A Russian Cinderella

A Russian Cinderella

Larissa Palovski hurried through the closing marketplace, clutching a

long black shawl around her face and long, dark hair to keep out the

approaching Russian winter's bite. The vegetable traders were closing

up their stalls or serving their last customers, not that there was

much to sell, with the war shortages being what they now were. An old

peasant woman gingerly proffered a fistful of coins to a turnip

seller, and received a moulded specimen of food in exchange. The world

she was now headed for was unimaginably different to the squalor of

war-torn Russia now. Larissa reflected on how it had happened, that

she, a lowly miller's daughter, and a member of the royal family had

fallen for each other.

It had been a whirlwind romance, as they say. She had being

temporarily working as a caterer at the Imperial Palace for a ball

held by the Tsar for some reason or another, when she had looked up

and caught the eye of Prince Wilhelm. He, not knowing that she was

just a caterer wearing borrowed finery, took her for a member of the

aristocracy and invited her to dance with him, and from then it had

gone on. One could hardly refuse the invitation, she mused.

Prince Wilhelm paced up and down his room sulkily. He was in a real

mess now the royal family knew what was happening. His father had

given him until ten o'clock to decide what he was going to do. Wilhelm

had two options available to him; he could terminate his relationship

with Larissa, and face public disgrace once the details came out, or

to flee for another country with her and give up his wealth. He

decided he didn't much like the idea of either of them, but on balance

the latter would be the best thing to do for all concerned - nobody

disgraced, and he happy but impoverished. The large wooden door

opened, and his father, Nicolas came in, as the ivory clock over the

mantel chimed ten.