Thick grey, storm clouds obscured Cathy's view from the window. Where was she? How had she arrived here? Yet again she found herself alone, trapped in a tower. Except, this time there was no pacing dragon below her... or a scheming, good-for-nothing Giggleton.

Cathy's latest prison was as sparse as her last, with just a bed, dressing table, and two doors. One door led to a bathroom. The other, she assumed, led to the rest of the castle. Cathy crossed the room and tried the handle, but it was no surprise that Horace had locked her in.

All seemed lost... Or... Cathy fished Fred's magic skeleton key from her pocket and pushed it into the lock... Maybe not.

Please work.

Before turning the key, Cathy pressed her ear to the door. All was quiet until she heard the clip-clop of small shoes and the constant chit-chat of two extremely irritating imps.

Oh, no!

Slipping the key back into her pocket, Cathy stepped away from the door, waiting and watching as it creaked open.

Fred stood on the threshold with a splendid silver dress draped over his arm, and beside him, Godfrey clutched a pair of dainty glass slippers.

"Hello again, Cathy," Godfrey said, shoving Fred aside and barging past her.

"What do you want?"

Fred followed Godfrey and carefully laid the dress on the bed. "Prince Horace sent us to get you ready for tonight's ball." Fred looked up and frowned at her scruffy appearance. He turned to Godfrey and muttered, "This may take a while."

"That's for sure." Godfrey placed the shoes by the door. "She's as dirty as a troll."

"And just as smelly," Fred said with an exaggerated sniff.

Cathy shrugged. She didn't care if she smelt, and she had no intention of attending Horace's ball.

"I know exactly what she needs," Godfrey said, holding out his hand. In a sudden flash of green, a bar of blue soap appeared on his palm.

"Hurry, child. Wash while we prepare to make you look utterly fabulous," Fred said.

Cathy shook her head. "I'm not going to the ball... And you can't make me."

Godfrey shuffled closer and whispered, "No, child, we cannot make you go... but Agnes can." The imp stepped back so she could see his wide grin.

Fearful of Agnes and what she may do, Cathy snatched the soap and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

The bath was full; the room had filled with steam, bubbles overflowed onto the floor and a white fluffy robe hung from a hook. Cathy bolted the door before pulling her dress of stars over her head. The once beautiful fabric no longer shimmered with starlight. The dress looked how she felt, devoid of magic.

Cathy slid into the warm bath and closed her eyes. How long had it been since she'd bathed? She didn't know. How long had she and Jake been inside the fairy realm? She struggled to recall. What did her parents look like? She wasn't sure.

And the harder she tried, the less she remembered. The longer she stayed this side of the mirror, the more fairy she became. 

*

"Breath in, child," Godfrey grumbled, pulling the ribbons in Cathy's corset.

"Any tighter and I'll suffocate." Cathy flinched as the imp heaved as hard as he could.

"Eat less and I wouldn't have to lace you up so tightly." Godfrey panted as he tied the ribbons and, wiping the sweat from his brow, he turned to Fred. "Work your magic, Fred. She's all yours."

"Arms up!" Fred ordered, lifting the silver gown above her head.

Cathy did as she was told, allowing the imp to slide the soft fabric over her shoulders and her arms to slip into the short sleeves.

"The fabric... it's so... so..." Lost for words, she stared at her reflection. "It's so like my dress of stars."

Fred gasped in horror. "It most certainly is not! Unlike that rag Hex gave you, this dress is a masterpiece. It took over a hundred years to make."

Cathy frowned at the thought. "Why so long?"

Fred finished fastening the pearl buttons on the back of her gown and said, "Snails, my dear!"

"What?"

"Giant snails from depths of the castle. Nasty, ferocious creatures... sharp teeth... bad breath..." Fred shivered at the thought. "But... if you are brave or desperate enough... they leave a trail of magic mucus."

Cathy's skin itched at the thought. Was she wearing snail slime? And was she allergic?

Fred continued, oblivious to her scratching. "Many traitorous trolls traded a bucket or two of slime for their freedom from the Maze of Monsters. And every precious drop I wove into a fabric so spectacular, only a princess may wear this gown."

Cathy twirled, allowing the glittering skirt to swish against the floor. "But I am not a princess. I'm just a girl, trying to save her brother."

"For now, maybe," Fred muttered.

Godfrey cleared his throat loudly. "We're late, Fred. Prince Horace awaits Cathy's presence in the grand hall."

Cathy slid her feet into the glass slippers and turned to face the mirror. The imps had curled and pinned her hair. They had primped and preened her until she hardly recognised herself. In the past, she hadn't cared what she looked like. Now, she saw a different Cathy. A Cathy who existed in a fairytale. A girl who once upon a time wore rags and scrubbed floors. Yet now, she may be that girl who wins the heart of a prince and lives happily ever after.