Dear diary,

Mother says my gown needs three more flounces for the ball, but I think it needs four. I know for a fact that Valentina Hale has five flounces and I won’t be outdone by that little nothing of a countess.

I sent Cinders to the market for more fabric.

Much love,

Lady Beatrice.

Dear diary,

My gown has seven flounces and I can barely walk, but I won’t need to walk anyway. I’ll just float while I dance with the prince. Cinders tied my corset so tightly, His Majesty will be able to hold my waist with one hand.

The carriage can’t come soon enough.

With much haste,

Lady Beatrice.

Dear diary,

Some little street wench thinks she can win the prince’s heart with eight flounces and a pair of glass shoes. The pathetic little creature couldn’t even keep track of the shoes; one fell off as she ran away when the prince dismissed her. I don’t think even Cinders would make such a fool of herself.

Mother has ordered three new dresses for my upcoming betrothal, but there has been no word from the prince since last night’s ball.

Impatiently,

Lady Beatrice

Dear Diary,

No word still. I’ve sent Cinders for more dress fabric. I must have at least four betrothal dresses.

The guards are searching for the girl with the glass slipper. I suppose she’ll be beheaded for her embarrassment to the kingdom.

With boredom,

Lady Beatrice

Dear diary,

There are no words to describe the level of disgrace! I can’t even write about it. It’s not worth the ink.

But no matter what she says, I am

Forever and always,

Lady Beatrice