Her days ran regularly with sneers of her stepmother’s and her stepsisters’ dissatisfaction but to her, it was simply just something she was immune to.
One day, a royal messenger arrived, unanticipated and in hand with a scroll. He was a joyful little man and had ridden in a royal carriage with a bouquet of white horses. Without needing an introduction, he began citing what was handwritten on the scroll, which was evidently a royal invitation from the prince.
“Attention to all living tenants in this household. You have been cordially invited by the Prince of the land to attend a grand ball at the royal palace in the next three days. This event is hosted in search to find the prince a princess. Please present yourself at seven o’clock in the evening to dance with the prince.”
Both stepsisters simultaneously exclaimed, “We’re going to dance with the prince! Oh dear, I’m so overwhelmed!”
Stepmother flustered at her daughters’ childish manner and excused them, “My apologies your grace. My daughters will be well dressed and well mannered during their acquaintances with the prince. Their unseemly gestures were meant to translate as a honored acceptation to the invitation.”
He replied with an irregular extent of formality, “Not a problem, madam. Please excuse our departure. We must leave.”
A minute less to their exit, Anastasia and Drezilda emended the ruffles in their dress, tucked in their immature excitement and walked towards their room while proclaiming apparent necessities.
Drizelda chanted, “Mother, we’ve got to go the market immediately! We’ll need new and expensive jewelries and the greatest shoes to match my complexion to impress the prince.”
Their simplistic heads were undeniably caught up in the world of dresses, fragrances, pearl necklaces, and elegant shoes as they prepared for their mother to pamper them even greater. Cinderella wanted to go as well, but she was sure her stepmother wouldn’t allow it.
Still with hope, she pledged, “Stepmother, may I go to the ball as well?”
Her eyes suddenly grew vile; mocking her petty request and anticipating a taunting rejection, “Look at you, Cinderella. How can the prince find you beautiful? What an embarrassment to me and I shan’t have that.”
“But stepmother, I have swept the floor, made the beds, washed your laundry, and made meals for the house. Please, may I go too?” She was beckoning for pity, at the least.
“You’re absolute right, Cinderella. Well, I’ll make you a deal, finish this list of chores and be appropriately dressed by the time we are due to leave, then you may have a dance with the prince.” She smirked with a spine tingling snicker.
It was a long list, unfolding down to the marbled floor and under the coffee table of the living room. It enlisted ridiculous household orders that would take days for a single participant to finish. Sadly, the list only held the account of putting the high hope of meeting the prince in Cinderella’s mind. Her eyes were bright and hopeful for a second. Her stepmother made sure that she would be left behind on the night of the ball, flaunting their carriage ride and over exclaiming comments on their engagement-to-the-prince to be, though everyone would know it was just their nonsensical dream running through their heads.
Optimistic and foolishly excited at the condition she responded, “Thank you so much, stepmother”
Stimulated by the unfair offer, she worked twice as hard and twice as fast, polishing every inch of the mansion, hoping to please her stepmother enough to permit her going. There was another problem she had to resolve, a dress. But over occupied by the limited time to complete her chores, she had forgotten to make one. After days of scrubbing and dusting furniture, it was already 7 o’clock and she was barely finished. Her stepsisters walked out of their bedrooms, their slippers clicking against the floor, nudging the thought that she is unable to attend.
“We’re leaving, Cinderella. Be sure to clean up your stepsisters’ clothes strewn in their room. It’s a wreck in there. We’ll be back by midnight.” She gladly boasted.
Cinderella felt hopeless and despaired running to her bedroom, sniveling at her misery and questioning the thought of her existence. Just then she saw something glittered in front of her. It was like an aurora of gleam that bubbled in the darkness and manifested out of thin air. The ghostly figure gradually became visible; Cinderella was taken by surprised, seeing this otherworldly woman. The figure was wearing a pristine, lingered dress and carried a wand of the color crisp white snow.
She called out to Cinderella, soaked in tears, “My dear child, why are you crying?”
“Who are you?” Stunned at her presence.
“I am your fairy godmother. Now tell me, what has happened?”
Cinderella wiped away her last tear, “Tonight’s the grand ball and my stepmother forbad me to go. Just one night I wanted to spend having a great time and feel beautiful.”
“Dear, dear. What are we waiting for? Lend a hand, would you, my dear. Bring me a couple of mice, your biggest pumpkin, and where are your horses?” she buoyantly asked.
She gathered the items and gave them to her fairy godmother, awaiting the thrill of a baffling act. Fairy godmother took out her wand, fiddled it, and proclaimed a sort of witty spell. Cinderella stood, flabbergasted, at the single shake of enchantment, transforming the common pair of mice into a coachmen and a doorman, the pumpkin harvested in the backyard shaped into a well-decorated carriage, and the three regular horses became a sparkling chariot of white horses. She blinked repetitively, astonished at her fairy godmother’s work.
“Oh! You won’t be able to attend the ball in those clothes. Here, I’ve been wanting to use this dress all year.” She shook her wand once again and encircled Cinderella with an atmospheric phenomenon, shifting her haggard rags into an assortment of crystals dangling on every inch of her dress. She lifted up the skirt of the dress and was delighted to find little radiances at her foot; her glass slippers were absolutely stunning and so was she.
“Hurry, Cinderella. You mustn’t be late any longer. The prince shall be waiting. But I shall warn you, my dear, when the clock strikes midnight you mustn’t ignore it. The spell will be broken and everything will turn back to normal.”
She insisted, “Thank you, fairy godmother. If only I can show you how much I-“
“Dear, there isn’t time. Go.”
Cinderella hopped into the carriage and rode off into the midnight and as she did, she looked out to the tiny ray of moonlight peering into the glass window and smiled ever so subtly of her anticipating fate.
The doors were open for her, for the first time. It was a remarkable sight she saw. Women were everywhere, clothed in their best and clinking champagne glasses, celebrating their beauty and freedom. As she walked down the steps to the ballroom, she felt a running tension from the eyes of envious women. Cinderella caught a glower of her stepmother, staring at her with disturbingly grim eyes as if its image itself could easily haunt her thoughts but she shrugged it off in hope that the glory she felt that night would triumph her fears.
As her foot touched the ballroom floor, she looked up at caught eyes with a dashing prince.
He spoke angelically, “May I have this dance?”
Cinderella nodded, shy of his request, but still she took a step forward to soak up the music, her mirth and happiness. They danced like a royal couple with a large audience filled with resentment, watching their every step.
The prince was a gallant dancer; elegant even with the way he spoke, “Thank you for attending. You look absolutely breathtaking.”
Cinderella was giddy with emotion, wishful thoughts running through her mind.
“Thank you for the honor, your highness.”
He beamed a smile, an honest to god genuine one. It was as if every little agonizing part from her past had been permanently erased, that she had no other happy memory than this, and that after years of living with people who didn’t care for her but instead gave her taunting looks and unspoken threats, this was her heaven. She felt at peace with him and desperately didn’t want to let go of the moment.
He broke of the bearable silence, “What’s your name?”
She desperately wanted to answer, to end her melancholia of a life and live happy, but the grand clock stroke midnight too soon and everything turned into panic and worry. She released her hand from its homey state of the prince’s and dashed out as quickly as possible. Cinderella carried her dress and hurried down the lighted stairs and ran straight for the main gate. She felt as if she was running for her life, truth be told, she was. Her stepmother’s glaring face stood at her imagination and train of thought, hunting her innocence. The thought of returning back to her stepmother and stepsister seemed so foolish and it rendered her frightened of her fate if her stepmother discovered her attendance at the ball. Fear smeared itself across the tears and sweats of her face. Her questioning and concern led her to lose one of her glass slipper, sitting on top of a step. She looked back briefly, not sure whether it was wise to run back and reach for her glass slipper. It was stationed peacefully, but mocked her in every way. Nonetheless, She ran forward, seeing her house at a distance, hoping to awake herself from this nightmare. Her magnificent sparkling dress drifted back to her rags and the very image of a perfect lady with a coach transformed back to what was a girl with cinders on her clothes.
She lunged on the front door, forced open it and threw out her last breath. It was pass midnight now and she heard murmurs of her stepsister’s irritating voices ringing in her ears. Though, she was safe and in rags, she felt in danger. She hid in her basement, lying on her bed, tormented of her stepmother’s fury of an unreasonable cause. She turned back to open the covers but a strange dark figure appeared in the doorway. Her eyes glowed in the darkness, as the candlelight suffered in comparison.
“Be sure not to make a sound in the morning when you’re doing your chores. Your sisters need their rest.” Her stepmother’s voice wispy but deathly and as she left she smiled and shut the door. Cinderella’s skin shriveled against her body but soon enough, she fell asleep drowned in her sweats and awoke to a usual mundane day. Back in the castle, it was past midnight and the prince was tearing himself, trying to assemble all the pieces together. He gathered his thoughts, trying to bring the remembrance of her face. She was so beautiful that it made him speechless; her eyes were glistening into the night-lights yet he could not recall her facial features.
“Why?!” he asks in desperation.
The prince stood there dumbfounded with her glass slipper, in absolute confusion. A light bulb flashed from his head, smiling as he found his solution. The prince hurried back into the palace, ordered a scanning of the slipper and anticipated a match to its owner.
He burst opened the door, “Count, you must hurry and find a match for this slipper. Inspect every lady in this land and find that girl!”
“Why the rush, your highness?” The Count was slightly shocked at the prince’s urgent request.
“I’ll provide you with whatever you need. Footprints, scents, shoe fittings! Forget your order to please my father for now.” He commanded.
The count went to his supremacy chamber, in search for even the most microscopic detail and clue. While the prince embitters himself at his inability to remember the girl he knew he was going to marry.
It was early morning when an unexpected doorbell rang with stepmother yelling, “Cinderella, answer the door. Be useful for once!” She was in a grim mood despite their pretentious chins pointing up at the ceiling and conceited, painted on their faces.
Cinderella opened the door unaware who stood on the other side. It was the prince and his royal staff. She silently gasped at the thought and wanted to greet them graciously.
“Your high-“ She was inconclusive.
Her stepmother intruded her welcome, her facial expression communicating eeriness, telling her to hide her existence from the prince. It wasn’t the first time her stepmother looked at Cinderella with terror. Her eyes immediately shattered of any hope existing in Cinderella’s mind. Her glare returned any lingering bad memories that haunted in her childhood, as if a ghost bared in dirty white was uplifted from her stepmother’s soul. It was all her stepmother’s doing. Her tears of despair permanently replaced every glimpse of happiness in Cinderella’s life. And that simple leer acted as a strong force, pushing Cinderella into the shadows of the room.
“Your highness, your grace. My apologies. What do we owe the honor of your arrival?” She put on a polite face.
“Good morning, my lady. I am in need to find a beautiful girl of whom I danced with the other night. I would like to marry her and would appreciate if you would allow us in and fit your daughters’ foot for the manner.” The prince summoned.
“It would be my honor, your majesty. Please, come in.” She bowed and gestured her hand open.
Cinderella’s stepsisters stepped out from under the shadows and revealed their hideous faces. They walked inelegantly to meet the prince whilst Cinderella occasionally glimpse at their ‘hello’s.’ She looked over their shoulders and couldn’t resist the prince’s glares, praying for the prince to suddenly dawn at her direction.
Anastasia was first. She knew her gigantic foot would not fit into the glass slipper. Out of desperation, Anastasia took a razor shape knife, place it above her big toe, and incised through her pale skin and saw it through her bones. Anastasia tried to hold her agony as pain filled her nerves and thoughts. It was bleeding like a water stream racing to the valley. She rushed to the glass slipper, leaving a trail of her dripping crimson blood. She inserted her enlarged foot into the petite glass slipper and still as expected, failed to fit.
She was stubbornly in denial, “This can’t be right. It was perfect on me the night we danced.”
Heads were shaking ‘no’ and the ill-thought-out comment and the awful waterfall of cherry thick liquid flustered the prince.
Drizelda was, of course, hopeful; her egocentric nature blinded her non-existing chances but even so she followed her sister, grabbing the knife from the dinning table and fashioned a new deformed end of her leg and tried on the slipper but it was futile and the prince gave up with a disgusted look on his face.
“My lady, is there anyone else who lives here besides you and your daughters.” He signaled to the front door.
“No, it is just the three of us.” Her stepmother immediately replied.
“Well then, my lady, we must depart. Thank you for your time.” He showed his appreciation.
Cinderella was torn at the chance, waiting for her to leap and take it. But she couldn’t, she thought to herself.
You don’t deserve happiness. You’re filthy and worthless. Her stepmother’s voice was ringing into her inner thoughts again. For years, she didn’t know how to stop its trail of discouragement but it did not stop her, she quickly called out, “Excuse me your majesty, but may I try the slipper?” she pleaded.
They all turned back to find a pitiful girl with a broom standing on the staircase.
The prince stared in disbelief, he felt he knew her but couldn’t recall.
“Well of course, I was mistaken that this mansion only holds three people.” The prince was glaring at her stepmother and stepsisters with such disappoint.
“Your highness. She is just a maidservant, who couldn’t have possibly gone to the ball. She was here all night.”
“Nevertheless, the rule states that every woman who lives in a household must undertake the fitting.” The gentlemen usher defended.
Cinderella ran, excited and hopeful and sat promptly on the velvet chair as the bearer scooped her feet into the slipper.
“It fits!” he said.
The prince’s face lit up, glowing with rapture.
“I’ve found you!” he expressed.
On the day of the royal wedding, the sun was springing into the horizon, blue birds were chirping, and the royal staff was up and ready, preparing decorations and white roses. Cinderella stood across a mirror, putting on her lace veil and flipping it back to reveal her face. It was painted with color, blush onto her cheeks and a smile across her face.
The prince was standing at the other end of the room, dressed in a regal suit and hands crossed together. As Cinderella walked down the aisle, his head looked up from looking down at his shoes as the orchestra began playing and pulled a smile. His smile was shy yet confident, gentle and warm. His eyes squinted just slightly, like he was seeing something so saintly and bright. With that, she couldn’t possibly think of a better moment than this – a wedding gown, a happy life, a prince, and a perfect ending.