Title: A Fractured Fairytale

Authors: xxzombiesglow and Sandy-sama (Mai)

Summary: When you're a devious, somewhat irregular slave for your slightly evil stepmother, there's only one solution: Crossdressing. BoyxBoy. A twist on the fairytale 'Cinderella'. Because not all endings are happy ones.

By the way… This is a work of fiction; all characters and plot belong to xxzombiesglow and Sandy-sama, who aren't making any money out of it. Do not plagiarize or claim anything found here as your own work in any way, please.

Short note This story is actually an edited roleplay between xxzombiesglow (who played Kian, his stepmother and stepsisters) and Sandy-sama (Who is Yuan, along with every other character you'll see), which started in 2005. It has been stretched, edited, updated sporadically and ignored multiple times, but the version you see now is the one that finally stuck. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

- Change in point of view/time lapse



Dedicated to Tsuki.

A Fractured Fairytale

Chapter One – The Plan, The Pretence and The Problem

"This is most definitely not going to work."

The words hit with the utterly overwhelming sense of finality.

He'd never be able to pull it off, never ever. Especially not in the state he was now; dirty, bleeding, bruised and with little over an hour to get ready. It was, simply put, hopeless.

Hi e eyes dropped from the cracked shard of a mirror propped against the wall, defeat written upon the sixteen year old's pale face.

It wasn't fair; he'd worked on this for months now. Planned it for years, touching up his idea bit by bit, fine tuning every detail until there was nothing else he could do but go through with it. And god, how he'd been dreading/waiting for/dreaming of this instant. Waiting for this very day when he could finally pull it off. Now every last shred of work he'd put into it now lay shattered on the floor, his dream in pieces beside it. The feeling was a weight crushing him, locked around his chest like a constricting claw.

While locked in his reverie, his eyes caught on a tiny thread that had pulled away from the hem of the dress that stood innocently in the corner of the tiny room. He'd brought the infernal item of clothing out from its hiding place (in reality just a heavy chest shoved on one side of the room) that morning, ready to be worn that night. Automatically, Kian bent down to break it off and reclaim the perfection of the gown. His fingers had only just reached the wayward string when Kian stopped, retracting his hands. There was no point; no one would ever wear the stupid dress anyway. Not now.

A sudden, horrible disappointment filled Kian with the thought, which sent a wave of disgust down to his stomach. He did not want to wear a dress. He was a boy, damn it. Boys did not wear dresses.

A dark growl bubbled up from his throat. It was his maleness that had got him into this situation - distantly anyway. Kian glanced over at the small, black book which lay on his pathetic excuse for a bed: his father's journal. It was older then Kian himself and filled with detailed maps, letters, equations, diagrams and written entries by his father, James. The leather bound volume was from the deceased man's days as an explorer. 'Explorer', at least, sounded better then 'pirate'.

'Or Murderer', the cold little voice in his head whispered, like a cold blade slicing through his mind.

Shifting slightly on the floor, the youth watched the dust motes that he had stirred up, glinting in the golden half light that shone through his window. The setting sun could be seen easily from here, in his tiny room at the top of the manor's highest tower. If it hadn't been for the sheer lack of size, Kian was sure one of his step sisters would have claimed the room for their own. But seeing as it was neither spacious nor any where near as lavish as the rest of the manor, with its bare wooden floor boards and harsh stones walls, the room was left to Kian in favor of the much more extravagant ones on the lower levels. Not that Kian cared. He liked his room, if only for the fact that it was one of the highest points in the kingdom. The amazing view and closeness to the sky, along with the wonderful feeling of being totally isolated from the rest of the world, was easily worth the lack of luxuries.

Needless to say, Kian wasn't the most social of people. Even if he had the chance to make friends, which he didn't, the boy likely wouldn't get along with anyone well. He was more then a little cold to most, and slightly sadistic. Pride in someone as lowly as he wasn't exactly seen as a positive either.

Not entirely uneducated, having learnt from his father how to read and write and do simple mathematics when he was young, the teenager had continued to teach himself written English after James' death. He'd never bothered with writing again, seeing as he didn't have the resources (paper was expensive and would be missed if he stole any, along with quills and ink) and maths he simply didn't have the time for with his demanding daily work. Reading he did at night by moonlight, sitting himself by the window and squinting at the elegant, sprawling handwriting in his father's journal.

Kian's mother had died shortly after child birth, never having been the physically strongest of women. She lost far too much blood too quickly, and died of the loss of it within half an hour of delivering her only son.

James remarried soon after, to a tall, harsh looking woman called Elizabeth Westard. Her own two daughters were the result of previous failed marriages, an early death a surprisingly a common event for the men who had called Elizabeth their wife. How ever, James believed Kian needed a mother, and Elizabeth fit the requirements perfectly. Surprisingly, the small family worked well for a time. James had been a sailor and explorer before coming to live in their current kingdom, and Elizabeth had been wealthy from the deaths of her husbands, who had indecently left everything to her and her daughters, Amelia and Jessica. With this, the large, old manor was easily maintained. In such a large house, annoying stepsisters and frightening mothers could be avoided. And for the first few years, life was peaceful.

But, like all good things, that time came to a sharp and painful end.

Shortly before Kian's eight birthday, James was arrested by the King's guard for piracy and murder, the life before his family.

Three days later, he was hanged.

Elizabeth, now Kian's step mother, was left with everything. The house, the servants, the land and, not to be forgotten, Kian.

James' death left the tall woman bitter and angry. The dark center that had been festering since the demise of her first husband reared its ugly face. She had been abandoned by the men who'd sworn to be by her side always, who had chosen death over her. The twisted thought fueled the beginnings of a deep barrier between Elizabeth and the world, bringing the widow to the conclusion that men where the reason for everything wrong in her life. It did not take much for her to turn that anger upon her stepson, the only living thing that connected to her late husband, who she now detested. Elizabeth brought her loathing down upon the young boy, treating him as a slave rather then a son. Kian was left to his tiny bedroom as far away from the rest of the house as possible, the heavy lock on the outside of the door keeping him inside whenever visitors were around.

To the world, Kian did not exist.

Chores such as cooking, cleaning, tending the small vegetable patch, orchard and animals were piled onto the boy. At first, it had been more than he could handle; but he soon adjusted to the new lifestyle and the tasks became less impossible. Life in the manor would probably have been easier if Kian were only able to keep his mouth shut. He had a nasty habit of letting sarcastic comments slip every so often, whether his stepmother or sisters were in sight or not. Today was no exception.

The youth had never quite mastered the art of keeping quiet. Refraining from letting the string of nasty little words let loose under his breath when Amelia had demanded him to perform yet another pathetic little task had felt impossible. A string of nasty little words that said stepsister had heard. Unsurprisingly, he'd been punished in the form of Elizabeth's whip. The pain was bearable, but the 'discipline' had taken entirely too long, when added to the time needed to finish his chores for the day. That had taken precious time off the hour and a half he'd needed for preparing himself. Now he was down to little over fifty minutes.

His eyes narrowed at the thought of how almost three years of planning had gone to waste. Three years of creating the most ingenious plan, gone with a few less-then-polite words.

A sigh escaped him, and the intense waves of anger that pulsed through Kian seeped into a sort of acceptance. He could try again, he knew, it would just take more time. The king did, of course, have another son…

The original plan had been simple. Steal into the Palace, kill the King as vengeance for his father, and thieve every last coin he could get his hands on. This plan had, of course, brought up the question of how he'd actually get inside the castle, let alone close enough to the King to slit the old man's scrawny throat. Slowly, over much time and with much more careful consideration, 'the plan' eventually evolved into something almost completely different. The basic idea was the same, but the details surrounding it had changed. This time, his plan involved things much darker and more terrible then any murder.

Cross dressing.

Just thinking the word made him shudder. Kian. Dressed as a female. It just seemed so…wrong. He had no qualms with other people doing it, just not himself.

All the same, if he wanted to pull 'the plan' off, it was necessary.

How it had been involved exactly was simple. Dress as a female for the King's eldest son's coming-of-age ball, get said prince drunk (unless Kian somehow managed to pose as a more attractive 'girl', something he highly doubted, in which case the drunken state wouldn't be needed), seduce him into taking the female Kian to his bed chamber, knock him out with a well placed hit to the back of his head with some conveniently placed object and then thieve every last coin he could get his hands on.

Of course, there were other, less important details that would help in carrying it off without any difficulties, but that was its most basic form. Overall, a very good plan, if you asked him.

But now he was back to the inability to perform the task. There was no time. The ball was that very night, the King having typically invited every female in the land to the event. Kian had been very much amused by the thought that the senile old man would be the host to a not quite female guest along the way. His old seething hatred for the aging King had changed little in eight years. At least he wasn't sterile; otherwise the plan would never get a chance at all. There were two heirs to the throne, Kian could try again when Prince junior (he'd never bothered to learn any of the royal family's names. It was unimportant) became of age and had his ball…

A sharp stinging sensation ripped through the teenager's body when he moved suddenly, trying to shift to a more comfortable position on the floor. Gasping, Kian was suddenly reminded exactly why he would be late. The congealed blood from his wounds pulled at the skin and tugged at the lacerated flesh. He glanced at the dress once again, looming across from him in the corner, bathed in the half gold light of the setting sun. The sensation of blood cooling on his skin mixed with the memories of the last eight years made up his mind.

He wasn't going to wait another year for Prince junior.

Determined suddenly, the youth dragged himself up from the ground, throwing himself across the room at the heavy wooden chest. He'd had enough of living like a servant, like a slave, he wouldn't put up with it any longer. Heaving open the slightly rotten oak lid, Kian began to drag out the materials required for the evening.

Thirty minutes later, a very surprised, very out of breath young woman stood before the mirror. Her expression was one of wondrous disbelief. Somehow, somewhere along the line, 'she' had gone from a dirty, bloodied boy who hadn't brushed his hair in days to a very attractive female. Kian attempted a twirl and stopped abruptly. It was one thing to look like a woman, another entirely to act like one when he was alone.

It had taken less time than during the few practice runs (to prevent any confusing on the actual night, of course. Not because he'd wanted to), much less. And with the added task of cleaning and bandaging his wounds (that had been rather difficult, considering the position of said injuries), Kian had felt he'd done rather well.

Long, delicate fingers, crisscrossed with the scars of hard labor, smoothed hesitantly over his waist and hips, hidden under the (stolen) corset he wore. It had belonged to his thinnest step sister, Jessica, an older one she hopefully wouldn't miss. It didn't fit him exactly, but it gave the illusion of (if not very slim) hips and small breasts. His slender form hadn't needed the corset to pull in his waist but helped to hide his flat chest and suggest at a more feminine figure. It had taken forever to tie the damned thing up, seeing as it laced up at the back and Kian didn't exactly had anyone to help him with dressing. Somehow thought, he'd managed. Besides the corset, Kian hadn't bothered with anything that couldn't have been seen, such as stockings and the like. They were annoying, and there was no point. No one was going to see what was under the layers of skirts anyway.

Next had come the actual dress. Having been forced to mend much of his stepmother's and sister's clothing and make his own, creating the dress actually hadn't required too much effort. It was elegant but well made, the material soft and silky. It was compromised mainly of parts from other articles of clothing. The different materials and colours (deep purple to dark blue to endless ebony) were eye catching, the lighter materials snaring the light so that the dress appeared to shimmer.

Kian tugged slightly at the tight fitting cap sleeved bodice. It felt…odd. The clothing felt too tight around his chest and waist, it constricted his breathing. Apparently though, this was normal. He'd seen his stepsisters struggle to maintain short, shallow breaths while wearing the same style of corsets and clothing.

Air swished around his slender legs, the long skirts hugely different to his comfortable and many times mended breeches. The bodice ended a few centimeters below his underarms, usually so that cleavage could be seen. Not actually having any cleavage in the first place, Kian rubbed at the pale, smooth skin covering his collarbone, feeling self conscious. For a moment, he doubted the astounding work of the plan. What if it didn't work? The sentence for attempting to deceive the Crown was death (but then, most punishments for crime these days was death). What if-

No. It would. The King and his brat of a son wouldn't even know what hit them.

Inhaling sharply, Kian experimentally pushed his long hair behind his shoulder. He'd left it loose rather than drag it back into his usual loose ponytail. The comb had done its job, brushing the stubborn bangs that refused to be held back from his face into a more presentable style. A silver clip (again stolen from his sister's room) twisted into the shape of a butterfly at least gave the impression it was in some semblance of an actual 'style'. Besides the clip, the only other accessory he wore was a black satin ribbon around his neck, meant to hide the slight bump that was his Adam's apple.

Applying makeup had been difficult, so he'd stuck with the simpler things. Kian hadn't bothered with the pale power women usually used, his skin was white enough as it was. He had, however, looted a stick of eyeliner (which he'd managed to poke himself in the eye with, twice), a soft shade of glossy stuff for his lips and something he was supposed to use on his eye lashes, to make them bigger. It wasn't particularly needed, though; he'd always had very dark, horribly girly eyelashes.

Still staring at himself in the mirror, Kian wondered exactly how he'd somehow managed to become…a girl. In a way, it frightened him, to know that all it took was a dress and a little paint to turn him a female. A pout found its way to his newly glossed lips, an expression that on his new fce suddenly looked cute rather than sullen. He hurried looked away from the mirror, he didn't need to be any more disturbed than he already was.

A huge yellow moon had begun its slow rise over the horizon.

The front gate of the palace closed fifteen minutes after seven o'clock, the guests were meant to have all arrived at quarter to six. It was at least ten to seven now. He cursed and snatched up the glass slippers perched daintily at the foot of his mattress. Kian dashed down the stairs, not bothered to put them on. Sneaking around the other servants was simple enough, and there was no step mother or sisters to avoid, they had left long ago in hopes to snag the Prince's attention. Face set with grim determination, Kian pushed through the wrought iron gates of the manor and stole out into the night.

Not if Kian got him first.

The thought of his step sister's anger and confusion once they discovered that a boy had beaten them to 'their' Prince fave him a breathless smile. Of course, neither of them, nor his step mother, would ever find out who had won the Prince's affections that evening.

While Kian might no longer have been planning to kill the King or his sons, he found nothing wrong with doing away with his step family at some point in 'the plan'. For eight years, the three women had forced him to perform some of the most disgusting, stupid and insanely irritating tasks he could think of. Their severe mistreatment of Kian had left him with the surety that their deaths would perhaps be the most pleasant part of the plan. Besides coming out incredibly rich, of course.

A clock chimed.

Seven o'Clock, he'd make it. The castle gates were in sight. After having run (rather clumsily, thanks to the dress. He'd had to be careful not to rip or ruin it in any way) halfway across town, the tall iron figures were worth worshiping. Brushing them lightly with his hand as he ran past for good luck, he used the other to hitch his skirts just high enough so they didn't drag on the ground. He let out a sigh of relief when he noted they the hem had not ripped or become dirty in any way. The flash of emotion over the object surprised Kian, who had to remind himself once more that he did not care about the damn dress.

The front walk way curved up through the magnificent gardens, red and white roses basking in the glow of the moon. He slowed to a hurried walk, smoothing his dress from for the thousandth time.

Straightening his shoulders and drawing himself up to stand at his full height, the dark haired boy paused, listening to his own shallow breathing mingle with the faint sounds of music and laughter filtering down from inside the massive castle. His stomach listed nervously. This wouldn't work, he'd been stupid. He'd be recognized, if not by his stepmother or sisters as their servant, then by the Prince as a boy. What if he didn't even get anywhere near the man? His plan would be crushed before it even truly began…

Doubt ate away at his insides with a sick sort of fascination.

His mouth feeling cotton dry, Kian licked his glossy lips, surprised by its odd, thick taste. The feeling it upon his tongue somehow reassured the teenager. He wasn't simply a slave boy with a corset and face paint, he was a respectable young woman, ready to meet her Prince. A Prince who would supply her with enough gold to leave the kingdom forever. What happened after that did not matter at this point, just so long as he made it out.

Without looking back, he marched up to the entrance hall and slipped inside.

-Chapter One-