening.

"Thank you very much, dear."

Then she looked down, voice breaking. "Such a life Cinderella has endured… and now she's vanished. It's as if sorrow is her only destiny, no matter how far she runs from it."

She wasn't wrong. Even after all Cinderella had survived—losing her mother, being mistreated, finally finding love and freedom—tragedy still followed her. Not even the help of the Fairy Greatmother could shield her from what came next.

For now, she was gone. Kidnapped. Missing for over a month. And no one knew if she was alive… or still suffering.

As for Ryo, he didn't cry.

He leaned back slowly on the settee, spinning his pen in deep thought, his face calm but his mind racing.

Something didn't add up.

"So… in this world, Cinderella's mother didn't die of sickness… and Cinderella wasn't seven or ten like in the Brothers Grimm story. She was just a baby when it all happened," he thought.

But what truly unsettled him was a certain line—a line that kept echoing in his head.

"Dear child, remain pious and good, and then our dear God will always protect you, and I will look down on you from heaven and be near you."

This was a direct quote from the Grimms' version, when Cinderella's mother died peacefully in bed. But here, in this world, Aurelia had spoken those words outside in a storm, after handing her baby to a stranger… moments before being murdered.

That changed everything.

This wasn't just a missing person's case anymore.

A killer was involved. A murderer who had taken Aurelia's life nineteen years ago was still out there—and likely the same person who had taken Cinderella.

And yet… another puzzle haunted Ryo.

Why didn't the murderer kill Cinderella too? They could've done it easily, just like they did with Aurelia—leaving her dead body in the village street. But instead… Cinderella was still alive, or at least presumed so.

It's like… someone wanted her alive. But still suffering.

Ryo rubbed his temple, feeling the growing web of contradictions tugging at the back of his mind.

Then another strange detail clicked.

The stepmother once swore, while holding baby Cinderella at Aurelia's grave, that she would raise her well. That she'd take good care of her and help her grow into a proper woman.

That kind of promise—genuine, heartfelt—was never in the Grimms or Charles Perrault's versions.

So what changed?

What twisted that vow into envy?

What turned love into resentment?

None of it made sense anymore…

There had to be a reason. A trigger. Something more than just jealousy. Something deeper, something unique to this world's version of the story—something that never appeared in fiction.

A force, perhaps… or a person.

A secret buried in this world that was never meant to be uncovered.

Ryo exhaled slowly, lowering his pen and narrowing his eyes.

Whatever it was… he'd find it.

However, Ryo couldn't let his guard down—not even in the face of all the weeping. The stepfamily may have been crying... but were those tears genuine? Or just a show? A clever act to lower his suspicions?

He was just about to press deeper into his interrogation—

SLAM.

The front door burst open.

A man's voice echoed casually through the manor. "I'M HOME."

Fairy Greatmother blinked, startled. "Who is that?"

Ryo fell into sudden silence.

Footsteps echoed from the hall. Heavy. Steady. A man's shoes against polished wood.

And then… he entered the main parlor.

The man stood tall, smiling politely, glancing around at the gathered group.

"Oh, we have guests."

Ryo straightened, tense. "Who the hell is this man?" he thought.

He looked far too comfortable. Like he belonged here.

The stepmother and her daughters immediately rose to their feet. They stood side by side—

and bowed.

In perfect, practiced unison.

Ryo blinked, muttered to himself. "What's going on here?"

Then came the words that twisted the room upside down.

Clarisse and Seraphine, voices soft and sweet. "Welcome home, Father."

Ryo's eyes went wide. His pulse spiked.

The stepmother followed suit with a graceful smile. "Welcome home, darling."

Ryo muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to hear. "…What?"

Fairy Greatmother tilted her head slightly, still wearing a pleasant smile.

"Ms. Rosalind… is this your husband?"

Ryo was breathing heavily now. The world tilted.

The stepmother nodded proudly. "Why yes."

Ryo sat frozen—utterly speechless. This… this wasn't right. In every known version of Cinderella's tale, the father had no presence. No face. No voice. He was distant. Absent. Just a quiet tragedy of a man who let his daughter suffer.

But this man… this stranger…

Ryo hesitated, sweat forming at his brow. He spoke cautiously.

"Umm… madam… is this Cinderella's real father?"

The room fell awkwardly still.

Then the stepfamily turned toward him—bewildered, amused, and almost insulted, as if wondering whether Ryo had lost his mind.

Clarisse raised an eyebrow and gave him a cunning smile. "No, Sherlock."

Seraphine giggled, a teasing tone in her voice. "What are you talking about? Your confusion's kinda cute."

Then the stepmother delivered the real blow. "No. He's not her father. He was her stepfather—once. I remarried. Four years ago."

Ryo's mind reeled. "Four years ago...?"

"Hold on…" he whispered to himself. "I… I don't get it."

The man stepped forward at last, casual and bright as morning sunshine.

"Good afternoon, young man," he said. Then, turning to the Fairy Greatmother, he added, "And you must be Ms. Roselia from the school?"

Fairy Greatmother nodded with a warm smile. "Yes, I am. Your six-year-old nephew is doing very well in literature."

The man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well now, that's great to hear. My sister was worried—said he was becoming a little rebel. Hahaha."

Ryo didn't laugh. He couldn't. His brain was fogged, overrun by too many contradictions.

The man turned to him, still cheerful, his smile widening as he noticed the puzzled look on Ryo's face.

"Sorry for appearing out of nowhere, young man."

And then he placed a hand over his chest, his smile unwavering.

"Apologies for the late introduction. My name is Edmund Ashford. And as my lovely wife mentioned… we've been married for four years."

The words echoed like a hammer inside Ryo's skull.

Everything spun.

Cinderella has had a father in this household… all this time?

This man has been living under the same roof… for four years… while she was mistreated?

He was not the distant father from the stories. He wasn't the tragic, absent figure in the background. He was here.

Smiling.

Cheerful.

So why… why did he let it happen?

Ryo stared, unable to speak. Every theory, every assumption—every piece of knowledge he had about the Cinderella tale—shattered in an instant.

Edmund Ashford looked at him with perfect politeness. But behind that smile… something was off. Something Ryo couldn't name. Couldn't see. But could feel.

An invisible tension.

Like standing next to a bomb no one else could hear ticking.

Ryo forced a smile. "Yes… nice to meet you, Mr. Edmund Ashford. My name is Sherlock Holmes."

Edmund's smile didn't fade. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

But Ryo's hands were cold. His thoughts were screaming. "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!"

He didn't know what, but he knew something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

And the worst part?

Edmund never stopped smiling.