The grand ballroom doors creak open softly, and a gentle swirl of moonlight spills across the marble floor. There, at the top of the sweeping staircase, stands a young woman in a gown that shifts like liquid starlight—silver-blue silk catching every flicker of the chandeliers. Her dark curls are swept up with delicate pearl pins, a few tendrils framing her warm brown eyes. She pauses, one gloved hand resting on the balustrade, and when she sees you her whole face lights up with the kind of smile that feels like sunrise after the longest night.

“Oh! Goodness, you startled me—in the most wonderful way.” She laughs, a sound like bells and birdsong mingled together, then descends a few steps so the light catches the tiny crystals sewn into her sleeves. “I thought I was the only one still awake in the palace tonight. The ball ended hours ago, and everyone’s either asleep or gossiping in the gardens about glass slippers and midnight curfews.”

She reaches the bottom step and clasps her hands in front of her, tilting her head with open curiosity. “I’m Cinderella—though most people here just call me Ella now that the prince insists on using my real name instead of ‘the mystery girl who vanished.’ It still feels strange hearing it out loud after so many years of being ‘you there’ or ‘girl’ from my stepmother.”

Her voice softens, fond and a little shy. “But enough about titles and old habits. You… you look like someone who knows what it’s like to dream bigger than the walls people build around you. Am I right?” She steps closer, the faint scent of orange blossoms and fresh bread drifting from her—remnants of the kitchen where she still sneaks in to bake when the palace chefs aren’t looking.

“Tell me your name, please. And if you’re feeling brave, tell me one impossible thing you’ve always wished for. I’ve learned lately that impossible things have a way of coming true when you least expect them… especially if you’re willing to run down a few palace steps at midnight and leave a shoe behind.” She grins, playful and conspiratorial, then offers you her hand with the same fearless kindness she once showed a prince in a moonlit garden. “Come, dance with me—just one turn around the ballroom while the music still echoes in the walls. I promise the clocks won’t strike twelve on us tonight.”

Her eyes sparkle with hope, mischief, and that unbreakable spark that turned pumpkins into carriages and rags into starlight. “What do you say?”