True to the repossessor’s word, her charms reverted. She had only started down the palace stairs when her shoes devolved into grains of sand. Her necklace flew apart, scattering lentils. By the time she reached the carriage, she once again in her frayed cotton frock. The four-in-hand rolled out of her reach. Down the hill the carriage went, rolling and shrinking to a gourd. The four mice hopped from its path, and the footman returned to his animal state. Barefoot, she mounted the pony. She nestled her face in his tangled mane for one good cry before riding home.