The winner of the Shattering the Glass Slipper Contest is
The runner up with the second most votes is
Our gratitude to all the entrants and voters.
February 28, 2011
February 7, 2011
The Finalists
Well, it's time for us to announce the ten finalist of the Shattering the Glass Slipper Competition, and to open up the voting for the final winner.
But first I wanted to tell you a little bit about how the contest came to be, and follow up with a few words from Stephanie.
While at a wedding hall, a couple of months ago, I idly glanced in to the kitchen where the staff was preparing for an upcoming event. My attention was caught by a middle-aged woman washing dishes in the large industrial-size sink. As her hands dipped in and out of the soapy water the light glinted on the large diamond ring on her finger. For some reason I immediately thought about Cinderella and I found myself wondering if circumstances might have brought the fairy tale heroine to similarity be washing dishes in a kitchen somewhere, wearing her prince's diamond ring. But what might those circumstances have been. From there my mind began to concoct several elaborate possibilities of the events following Cinderella's happy ending. Perhaps the prince lost his kingdom his younger brother and he and Cinderella were forced to find work in a kitchen somewhere. And though impoverished, still in love. Or maybe the prince abandoned Cinderella for a younger women and all she has left of him his the diamond engagement ring.
Excitedly, I decided I was going to write a collection of stories focusing on Cinderella and all of the different ways that her story might have continued after the "Happily Ever After." But then I was forced to admit that I probably never write any of these stories, but still, the idea was too good to just give up on. And so I hit upon the idea of having getting other people to write these stories instead, through a writing contest. And so the Shattering the Glass Slipper Competition was born.
But even as my mind was bubbling over with all of the different story possibilities for Cinderella I never imagined the wonderful variety of stories that we would actually end up receiving. So many of the entries just blew me away and it was a a real struggle when the time came to choose just ten of them to be voted on. But it had to be done and we are delighted to present you with the ten finalists in the contest.
When I first considered running this contest with Simcha - I was doubtful if there would be enough variety with just one theme. Why not open it up to all the fairy tales? But I wasn't counting on the breadth of creativity out there; quite simply, I was entranced by all the different ways writers shattered the glass slipper. Despite the common theme of Cinderella's reinvention, each one of these finalists is enchanting and unique.
-Stephanie
But first I wanted to tell you a little bit about how the contest came to be, and follow up with a few words from Stephanie.
While at a wedding hall, a couple of months ago, I idly glanced in to the kitchen where the staff was preparing for an upcoming event. My attention was caught by a middle-aged woman washing dishes in the large industrial-size sink. As her hands dipped in and out of the soapy water the light glinted on the large diamond ring on her finger. For some reason I immediately thought about Cinderella and I found myself wondering if circumstances might have brought the fairy tale heroine to similarity be washing dishes in a kitchen somewhere, wearing her prince's diamond ring. But what might those circumstances have been. From there my mind began to concoct several elaborate possibilities of the events following Cinderella's happy ending. Perhaps the prince lost his kingdom his younger brother and he and Cinderella were forced to find work in a kitchen somewhere. And though impoverished, still in love. Or maybe the prince abandoned Cinderella for a younger women and all she has left of him his the diamond engagement ring.
Excitedly, I decided I was going to write a collection of stories focusing on Cinderella and all of the different ways that her story might have continued after the "Happily Ever After." But then I was forced to admit that I probably never write any of these stories, but still, the idea was too good to just give up on. And so I hit upon the idea of having getting other people to write these stories instead, through a writing contest. And so the Shattering the Glass Slipper Competition was born.
But even as my mind was bubbling over with all of the different story possibilities for Cinderella I never imagined the wonderful variety of stories that we would actually end up receiving. So many of the entries just blew me away and it was a a real struggle when the time came to choose just ten of them to be voted on. But it had to be done and we are delighted to present you with the ten finalists in the contest.
When I first considered running this contest with Simcha - I was doubtful if there would be enough variety with just one theme. Why not open it up to all the fairy tales? But I wasn't counting on the breadth of creativity out there; quite simply, I was entranced by all the different ways writers shattered the glass slipper. Despite the common theme of Cinderella's reinvention, each one of these finalists is enchanting and unique.
-Stephanie
RULES:
Please vote for what you believe to be the best Cinderella fairy tale retelling by commenting on THIS POST only. The story with the most votes garners $50 prize. The story with the second most votes will receive a copy of the fantastic anthology edited by Kate Bernheimer, My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me.
One vote per person. Finalists are excluded from voting.
You must be a registered user (including those with a Google account or Open ID) in order to vote. Anonymous votes/commenters will be disqualified.
Voting ends on February 21, 2011, 8:00 p.m. PST. The winner and runner up will be announced on February 28, 2011.
Voting ends on February 21, 2011, 8:00 p.m. PST. The winner and runner up will be announced on February 28, 2011.
The finalists in the 2011 Shattering the Glass Slipper Contest (in no particular order):
February 1, 2011
Shattering the Glass Slipper: Reinventing Cinderella
Welcome to the site of the Shattering the Glass Slipper writing contest!
So the prince has rescued his princess... the beautiful maiden has been saved from the curse...the wicked witch has been vanquished once and for all...and then what?
For all those of you who have wondered about what comes after the Ever After, or how the fairy tale might have turned out differently with just a few adjustments to the plot, now is your chance to find out.
For this contest we are going to focus on the story of Cinderella and all of the myriad of ways this popular fairy tale can be told. You can re-imagine any aspect of the Cinderella story or even choose just one of the story’s themes to play around with. Perhaps you might retell it from a different character’s perspective or revisit Cinderella and her Prince Charming several years later to see where life has taken them.
So let your imagination loose and see where it takes you.
Contest Details:
The writing contest will run from January 1, 2011, until January 31, 2011, 8:00 p.m. PST. On January 8, 2010, we will start posting entries to Shattering the Glass Slipper as they are received.
Entries should be no shorter than 500 words or longer than 1,500 words.
On February 7, 2010, we will announce the top ten finalists we have selected. We will then open up the voting to everyone. On February 21, 2011, 8:00 p.m. PST, the voting will close and the contest winner will be announced on February 28, 2011, along with the runner-up.
The Prize:
The first place winner of the contest will receive $50 USD, to be paid through Paypal. For a list of countries which can access Paypal, go here. The runner-up will receive a copy of My Mother, She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me, edited by Kate Bernheimer.
Please e-mail submissions to glasslipperproject [at] gmail [dot] com. In the subject line of the e-mail put SUBMISSION: [YOUR TITLE].
Please do not send attachments. Include your story within the body of the e-mail. E-mails with attachments will be deleted.
All submissions must be original and previously unpublished material.
Shattering the Glass Slipper will retain the world publishing rights to the winning entry.
Shattering the Glass Slipper will archive all entries online unless the author requests that it be withdrawn.
Simcha and Stephanie
Entries
The willow broom handle rubbed against familiar callouses as Isolda swept around the hearth for the tenth time that day. Insanity would rule her days if she hadn't taken to the habit of remembering fonder times when her parents were still alive. Read more.
A tragedy was never meant to travel to the sheltered halls of his home, never inside to the broken down greenhouses still accommodating exotic plants, never to the main hall where the guests’ laughter once lingered, and most certainly not on his wings as he flew high above the rotting bedposts still bright with gloss, above lamps still lit, though steadily growing dimmer, but the truth was that it did; it leapt from his feathered wings to rooftops and bedrooms, as dust travels on the wind, bringing a final ultimatum. But he couldn’t stop it, not now. Read more.
Prince Charming sat on the floor with Cinderella’s glass slipper in his hand. He licked the toe of the shoe. When she burst in, he almost dropped it. Read more.
Palace PR will always have the final word. If they ever released the real story, the Charming family might not appeal to the mainstream.
Well, here it is. Not that I think it will ever get published, but I’m here to set the story straight, which is about the only part of the story that is straight, if you know what I mean. Read more.
Cindy was lucky the Prince left the door open a crack or she might not be able to hear their conversation at all.
“But father, she’s so beautiful. I’m sure she’ll-" Read more.
Even while she walked up the palace steps in the dark, Ella had not paid much attention to the things surrounding her. If she had, maybe she would have noticed when she lost her glass shoes. At the time, though, the mere fact of being so far out of her home was all she could even begin to notice. Read more.
If the Glass Slipper Fits by Randall R. Jahn
Sometimes the day ends with a hush, other days end with a sucker punch to the gut, and some just don’t end. Today was supposed to end quietly. I tied up all the loose ends of my last case, pocketed a few coin, set my feet up on my desk, and watched as the sun settled in behind the royal hangout. The castle’s silhouette had just crept across my office floor when there was a knock at the door. “Come in, it’s open” I called out. Read more.
Once upon a time, there was an old hedge wizard named Ben who loved children. He was a shy man, but very kind and gentle, and he lived in a little house with a beautiful garden by the river. When people came to him for advice or charms, he always did his best to help with his meager magical skills. Read more.
Cinderella had everything a girl could want. Her marriage was wonderful. The prince treated her fantastically. Otherwise, she was bored. A year after marrying the prince, the girl who was so used to working hard, had everything done for her. She tried to stay busy but there was nothing to do. Read more.
Shattering the Glass Slipper by Amalina Anuar
Cinderella sighed. Today would mark the end of six years. Six years of waking up every day before her husband, Prince Charming who had now become King Charming did, to contemplate her life in the royal museum as she stared at the pair of glass slippers in front of her. Six years since she first saw his harem of mistresses who she had lost track of after the tenth one appeared. Read more.
Temp Girl by Cathy Graham
“Your coffee is total crap, Ellen. See if you can make it right this time,” Margot, the art director gave me the pained look she reserved especially for me. She flashed her dark eyes with the false eyelashes that were forever falling out. Just the other day, Judy had freaked when she saw one on the desk and thought it was a spider. Read more.
The Slipper and the Faulty Wand by R.F. Marazas
In the year since the magnificent fairy-tale wedding (second only to his own twenty-some years ago), the King had experienced a range of emotions; from hopefulness to perplexity to simmering anger to present fury. Where was his promised grandchild? Had he not organized the ball that brought Cinderella, the loveliest girl in his kingdom, to the attention of his idiot son, Prince Charming? And had he not encouraged and blessed the marriage? And what had he gotten in return? An heir? A continuation of his lineage? Read more.
She kicked free of the other slipper as well. Almost threw it away. Then hugged it to her. Read more.
She slumped in the armchair with her glass of wine, kicking off the sensible flat shoes that she wore to the office each day. Stretching her legs towards the fire, her dainty little feet finally warming; Claire sighed and closed her eyes. Read more.
“There’s blood on the shoe; the shoe is too small. Not the right bride at all.”
Mama gave me the knife and made me do it myself. She said it would heal. She said that when I was queen, I’d never need to walk, that I would have servants for everything. Read more.
When people say that sometimes it’s worth it to swallow the pain and to keep going they really don’t realize what a bunch of bull that is. I mean just look at my sister and I we wanted a “happily ever after” to not have to live in a shack for the rest of our lives. We wanted something better and sometimes when you really want something you’ll do anything to get it. Read more.
Fragments by Monika Kim
Cinderella stared blankly out her fogged window, tugging loosely at a tendril of hair that had fallen wispily out of the tightly wound bun behind her head. The new ring on her left hand gleamed brightly, but she barely glanced down at the way the magnificent diamond reflected the light of her enormous room. Read more.
In a society of humans, in a town called Graintreme, live a group of sisters and their mother, who work as smithys. Three of the sisters are born from their mother, but the other is not. Years ago, their father, who was lonely after the death of his first wife, met their mother and accepted her and her three born daughters as family. Read more.
"...and so the handsome prince fell in love with the beautiful Cinderella and they got married and they lived happily ever after..."
So it ended – and so it shall stay - forever and forever always - because no one is going to ruin this perfect, happy ending... Read more.
Monkey Boy by Ben Piggott
Look, I didn’t ask to be a superhero. I always thought I’d play in the NBA, if you want the truth. That was when I was little, though. I mean young, of course. I’m still little. When you’re five feet four in your hand-me down, too-big-for-me socks, basketball’s kind of tough, y’know? Read more.
He decides he will name himself ‘Clarence’. It is a serviceable human name to go with his serviceable human shape, and he likes the sibilance at the end. Before tonight he did not have a name; did not even understand the concept of names, did not think of anything but warm sun on his back and the crunch of small bones between his teeth, inasmuch as he thought at all. Read more.
“Godmother… Fairy Godmother…”
The Hornet’s Nest by Gillian Daniels
Before sunset, Ella had to ask for more work.
She hadn’t been given any chores for the week. Ella would have thought her stepmother had forgotten her if they hadn’t known each other for the past fifteen years. The silence was a trap; Ella would be beaten for laziness in the next few days. Read more.
Diamond Tear by Jane Buffham
There was once a lady who had a daughter so beautiful and sweet-tempered the best of creatures could not hold a candle to her. The knowledge that she had brought this wonder into the world filled the lady with such exquisite happiness, she died. Read more.
Toe to Toe by Yaddi Shaw
He thinks I am lily. Or orchid or daisy. Or some other such sweetly affected, delicate flower, here for his pleasure. He thinks I am here for him to pluck from the weeds, sniff a few times then place in a plain crystal vase, plain less it outshine my radiance, then place high on a dais overlooking the royal throne where all who enter can see and admire and think him so lucky and duly blessed. Read more.
Cinderella’s Glove by Jack Horne
He remembered her large dark eyes, and imagined gazing into them once more. Fighting back the tears in his own eyes, he thought, Oh, Rapunzel, how did it all go so horribly wrong? I loved you so much and you loved me – or so you said. Read more.
Best Foot Forward by T.L. Sherwood
As the boot flew across the room, Manford wondered if the job market was truly as horrendous as his employer had informed him that it was. Personally, he didn’t know of anyone without a job that wished to have one. In fact, Mr. Charles had asked Manford if he knew of anyone else who would be suitable for the footwear position. Read more.
Masque by Amy Allison
Something glittered deep inside the trunk. I reached for it, and shivering, drew it up from the bottom. “It’s a diamond necklace,” my mother said as she fastened it around my neck. I screamed. Its freezing grip terrified me. Read more.
Rexerella by Luke E.A. Johnson
Once upon a time there was a Tyrannosaurus Rex named Rexerella. Rexerella lived under the haughty rule of her evil human stepmother and evil stepsisters who forced Rexerella to do menial tasks with her tiny arms which was very hard for Rexerella. Read more.
Dark and Fair by Brian Gray
Once there was a great Sea Captain who had sailed the seven seas and had visited many exotic lands. But as with many great seafarers that pace their heaving decks the squally winds blew salt and brine through his ears and addled his brains, so much so that he decided it was time to take himself a wife and settle down. Read more.
Soap is Overrated by Susie
The hottest lesbian that ever lived was named Cinderella. Cinderella had two foppish, but kind-hearted, stepsisters that were more than willing to let her do all the dirty work. Cinderella loved fixing broken chairs (her stepsisters, built for comfort but not for speed, supplied her with plenty) and sweeping the floor (the crumbs were perfect for feeding her pet rats). Most of all, she loved climbing up the inside of the fireplace. Her best time to the top was 56 seconds. Not a boy in town could beat her, so they called her "Cinderella" - the princess of cinders. Read More
True Love by Melissa Warner
Ever after seems so desirable in every story you read. Love sweeps you off your feet as you float through the sky on a cloud that’s just the right size for the two of you. Seven years ago my ever after began when the man with glass slipper in hand. Today I cannot even fake a smile in this cold castle as we sit across the long feast table. The walls were once full of love and conversation, but how quickly that disappears when you realize it’s only lust. Now the only sound you hear is forks scratching across glass plates.
My heart still flutters when I think about the first day I found my prince. I was just a peasant working for my ugly, cruel step mother, but I knew deep down inside my hard work and patience would result in success. He road through our land on his horse and I knelt to the ground as he passed, nearly falling as my knees gave out below me. In the sunlight his hair was Chestnut, brought out his blue eyes and his smile glistened. Though he was royalty he treated everyone as equals as if his riches and born rights meant nothing. His kindness melted my sorrows. From that moment I could not release his image from my brain. I’d scrub the floors and tend the chickens, humming a song of happiness and hope rather than dread and dismay. I wanted to scream from the windows of our manor that I was in love, yet did not in fear of rejection from my family and neighbors.
At the ball the lights hit my white dress making me sparkle. Though he didn’t realize who I was, I feared the truth and ran. How could a prince fall for trash like me? Love brought us back together in the end. For once things seemed to fall into place. As I woke beside my love every morning in his strong, love embrace. Everything was pure bliss as I had all the riches I could ever dream of in life, but most importantly the love I lacked since my father died. Whatever I dreamed of was at my finger tips. Though this is still true, the only thing I want is unavailable. The disapproving look reminded me of my stepmother. The coldness was a time machine that sent me back to a life I thought I’d long left behind.
The servants I was ever so opposed to brought us soup to the royal table we sat at. I thought I made a positive impression on his life, but you cannot change someone, even if he is a gorgeous prince. As I lifted the spoon to my mouth I glanced up to watchful eyes from across the lengthy piece of furniture.
“Must you slurp?” He rolled his eyes and pushed the soup away from him. “You’ve put me off.” His voice was that of a spoiled child only expecting to get his way.
I slowly placed my spoon down and folded my dainty hands calmly in my lap. I took a deep breath. Most nights I bit my tongue, unsure if the war of words was worth the bother. My eyes fell to the table as thoughts drifted through my mind of warm summer days with the birds around us, laying in fields just gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Oh great, what is it now?” He demanded. His voice was stern without a single sense of sympathy or understanding.
I looked up, resisting tears. “Nothing, my love.” It could easily appear that the tears were the glassed-over look my eyes always held was the love I felt never lessened for the one man I though would save me.
“Then why do you look so sad? Do I make you unhappy? You must speak to me.” His voice was nothing more than controlling.
“Why don’t you decide what is making me sad as you do with everything else in life?” My voice was quiet, my heart raced as I could take no more.
“My heavens, what do you mean?” His face showed disgust and shock.
“How did we get here?” I cocked my head to the side and stared into his eyes. “I think you once loved me.”
His mouth fell open slightly as he stumbled over his words, “I.. what.. Where is this coming from?” He acted appalled, but I spoke of what we both felt deep down inside. “You have no right to just.. Throw around such accusations!”
“Remember when we didn’t have to talk about anything at all? When you listen to my dreams and thoughts? When we spent time together doing nothing at all?” My voice shook from fear, sadness, even adrenaline.
He thought for a moment, said not a word and dismissed himself from the table. My chin fell down to my chest and a small weep left my lips as my napkin fell to the ground. My heart felt heavy as every breath took longer to leave my body. The only noise in the large castle was the clapping of the prince’s boots on the stone ground.
As I entered the bedroom we still shared every night it was no surprised he was sound asleep wrapped in half the blankets we shared. I lightly sat on the edge of the bed with my back facing him. I couldn’t bare the thought of the look on his face when he realized it was me. In the mirror across the room I watched as his body gently moved with each breath. He still looked handsome with his hir sweeping his face and the calm, peaceful smile on his face as he slept. I pulled back the duvet and lifted my legs underneath. I turned on my left side and scooted behind the Prince. Our body aligned to one as I moved as close to him as possible. I felt his warm body tight against mine as I reached my arm around him. His hand caressed its way up my arm, sending chills down my spine. It was soft and loving, gently working its way up the entire length. His hand reached up to my arm and caressed mine. It was the first contact we had with each other in months. My body instantly relaxed as he rolled over to face me.
His eyes searched my face and a soft smile formed on his lips. “You’re still as beautiful as the first day I met you.” He said as his fingers ran through my blonde hair. His touch was warm and stirred feelings I had not felt for as long as I could remember. My lips curled into a small smile and I put my forehead against his. “I will never stop loving your, my dear.” He kissed my forehead lightly. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like I’m not in love with you anymore.”
My heart still flutters when I think about the first day I found my prince. I was just a peasant working for my ugly, cruel step mother, but I knew deep down inside my hard work and patience would result in success. He road through our land on his horse and I knelt to the ground as he passed, nearly falling as my knees gave out below me. In the sunlight his hair was Chestnut, brought out his blue eyes and his smile glistened. Though he was royalty he treated everyone as equals as if his riches and born rights meant nothing. His kindness melted my sorrows. From that moment I could not release his image from my brain. I’d scrub the floors and tend the chickens, humming a song of happiness and hope rather than dread and dismay. I wanted to scream from the windows of our manor that I was in love, yet did not in fear of rejection from my family and neighbors.
At the ball the lights hit my white dress making me sparkle. Though he didn’t realize who I was, I feared the truth and ran. How could a prince fall for trash like me? Love brought us back together in the end. For once things seemed to fall into place. As I woke beside my love every morning in his strong, love embrace. Everything was pure bliss as I had all the riches I could ever dream of in life, but most importantly the love I lacked since my father died. Whatever I dreamed of was at my finger tips. Though this is still true, the only thing I want is unavailable. The disapproving look reminded me of my stepmother. The coldness was a time machine that sent me back to a life I thought I’d long left behind.
The servants I was ever so opposed to brought us soup to the royal table we sat at. I thought I made a positive impression on his life, but you cannot change someone, even if he is a gorgeous prince. As I lifted the spoon to my mouth I glanced up to watchful eyes from across the lengthy piece of furniture.
“Must you slurp?” He rolled his eyes and pushed the soup away from him. “You’ve put me off.” His voice was that of a spoiled child only expecting to get his way.
I slowly placed my spoon down and folded my dainty hands calmly in my lap. I took a deep breath. Most nights I bit my tongue, unsure if the war of words was worth the bother. My eyes fell to the table as thoughts drifted through my mind of warm summer days with the birds around us, laying in fields just gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Oh great, what is it now?” He demanded. His voice was stern without a single sense of sympathy or understanding.
I looked up, resisting tears. “Nothing, my love.” It could easily appear that the tears were the glassed-over look my eyes always held was the love I felt never lessened for the one man I though would save me.
“Then why do you look so sad? Do I make you unhappy? You must speak to me.” His voice was nothing more than controlling.
“Why don’t you decide what is making me sad as you do with everything else in life?” My voice was quiet, my heart raced as I could take no more.
“My heavens, what do you mean?” His face showed disgust and shock.
“How did we get here?” I cocked my head to the side and stared into his eyes. “I think you once loved me.”
His mouth fell open slightly as he stumbled over his words, “I.. what.. Where is this coming from?” He acted appalled, but I spoke of what we both felt deep down inside. “You have no right to just.. Throw around such accusations!”
“Remember when we didn’t have to talk about anything at all? When you listen to my dreams and thoughts? When we spent time together doing nothing at all?” My voice shook from fear, sadness, even adrenaline.
He thought for a moment, said not a word and dismissed himself from the table. My chin fell down to my chest and a small weep left my lips as my napkin fell to the ground. My heart felt heavy as every breath took longer to leave my body. The only noise in the large castle was the clapping of the prince’s boots on the stone ground.
As I entered the bedroom we still shared every night it was no surprised he was sound asleep wrapped in half the blankets we shared. I lightly sat on the edge of the bed with my back facing him. I couldn’t bare the thought of the look on his face when he realized it was me. In the mirror across the room I watched as his body gently moved with each breath. He still looked handsome with his hir sweeping his face and the calm, peaceful smile on his face as he slept. I pulled back the duvet and lifted my legs underneath. I turned on my left side and scooted behind the Prince. Our body aligned to one as I moved as close to him as possible. I felt his warm body tight against mine as I reached my arm around him. His hand caressed its way up my arm, sending chills down my spine. It was soft and loving, gently working its way up the entire length. His hand reached up to my arm and caressed mine. It was the first contact we had with each other in months. My body instantly relaxed as he rolled over to face me.
His eyes searched my face and a soft smile formed on his lips. “You’re still as beautiful as the first day I met you.” He said as his fingers ran through my blonde hair. His touch was warm and stirred feelings I had not felt for as long as I could remember. My lips curled into a small smile and I put my forehead against his. “I will never stop loving your, my dear.” He kissed my forehead lightly. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like I’m not in love with you anymore.”
Isolda's Escape by Mark Packard
The willow broom handle rubbed against familiar callouses as Isolda swept around the hearth for the tenth time that day. Insanity would rule her days if she hadn't taken to the habit of remembering fonder times when her parents were still alive.
With her mother, old memories of making bread brought peace, kneading, forming the loaf, her mother's hand enveloping her own, shaping it just so, carefully placing it in the oven, and then the joyful anticipation of it baking, constantly checking on the loaf.
With her father, more recent memories of playing hide and seek whilst engaged in chores around the farm. One of them would disappear, and the other would start the hunt, choosing footing carefully to avoid alerting the intended prey. She had a real knack for this game, and her father admitted it with a genuine pride, taking her with him on real hunting trips until his death a few years ago.
He had never bothered to ask his new stepdaughters to join him when he'd remarried. They were far too proper to engage in such brutality. In spite of her present dull existence, these memories rarely failed to cause a smile to spread slowly across her beautiful visage, even if the swine more commonly known as her stepsisters were present. Whenever these memories failed to ignite her spark, she reverted to memories of her own secret hunts, fresh blood on the knife—and a vengeful smile never failed to arrive.
While Isolda was generally grateful for being spared from slavery by her stepmother, Avice, upon her father's death, it was the reason she was retained that blotted out her gratitude in favor of bitter anger. Over time, it became clear that Avice just wanted a servant. And Isolda had no other options available. She begrudgingly accepted her lot, but only as a temporary waypoint, as she quietly started planning the end game. Why rush something that brought her such joy?
She was willing to admit to herself the first kill was the hardest. A cruel suitor to one of the swine had treated Isolda exceptionally poorly, and she had steeled her resolve to make him feel her pain, personally. While she had a mind-numbing amount of chores to keep the estate in top shape, she also had periods of inactivity. One such time presented itself after this suitor called upon Clarice, the older swine, by far the more haughty of the two. A flurry of activity in helping Clarice prepare for the date was followed with blissful quiet. As the suitor rode onto the estate and was stabling his steed, he hurled insults at Isolda seemingly just to assert his higher position. She swallowed the words she longed to speak, and could feel her heart racing. As she took care of the horse, Isolda began working on a more specific plan.
After finishing with the horse, she quietly snuck through the house to her room. She donned her dark clothing and grabbed her hunting knife, stopping briefly at the fireplace to blacken her face with ashes. Then she headed into the forest around the trail where she knew the suitor would exit the estate.
The tree she chose had a branch that hung directly over the trail, and she'd climbed it easily before. Her eyes had already grown accustomed to the failing light, and she was prepared, knife clinched in teeth, as she saw the buffoon start down the trail. Every inch he got closer elevated her inner doubts. As he passed under the limb she perched on, she couldn't muster the nerve, and got up to leave, but slipped and fell silently onto the horse behind him. Her instincts took hold when she realized what had happened, her mind picturing a particular hunting trip with her father. Her hand shot forward instantly covering his mouth, as her other hand brought the blade into play. Quickly, she drew the knife across his fragile neck feeling the warm sensation of blood spilling over her hand. He was absolutely unprepared for what happened, and she was unprepared for her own reaction, falling to the ground crying as his lifeless body slid off the horse. It took all of her energy to drag his portly figure down to the river and slip it in the icy water. After she chased his horse off the property and cleaned up what little evidence remained, she went back to the river, washed up and then ran home. She didn't see the pair of eyes that watched everything secretly from the protection of a large bush.
The next two weeks were a blur and Isolda was grateful for the distraction. Still feeling pangs of guilt, she had backed away from her original plan. She didn't want to be responsible for someone else's death again. And then the invitation for the royal ball came. It seemed the King was looking for a bride to bring happiness to his son, and wanted to take matters into his own hands, given that the son hadn't found anyone yet. Avice and the swine were more excited than Isolda had ever seen them, and she harbored her own hopes for that night as well. Avice quickly dashed those hopes. She had seen Isolda with a longing smile as the swine talked about what they would wear. "What are you smiling at? Were you under the impression that you would also be attending the ball? Oh dear, sweet Isolda. The thought of you in your servant garb bowing before the Prince is laughable. I wouldn't dream of letting you go." Isolda stormed out of the room as the giggles from the swine faded. Back to Plan A after all.
She knew it was a flaw in her character, but Isolda secretly relished the rush from a kill. Her personal experience with the suitor had only served to validate this feeling. However, the mess and ensuing chaos often make subtle methods more attractive, like poison. She knew her stepmother to be a cunning and careful person that could more than hold her own in a social setting. Why test that in a physical confrontation? Isolda had known about hemlock for years. Her father had tipped his arrows with it to hedge his bets with a troublesome varmint that kept stealing chickens from the farm. What better addition to the morning tea for her stepmother? While she had never seen the effect on people, she knew it brought about rapid breathing failure. Her stepmother wouldn't be able to talk. Perfect.
It played just as she had hoped. After toying with the spoon, adding sugar, and then a few test sips, her stepmother had enjoyed the cup of tea brought to her. It took a full five minutes for the shortness of breath to lead to gasping. Isolda had done her best to rush in and pretend to assist her. "What's wrong? How can I help you?" all while her stepmother's eyes looked to her for help. Another ten minutes of frantic efforts failed and she expired to the cries of her daughters. One down.
Now to the next evil source of evil. What was it, exactly, that made Clarice grate on her nerves so completely? The high-pitched voice? The haughty, ungrateful attitude? The lack of concern for all around her? What did it matter? With the mother gone, Isolda had made Clarice the next focus of her attention. The ball was three nights away now. While the girls were still grieving and the funeral scheduled for eight days hence, it was clear that the ball was an important part of their survival plan at this point. When Clarice asked Isolda to help her lace up her new dress, the opportunity was clear. After pulling the laces tight, Isolda drew the dagger from a hidden pocket, grabbed her stepsister's chin and slid the blade between her ribs right by her heart. Death came quickly and quietly.
That's when she felt the point of a knife at the base of her skull. "You know, my mother never treated me any better than she did you. I saw what you did to that suitor. I would guess you killed my mother as well, though I have no proof. There can be no doubt that Clarice was your next victim, what with your hands still clutching her head." Agnes, the younger swine, was much smarter than she had let on. "Would you consider a compromise?" Isolda hadn't seen this coming at all. Little did she know. "Aside from the shock of having them gone, I don't know that I'll really miss my mother or sister. However, without any parents or guardians, we won't be able to keep this house much longer." She was right. "I think you should go to the ball. You are much fairer than I, and stand a better chance at the Prince's hand." Isolda could work with this.
With her mother, old memories of making bread brought peace, kneading, forming the loaf, her mother's hand enveloping her own, shaping it just so, carefully placing it in the oven, and then the joyful anticipation of it baking, constantly checking on the loaf.
With her father, more recent memories of playing hide and seek whilst engaged in chores around the farm. One of them would disappear, and the other would start the hunt, choosing footing carefully to avoid alerting the intended prey. She had a real knack for this game, and her father admitted it with a genuine pride, taking her with him on real hunting trips until his death a few years ago.
He had never bothered to ask his new stepdaughters to join him when he'd remarried. They were far too proper to engage in such brutality. In spite of her present dull existence, these memories rarely failed to cause a smile to spread slowly across her beautiful visage, even if the swine more commonly known as her stepsisters were present. Whenever these memories failed to ignite her spark, she reverted to memories of her own secret hunts, fresh blood on the knife—and a vengeful smile never failed to arrive.
While Isolda was generally grateful for being spared from slavery by her stepmother, Avice, upon her father's death, it was the reason she was retained that blotted out her gratitude in favor of bitter anger. Over time, it became clear that Avice just wanted a servant. And Isolda had no other options available. She begrudgingly accepted her lot, but only as a temporary waypoint, as she quietly started planning the end game. Why rush something that brought her such joy?
She was willing to admit to herself the first kill was the hardest. A cruel suitor to one of the swine had treated Isolda exceptionally poorly, and she had steeled her resolve to make him feel her pain, personally. While she had a mind-numbing amount of chores to keep the estate in top shape, she also had periods of inactivity. One such time presented itself after this suitor called upon Clarice, the older swine, by far the more haughty of the two. A flurry of activity in helping Clarice prepare for the date was followed with blissful quiet. As the suitor rode onto the estate and was stabling his steed, he hurled insults at Isolda seemingly just to assert his higher position. She swallowed the words she longed to speak, and could feel her heart racing. As she took care of the horse, Isolda began working on a more specific plan.
After finishing with the horse, she quietly snuck through the house to her room. She donned her dark clothing and grabbed her hunting knife, stopping briefly at the fireplace to blacken her face with ashes. Then she headed into the forest around the trail where she knew the suitor would exit the estate.
The tree she chose had a branch that hung directly over the trail, and she'd climbed it easily before. Her eyes had already grown accustomed to the failing light, and she was prepared, knife clinched in teeth, as she saw the buffoon start down the trail. Every inch he got closer elevated her inner doubts. As he passed under the limb she perched on, she couldn't muster the nerve, and got up to leave, but slipped and fell silently onto the horse behind him. Her instincts took hold when she realized what had happened, her mind picturing a particular hunting trip with her father. Her hand shot forward instantly covering his mouth, as her other hand brought the blade into play. Quickly, she drew the knife across his fragile neck feeling the warm sensation of blood spilling over her hand. He was absolutely unprepared for what happened, and she was unprepared for her own reaction, falling to the ground crying as his lifeless body slid off the horse. It took all of her energy to drag his portly figure down to the river and slip it in the icy water. After she chased his horse off the property and cleaned up what little evidence remained, she went back to the river, washed up and then ran home. She didn't see the pair of eyes that watched everything secretly from the protection of a large bush.
The next two weeks were a blur and Isolda was grateful for the distraction. Still feeling pangs of guilt, she had backed away from her original plan. She didn't want to be responsible for someone else's death again. And then the invitation for the royal ball came. It seemed the King was looking for a bride to bring happiness to his son, and wanted to take matters into his own hands, given that the son hadn't found anyone yet. Avice and the swine were more excited than Isolda had ever seen them, and she harbored her own hopes for that night as well. Avice quickly dashed those hopes. She had seen Isolda with a longing smile as the swine talked about what they would wear. "What are you smiling at? Were you under the impression that you would also be attending the ball? Oh dear, sweet Isolda. The thought of you in your servant garb bowing before the Prince is laughable. I wouldn't dream of letting you go." Isolda stormed out of the room as the giggles from the swine faded. Back to Plan A after all.
She knew it was a flaw in her character, but Isolda secretly relished the rush from a kill. Her personal experience with the suitor had only served to validate this feeling. However, the mess and ensuing chaos often make subtle methods more attractive, like poison. She knew her stepmother to be a cunning and careful person that could more than hold her own in a social setting. Why test that in a physical confrontation? Isolda had known about hemlock for years. Her father had tipped his arrows with it to hedge his bets with a troublesome varmint that kept stealing chickens from the farm. What better addition to the morning tea for her stepmother? While she had never seen the effect on people, she knew it brought about rapid breathing failure. Her stepmother wouldn't be able to talk. Perfect.
It played just as she had hoped. After toying with the spoon, adding sugar, and then a few test sips, her stepmother had enjoyed the cup of tea brought to her. It took a full five minutes for the shortness of breath to lead to gasping. Isolda had done her best to rush in and pretend to assist her. "What's wrong? How can I help you?" all while her stepmother's eyes looked to her for help. Another ten minutes of frantic efforts failed and she expired to the cries of her daughters. One down.
Now to the next evil source of evil. What was it, exactly, that made Clarice grate on her nerves so completely? The high-pitched voice? The haughty, ungrateful attitude? The lack of concern for all around her? What did it matter? With the mother gone, Isolda had made Clarice the next focus of her attention. The ball was three nights away now. While the girls were still grieving and the funeral scheduled for eight days hence, it was clear that the ball was an important part of their survival plan at this point. When Clarice asked Isolda to help her lace up her new dress, the opportunity was clear. After pulling the laces tight, Isolda drew the dagger from a hidden pocket, grabbed her stepsister's chin and slid the blade between her ribs right by her heart. Death came quickly and quietly.
That's when she felt the point of a knife at the base of her skull. "You know, my mother never treated me any better than she did you. I saw what you did to that suitor. I would guess you killed my mother as well, though I have no proof. There can be no doubt that Clarice was your next victim, what with your hands still clutching her head." Agnes, the younger swine, was much smarter than she had let on. "Would you consider a compromise?" Isolda hadn't seen this coming at all. Little did she know. "Aside from the shock of having them gone, I don't know that I'll really miss my mother or sister. However, without any parents or guardians, we won't be able to keep this house much longer." She was right. "I think you should go to the ball. You are much fairer than I, and stand a better chance at the Prince's hand." Isolda could work with this.
Home is Where the Heart Is by Kristina A. Luu
A tragedy was never meant to travel to the sheltered halls of his home, never inside to the broken down greenhouses still accommodating exotic plants, never to the main hall where the guests’ laughter once lingered, and most certainly not on his wings as he flew high above the rotting bedposts still bright with gloss, above lamps still lit, though steadily growing dimmer, but the truth was that it did; it leapt from his feathered wings to rooftops and bedrooms, as dust travels on the wind, bringing a final ultimatum. But he couldn’t stop it, not now.
Before he knew it, he was infected. Calamity followed him, embraced him with its clammy fingers, and he couldn’t break free. Disaster to all he loved. Endings were supposed to happy at the end of fairy tales, so, as one of the robins who aided Cinderella in her gallant journey, wasn’t he automatically granted a ‘happily ever after’? False promises, lies, that was all the authors ever wrote in their stories; there was no such thing as a happy ending.
Glimmers of raindrops streaked down the window, a line of clear on the frosty glass. He trilled softly before landing on a bookshelf, feeling the rotting wood beneath his talons. In the old bedroom of a girl who became a Queen, he sat, pondering over how dark and dim the past seemed. Jokingly, he wondered if this was what happened at the end of the road as well; life would come around full circle, and he would be left in the dust to rot. Killings, the killed, the killer; all would meet their end, wouldn’t they? Laying on a dusty bed, suffocating in a room that seemed eerily like the past, all the kind people and all the not-so-kind would find their end somewhere in their memories.
Musing, he wondered if he would see her again, Cinderella, in the very same room he was currently in, singing the same songs she used to sing, bringing in the light and the life that she used to bring.
‘Never,’ he knew that she would never return to the dusty mansion where she once lived, not when she had all the glamour of the kingdom at her glass slippered toes.
‘Over,’ he knew that the past was over, and he had to move forward.
‘Pathetic,’ the mice’s voices squeaked at him, but he knew they were merely ghosts because the real ones had left the day she had slipped into a real carriage not made of pumpkin. Quietly, he leapt off the ledge and glided through the air and out the door. Rooms that were once furnished were empty; curtains once pulled tight over windows were left to flutter around the panes; dresses once worn were abandoned on their hangers. Sadly, he eased his pace ever so slightly, wanting to take a long look at his previous home.
Tears would have fallen if only he could cry, but he was strong; he would survive. Under the banners and decorations, he flew, rushing through the air, coughing at the dust, and as he flung himself out the door, he had a fleeting thought of staying.
Vindictively, the iron ball struck the house, tumbling the already crumbling frame. Whistles, hoots, and shouts, all the thunderous noises contrasted with the silence inside. He landed on the fence, his beady eyes fixed on the workers scurrying around. Vibrations of destruction echoed in the valley, a thudding heartbeat that steadily slowed. Zero more seconds until it was gone. Suddenly, it was all gone, everything, his home, his life, his memories.
Before he knew it, he was infected. Calamity followed him, embraced him with its clammy fingers, and he couldn’t break free. Disaster to all he loved. Endings were supposed to happy at the end of fairy tales, so, as one of the robins who aided Cinderella in her gallant journey, wasn’t he automatically granted a ‘happily ever after’? False promises, lies, that was all the authors ever wrote in their stories; there was no such thing as a happy ending.
Glimmers of raindrops streaked down the window, a line of clear on the frosty glass. He trilled softly before landing on a bookshelf, feeling the rotting wood beneath his talons. In the old bedroom of a girl who became a Queen, he sat, pondering over how dark and dim the past seemed. Jokingly, he wondered if this was what happened at the end of the road as well; life would come around full circle, and he would be left in the dust to rot. Killings, the killed, the killer; all would meet their end, wouldn’t they? Laying on a dusty bed, suffocating in a room that seemed eerily like the past, all the kind people and all the not-so-kind would find their end somewhere in their memories.
Musing, he wondered if he would see her again, Cinderella, in the very same room he was currently in, singing the same songs she used to sing, bringing in the light and the life that she used to bring.
‘Never,’ he knew that she would never return to the dusty mansion where she once lived, not when she had all the glamour of the kingdom at her glass slippered toes.
‘Over,’ he knew that the past was over, and he had to move forward.
‘Pathetic,’ the mice’s voices squeaked at him, but he knew they were merely ghosts because the real ones had left the day she had slipped into a real carriage not made of pumpkin. Quietly, he leapt off the ledge and glided through the air and out the door. Rooms that were once furnished were empty; curtains once pulled tight over windows were left to flutter around the panes; dresses once worn were abandoned on their hangers. Sadly, he eased his pace ever so slightly, wanting to take a long look at his previous home.
Tears would have fallen if only he could cry, but he was strong; he would survive. Under the banners and decorations, he flew, rushing through the air, coughing at the dust, and as he flung himself out the door, he had a fleeting thought of staying.
Vindictively, the iron ball struck the house, tumbling the already crumbling frame. Whistles, hoots, and shouts, all the thunderous noises contrasted with the silence inside. He landed on the fence, his beady eyes fixed on the workers scurrying around. Vibrations of destruction echoed in the valley, a thudding heartbeat that steadily slowed. Zero more seconds until it was gone. Suddenly, it was all gone, everything, his home, his life, his memories.
Just Outside the Closet by Mandy Manning
“Again with the damn shoes?” Cinderella stood just outside the closet. “I can see you, you know?”
Prince Charming sat on the floor with Cinderella’s glass slipper in his hand. He licked the toe of the shoe. When she burst in, he almost dropped it.
She stood at the door with her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you?”
Prince Charming’s socks lay on the floor next to him. The hair on his legs was mashed haphazardly against his pale skin and he had a red elastic imprint on his upper calf. Cinderella’s black pumps adorned his feet and he wasn’t wearing any pants.
Cinderella snatched the slipper out of his hand. “You’re going to break it!”
He tried to grab it back, managing only to touch it with one fingertip. His breath shortened and he swallowed hard. “I was just washing it. It had a little smudge on the toe.”
Cinderella bent over and pulled the pumps from his feet. “You stretch them out when you do this.” She placed them on the shelf. “They slip off my heels when I walk.”
“Put them on and show me.” Prince Charming licked his lips.
Cinderella wrinkled her nose. “Gross! Knock it off!” She wiped the spittle from the glass slipper and placed it back onto the pillow next to its twin in the lockbox. “Where did you get the key?”
“Key?” Prince Charming struggled with his stockings. He’d put on a few pounds since the wedding and the socks were a little tight. His pants were also a bit snug, but he could still get them zipped if he sucked in.
Cinderella, on the other hand, had grown even more beautiful. She’d taken to jogging in the mornings to keep her waist trim, and the diamond tiara nestled in her hair brought out the amber flecks in her eyes. She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
“What?” He looped his belt around his waist, avoiding her eyes.
She tapped her foot. “The key.”
“What key?”
“Don’t play stupid! The key to the lockbox.”
Still not looking at her, he put his own shoes on, lacing them slowly. “I didn’t use a key.”
Cinderella whirled around and studied the lock. “You broke it.”
Prince Charming stood up, put his hands on his hips, and nodded once. “Yep!” He brushed past her. “You don’t have a right to keep them locked up.”
“Yes, I do!”
“No, you don’t! They’re as much mine as they are yours.”
Cinderella followed him out of the closet. “How do you figure that?”
“They brought us together.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself so that he could see past Cinderella into the closet. Her shoes were lined up in their little cubbies. Perfect. He smiled.
“Wait a minute.” Cinderella looked at the floor and shook her head. “What are you saying?”
“You did leave one behind. Don’t play like you didn’t know what that would do.”
“I guess, I mean, you used the shoe to find me.” She moved closer to him, blocking his view. He craned his neck to see around her again.
“No, I brought it around to find the other shoe.”
Cinderella looked again at the floor. “You mean you’re not even interested in me at all?” Her face burned red. “Then why did you even marry me?”
“Don’t be like that Cindy. I had to marry you.” He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. “No one wears the slippers like you.” He looked into her eyes and shook his head. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“So, you just wanted the shoes?”
“No.” He turned her toward the closet. “I want your feet in the shoes.” He gave her a little push. “Go and put them on.”
Cinderella’s shoulders drooped. She lowered her head and walked into the closet. The lockbox was still ajar. She reached in and took out the slippers. For a moment she held the shoes above her head as if she might smash them.
“You do like being a princess, don’t you?” Prince Charming sat on the bed watching her.
Cinderella slowly lowered the shoes and slipped them onto her feet.
Removing his own shoes, Prince Charming called to her. “Bring the black pumps, too.”
Prince Charming sat on the floor with Cinderella’s glass slipper in his hand. He licked the toe of the shoe. When she burst in, he almost dropped it.
She stood at the door with her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you?”
Prince Charming’s socks lay on the floor next to him. The hair on his legs was mashed haphazardly against his pale skin and he had a red elastic imprint on his upper calf. Cinderella’s black pumps adorned his feet and he wasn’t wearing any pants.
Cinderella snatched the slipper out of his hand. “You’re going to break it!”
He tried to grab it back, managing only to touch it with one fingertip. His breath shortened and he swallowed hard. “I was just washing it. It had a little smudge on the toe.”
Cinderella bent over and pulled the pumps from his feet. “You stretch them out when you do this.” She placed them on the shelf. “They slip off my heels when I walk.”
“Put them on and show me.” Prince Charming licked his lips.
Cinderella wrinkled her nose. “Gross! Knock it off!” She wiped the spittle from the glass slipper and placed it back onto the pillow next to its twin in the lockbox. “Where did you get the key?”
“Key?” Prince Charming struggled with his stockings. He’d put on a few pounds since the wedding and the socks were a little tight. His pants were also a bit snug, but he could still get them zipped if he sucked in.
Cinderella, on the other hand, had grown even more beautiful. She’d taken to jogging in the mornings to keep her waist trim, and the diamond tiara nestled in her hair brought out the amber flecks in her eyes. She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
“What?” He looped his belt around his waist, avoiding her eyes.
She tapped her foot. “The key.”
“What key?”
“Don’t play stupid! The key to the lockbox.”
Still not looking at her, he put his own shoes on, lacing them slowly. “I didn’t use a key.”
Cinderella whirled around and studied the lock. “You broke it.”
Prince Charming stood up, put his hands on his hips, and nodded once. “Yep!” He brushed past her. “You don’t have a right to keep them locked up.”
“Yes, I do!”
“No, you don’t! They’re as much mine as they are yours.”
Cinderella followed him out of the closet. “How do you figure that?”
“They brought us together.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself so that he could see past Cinderella into the closet. Her shoes were lined up in their little cubbies. Perfect. He smiled.
“Wait a minute.” Cinderella looked at the floor and shook her head. “What are you saying?”
“You did leave one behind. Don’t play like you didn’t know what that would do.”
“I guess, I mean, you used the shoe to find me.” She moved closer to him, blocking his view. He craned his neck to see around her again.
“No, I brought it around to find the other shoe.”
Cinderella looked again at the floor. “You mean you’re not even interested in me at all?” Her face burned red. “Then why did you even marry me?”
“Don’t be like that Cindy. I had to marry you.” He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. “No one wears the slippers like you.” He looked into her eyes and shook his head. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“So, you just wanted the shoes?”
“No.” He turned her toward the closet. “I want your feet in the shoes.” He gave her a little push. “Go and put them on.”
Cinderella’s shoulders drooped. She lowered her head and walked into the closet. The lockbox was still ajar. She reached in and took out the slippers. For a moment she held the shoes above her head as if she might smash them.
“You do like being a princess, don’t you?” Prince Charming sat on the bed watching her.
Cinderella slowly lowered the shoes and slipped them onto her feet.
Removing his own shoes, Prince Charming called to her. “Bring the black pumps, too.”
CinderElvis: The Story Palace PR Will Never Tell by Becky Kyle
Why is it they always tell the girl’s stories: Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and oh yes, Cinderella?
Palace PR will always have the final word. If they ever released the real story, the Charming family might not appeal to the mainstream.
Well, here it is. Not that I think it will ever get published, but I’m here to set the story straight, which is about the only part of the story that is straight, if you know what I mean.
You see, there were two of us. Ella and Elvis. Perfect twins save for a few details and a couple of them not-so-small, if you know what I mean.
It was me, Elvis, clad in a simple but tasteful gown, sobbing at the hearth when Step-Mommy Dearest and the twisted sisters took off for the ball. I’d dressed the trio in the finest silks and jewels our the remainder of our father’s fortune could provide and kissed Step-Mommy goodbye on her freshly shaven cheek. Oh, it was like swathing a pig-sty wall in brocade velvet, but Step-Mommy Dearest assured me that my sister and I would be out on the street if my inimitable style wasn’t enough to capture Prince Charming’s eye. My sister, Ella, was out in the barn weeping because the last of father’s finest bred race horses were consigned to auction to provide clothing for the Royal Ball.
You see, our Kingdom’s Prince was going to choose the fairest in the land to be his bride tonight. I wept as I settled the fireplace to burn for the evening. First, for the loss of our father who’d done his best to understand the son who’d rather have been a daughter and his feminine equivalent. Then, for the loss of my sister, Ella, who I was quite sure would go on the slave market’s block next after she’d mucked out the stalls and Step-Mommy had no further use for her. And, finally, selfishly for me because I would spend my entire life dressing women for events like these but only in my dreams could I wear the finery and dance in the candlelit marble halls.
“I wish I could go to the Royal Ball,” I murmured in a sultry contralto born of so many hours tending the hearth as I set the tongs back in their hook and readied myself to sleep on the rug before the fire until the trio returned and demanded I help ready them for bed.
A bell tinkled and I glanced up, ready to yell at the cat for messing with Step-Mommy’s things when I saw a cheerful faced rotund woman manifesting out of the firelight.
“I’m your Fairy Godmother,” her voice sounded like dawn breaking after a stormy night. “I’m here to grant your wish.”
Then, “Oh my, you’re not….”
“No,” I’d had enough of handsome men looking at my stunning face and then seeing their disappointment and dismay as their eyes traveled lower that I was lacking some of the finer attributes they expected to accompany such a visage. “But, I have dreams just like anyone else!”
“Of course, you do,” she soothed. “It’ll take a bit of work…”
“Let me see that,” I had the Magic Wand before she could say ‘bip’. I started with a dramatic collar of jewel encrusted lace to hide the ‘apple’ at my throat. Then, I clothed my sylphlike frame in a veiled creation that would darken the Northern lights for shame. Finally, I crafted crystal slippers for my great galumphing feet. The Fairy Godmother seized her wand back as I was admiring myself in the gold rimmed stand mirror, one of the few items from our real mother that Step-Mommy had kept. The rest were too small for her and her daughters. In truth, they had to stand back to see themselves in the mirror meant for a far slimmer silhouette.
Ella arrived at that moment, freshly bathed, smelling of hay and the salt of her tears.
The Fairy Godmother stared between the two of us, realizing Mother Nature’s ironic sense of humor. Even clad in faded livery, Ella cleaned up spectacularly.
“What do you think?” I twirled for Ella.
“Lovely,” Ella rolled her eyes. “If you go for frills and romance.”
“May I?” This time, I asked for the wand. I clad Ella in a gleaming suit of light armor accompaniment to my attire. Then, I pull Father’s ring and broadsword from a loose board beneath the woodpile.
“I thought—“
“I wouldn’t have let Step-Mommy sell it,” I soothe her. “I just couldn’t have told you…” For all her pretentions at manly attributes, Ella couldn’t hold her liquor or conceal a good hand in cards to save her life.
“I’m not—“ Ella started to say.
“You don’t have to dance,” I tell her. “But no family would let such a prize as me out without a loyal knight to guard her.”
The Fairy Godmother nodded emphatically. “Now, to see you get there…”
Step-Mommy was going to be disappointed when she asked for a fresh pumpkin pie. After I dealt with that, I’d have to have Ella help me replace that quartet of mice I kept around the kitchen so my pet cat would not be turned out, too. On the plus side, we had a carriage and four matched grays that’d be the envy of the kingdom!
“One thing,” Fairy Godmother stopped us before we took off. “Not all of my magic can last forever. You must be home by midnight.”
The Palace was lit up bright enough to eclipse even the full moon. The minute the carriage stopped, I was out and making my way to the dance floor. Oh, those shoes were beautiful, but nearly as cruel as Step-Mommy to walk in.
Prince Charming took one look at me and sashayed down from his throne passing Step-Mommy and all the others without even a glance.
“That gown’s amazing,” he waltzed me out on the terrace away from the assembled toadies and sycophants.
Our bodies brushed close and he came in full contact with the biggest difference between me and Ella. I froze literally three-legged, believing he’d betray me and leave me for a laughingstock.
Instead, his mouth crushed against mine. In a heartbeat, we were ensconced in a private garden alcove. The evening was perfect. I’d never dared dream finding another such as me!
Dimly, I heard the bells tolling the hours. I was too drunk on passion to notice save to mourn the passing of time. But, I felt the sparkle leave me on the first note of the midnight bell…
“I must go!” I broke away from my Prince and rushed through the ballroom as each hour tolled. Only the few determined courtiers remained, the desolate less- attractive girls and their mothers hoping for a miracle. Enough of our magic remained that Step-Mommy only cursed us as we passed.
“Where have you been?” Ella screeched. Her armor was losing its sheen, but the sword in her hand still gleamed brighter than the romantic candlelight. “Hurry!”
Hand-in-hand, we rushed into the darkness taking the narrow ways home. We were breathless, but in place as the rented carriage wheels signaled the arrival of Step-Mommy and our dear sisters.
I did my work and ignored their clamorings. This was the one evening I’d probably get and I wasn’t going to let them spoil it. Oh yes, cynicism crept in. Of course, Prince Charming would choose a wife from among the commoners. She and her family would have no complaint about who he actually took to the bedroom at night. I wished it could have been me, but I knew the Fairy Godmother comes only once. After that, you have to make your own magic.
I didn’t know about the shoe until the royal party came to the house to try it on us. I knelt at the hearth, surreptitiously peeking at my Prince. Did he mean it? Could he love me?
I stared at the pristine glass, bewildered that it alone would remain of all I’d conjured.
First, Step-Mommy tried it on. As big as her foot was, it was still too small. Then, in turn, each of her daughters tried the shoe, naked hope and longing in their faces.
I’d been staring so hard at the floor, I didn’t realize His Highness spoke to me until I felt the prod of my step-mother’s foot. The woman’s face was red as a beet, but she wasn’t about to say the maid before them was indeed a youth!
“Every girl in the kingdom,” Prince Charming’s words held the weight of decree.
Our eyes met as I came forward and stepped my dainty, but overlarge foot into the shoe. Of course, it was a perfect fit. My Prince took me in his arms. We were wed on the Palace steps before the whole kingdom the next fortnight.
Happy ever after? We were gayer than any couple in the kingdom’s history!
Palace PR will always have the final word. If they ever released the real story, the Charming family might not appeal to the mainstream.
Well, here it is. Not that I think it will ever get published, but I’m here to set the story straight, which is about the only part of the story that is straight, if you know what I mean.
You see, there were two of us. Ella and Elvis. Perfect twins save for a few details and a couple of them not-so-small, if you know what I mean.
It was me, Elvis, clad in a simple but tasteful gown, sobbing at the hearth when Step-Mommy Dearest and the twisted sisters took off for the ball. I’d dressed the trio in the finest silks and jewels our the remainder of our father’s fortune could provide and kissed Step-Mommy goodbye on her freshly shaven cheek. Oh, it was like swathing a pig-sty wall in brocade velvet, but Step-Mommy Dearest assured me that my sister and I would be out on the street if my inimitable style wasn’t enough to capture Prince Charming’s eye. My sister, Ella, was out in the barn weeping because the last of father’s finest bred race horses were consigned to auction to provide clothing for the Royal Ball.
You see, our Kingdom’s Prince was going to choose the fairest in the land to be his bride tonight. I wept as I settled the fireplace to burn for the evening. First, for the loss of our father who’d done his best to understand the son who’d rather have been a daughter and his feminine equivalent. Then, for the loss of my sister, Ella, who I was quite sure would go on the slave market’s block next after she’d mucked out the stalls and Step-Mommy had no further use for her. And, finally, selfishly for me because I would spend my entire life dressing women for events like these but only in my dreams could I wear the finery and dance in the candlelit marble halls.
“I wish I could go to the Royal Ball,” I murmured in a sultry contralto born of so many hours tending the hearth as I set the tongs back in their hook and readied myself to sleep on the rug before the fire until the trio returned and demanded I help ready them for bed.
A bell tinkled and I glanced up, ready to yell at the cat for messing with Step-Mommy’s things when I saw a cheerful faced rotund woman manifesting out of the firelight.
“I’m your Fairy Godmother,” her voice sounded like dawn breaking after a stormy night. “I’m here to grant your wish.”
Then, “Oh my, you’re not….”
“No,” I’d had enough of handsome men looking at my stunning face and then seeing their disappointment and dismay as their eyes traveled lower that I was lacking some of the finer attributes they expected to accompany such a visage. “But, I have dreams just like anyone else!”
“Of course, you do,” she soothed. “It’ll take a bit of work…”
“Let me see that,” I had the Magic Wand before she could say ‘bip’. I started with a dramatic collar of jewel encrusted lace to hide the ‘apple’ at my throat. Then, I clothed my sylphlike frame in a veiled creation that would darken the Northern lights for shame. Finally, I crafted crystal slippers for my great galumphing feet. The Fairy Godmother seized her wand back as I was admiring myself in the gold rimmed stand mirror, one of the few items from our real mother that Step-Mommy had kept. The rest were too small for her and her daughters. In truth, they had to stand back to see themselves in the mirror meant for a far slimmer silhouette.
Ella arrived at that moment, freshly bathed, smelling of hay and the salt of her tears.
The Fairy Godmother stared between the two of us, realizing Mother Nature’s ironic sense of humor. Even clad in faded livery, Ella cleaned up spectacularly.
“What do you think?” I twirled for Ella.
“Lovely,” Ella rolled her eyes. “If you go for frills and romance.”
“May I?” This time, I asked for the wand. I clad Ella in a gleaming suit of light armor accompaniment to my attire. Then, I pull Father’s ring and broadsword from a loose board beneath the woodpile.
“I thought—“
“I wouldn’t have let Step-Mommy sell it,” I soothe her. “I just couldn’t have told you…” For all her pretentions at manly attributes, Ella couldn’t hold her liquor or conceal a good hand in cards to save her life.
“I’m not—“ Ella started to say.
“You don’t have to dance,” I tell her. “But no family would let such a prize as me out without a loyal knight to guard her.”
The Fairy Godmother nodded emphatically. “Now, to see you get there…”
Step-Mommy was going to be disappointed when she asked for a fresh pumpkin pie. After I dealt with that, I’d have to have Ella help me replace that quartet of mice I kept around the kitchen so my pet cat would not be turned out, too. On the plus side, we had a carriage and four matched grays that’d be the envy of the kingdom!
“One thing,” Fairy Godmother stopped us before we took off. “Not all of my magic can last forever. You must be home by midnight.”
The Palace was lit up bright enough to eclipse even the full moon. The minute the carriage stopped, I was out and making my way to the dance floor. Oh, those shoes were beautiful, but nearly as cruel as Step-Mommy to walk in.
Prince Charming took one look at me and sashayed down from his throne passing Step-Mommy and all the others without even a glance.
“That gown’s amazing,” he waltzed me out on the terrace away from the assembled toadies and sycophants.
Our bodies brushed close and he came in full contact with the biggest difference between me and Ella. I froze literally three-legged, believing he’d betray me and leave me for a laughingstock.
Instead, his mouth crushed against mine. In a heartbeat, we were ensconced in a private garden alcove. The evening was perfect. I’d never dared dream finding another such as me!
Dimly, I heard the bells tolling the hours. I was too drunk on passion to notice save to mourn the passing of time. But, I felt the sparkle leave me on the first note of the midnight bell…
“I must go!” I broke away from my Prince and rushed through the ballroom as each hour tolled. Only the few determined courtiers remained, the desolate less- attractive girls and their mothers hoping for a miracle. Enough of our magic remained that Step-Mommy only cursed us as we passed.
“Where have you been?” Ella screeched. Her armor was losing its sheen, but the sword in her hand still gleamed brighter than the romantic candlelight. “Hurry!”
Hand-in-hand, we rushed into the darkness taking the narrow ways home. We were breathless, but in place as the rented carriage wheels signaled the arrival of Step-Mommy and our dear sisters.
I did my work and ignored their clamorings. This was the one evening I’d probably get and I wasn’t going to let them spoil it. Oh yes, cynicism crept in. Of course, Prince Charming would choose a wife from among the commoners. She and her family would have no complaint about who he actually took to the bedroom at night. I wished it could have been me, but I knew the Fairy Godmother comes only once. After that, you have to make your own magic.
I didn’t know about the shoe until the royal party came to the house to try it on us. I knelt at the hearth, surreptitiously peeking at my Prince. Did he mean it? Could he love me?
I stared at the pristine glass, bewildered that it alone would remain of all I’d conjured.
First, Step-Mommy tried it on. As big as her foot was, it was still too small. Then, in turn, each of her daughters tried the shoe, naked hope and longing in their faces.
I’d been staring so hard at the floor, I didn’t realize His Highness spoke to me until I felt the prod of my step-mother’s foot. The woman’s face was red as a beet, but she wasn’t about to say the maid before them was indeed a youth!
“Every girl in the kingdom,” Prince Charming’s words held the weight of decree.
Our eyes met as I came forward and stepped my dainty, but overlarge foot into the shoe. Of course, it was a perfect fit. My Prince took me in his arms. We were wed on the Palace steps before the whole kingdom the next fortnight.
Happy ever after? We were gayer than any couple in the kingdom’s history!
To Be Queen by Hollan Lane
“A scullery maid? No! Absolutely not!” the King said.
Cindy was lucky the Prince left the door open a crack or she might not be able to hear their conversation at all.
“But father, she’s so beautiful. I’m sure she’ll-“
Cindy pressed herself farther into the alcove and frowned. She’d worked too hard for it to all fall apart now. Years of torment by her step mother, Edith. Years of planning her escape, and now it was possible. She would get revenge for everything her stepmother and stepsisters had done. But Cindy needed to be queen in order to ruin that women’s life thoroughly, and in order to be queen she had to marry the Prince. Following the marriage, regicide was just a matter of course. She had to be queen.
“I won’t listen to this nonsense a moment longer, my boy. There are plenty of nice ladies in court who would make a fine wife. Get the girl a position in the castle and-“
Cindy slipped out of the alcove and walked away, frowning. A position in the castle? So she could be a maid again? Cleaning ashes from the fireplace for the rest of her life? No! She wouldn’t stoop to that. Not after everything.
She made her way down the hall, back into the Prince’s room and waited for him. There was plenty in the room she could steal and sell for a profit- skip town and start a new life somewhere else. That wasn’t good enough. Dear Edith wouldn’t get her just desserts in that scenario, and Cindy wasn’t going to let the bitch off easy. No way in hell.
Finally, Prince John walked in. He smiled when he saw her, but his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“When are we to be married, John?” Cindy asked and fingered the tips of her blonde hair. It took several painful months to the get the color just right: sunlight hitting a field of wheat in the summertime. Most men couldn’t resist it. When she was queen she’d dye it black to spite them.
“Soon, darling, soon. My father is a bit surprised at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll come around.”
Cindy nodded and smiled, being careful not to look at him too directly. Men didn’t like that. It challenged their authority. When she was queen she’d stare at everyone right in the eyes and watch them squirm. “Oh, I’m so excited John! We shall be so happy when we are married, don’t you think?” she said and pushed her body into his, wrapping her slender arms around his back.
“Yes. When we’re married. Perhaps until then I should show you to your room. Just until my father comes around of course,” he said and petted her head, like she was some stray dog.
Cindy gritted her teeth. She hoped it wouldn’t come to this. If he sent her to the servant’s quarters now he’d forget about her in a week. She was not going to be forgotten. Not after everything she’d done to get there. The gown took months to sew- and those damn glass slippers! She paid a glass blower years of savings for them, right before she poisoned him and took the money right back. She couldn’t have anybody alive know of her plan, not even a sliver of it, lest she might be found out.
“New room? I’m not to stay here with you?”
“With me? Before we’re married? That would cause a palace wide-“
Cindy stood on her toes and pressed her lips into his. “Oh, John,” she moaned into his mouth.
The Prince, for all his pretense, gave in as easily as she thought. In less than five minutes they were both undressed and fumbling around in bed.
When he was finished she kissed him full on the mouth. “Do you love me, John?”
“Of course, my darling,” he said and rubbed her back, grinning like an idiot.
Cindy smiled, but not for the reason he probably thought. If the King wouldn’t approve of their marriage she’d just have to kill him before hand.
#
Cindy slipped past the last guard. Her weapon of choice, a poison distilled from the foxglove that grew in the palace gardens, filled the bottle pressed to her chest. If anyone found her wandering around the castle so late at night she would pretend she was lost. Where was the Prince? Where was her love, John?
She reached the King’s room at the end of the hall and tried the door. Locked. Pulling the pick from her skirt she fit it into the lock and- the door opened suddenly. A man, younger than the King, stood over her with a dagger in his hands and dangerous eyes.
“Who might you be, little mouse?”
Cindy stepped back, tucking the lock pick into the sleeve of her dress. “I wanted to talk to the King about J- Prince John, my love. I thought I could change his mind about the marriage if I could-“
The man laughed, taking a step back. “Did you now? Is that why you’re dressed all in black? Or know how to pick a lock? Don’t take me for an idiot, madam, or I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Cindy gritted her teeth. Who was he? The King’s personal guard? The man was too tall and broad shouldered for her to over power but perhaps she could seduce him then kill him.
“I really just wanted to speak with his majesty,” she said, watching the stranger carefully.
The man leaned against the doorframe and tucked the dagger back into the sheath on his belt. So he didn’t think she was a threat? Well, she’d prove him wrong.
“I’m afraid the King is past words at the moment.”
Cindy stared at him. “Did his majesty drink too much at dinner?”
The man smiled, just slightly. It made him handsome, even with the long, rough scar that trailed down his cheek. His hair looked dark, but in the poor light it was difficult to tell. “It wasn’t the drink, I’m afraid.”
Cindy frowned and tried to glance past him and into the King’s rooms beyond. “If I could just wake him I’m sure I could-“
“Convince him of your love? I’m sure the King of this realm wants to talk to the Prince’s scullery maid. You two will be married in no time.”
Cindy took a deep breath and tried not to glare. “I was the girl with the glass slipper. The Prince said he would marry me at the ball. He searched the entire city for me. Why shouldn’t we be married?” God, she sounded like one of her insipid stepsisters.
The man raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Do you believe everything men tell you?”
“Why shouldn’t I believe my love?” Cindy said, trying to keep her voice light and innocent, but this man made it difficult.
He laughed and stepped back. “Would you believe me if I said I loved you, little dove?”
“I- well we just met so that’s silly.”
“How long ago did you meet your love, Prince John?”
It sounded even worse when he said it. “Two weeks ago but-“
“You women are all the same. The Prince isn’t going to marry you, a pretty maid with no brains in her head. This country needs a queen, now more than ever, and I’m afraid you aren’t it.”
Cindy moved. One moment she was outside the door, the next she stood on her toes, pressing the man’s dagger into his neck. He might be stronger but she was faster. “If you insult me one more time I’ll slit your throat,” she hissed.
His eyes wide, the man put up his hands, but he never stopped smiling. “There she is. There’s the queen this land needs.”
“Show me to the King.”
“So you can slit my throat? No thank you. Give me my dagger back first.”
She couldn’t slit his throat without making a mess. Slowly, she lowered the dagger and stepped back. “Leave. I’ll keep this, for now.”
The man pointed at the door to the right. “The King’s in there,” he said and opened the window. Why wasn’t he using the door? “I’ll come back for the dagger, so please take good care of it, my queen.”
He slipped outside before she could answer.
Cindy shook her head. There was time to worry about him later. She rushed into King’s bedchamber and carried a lit candle to his bedside.
Blood soaked the King’s sheets and pillows, the gash in his neck gapped like a smile. Cindy stepped back and dropped the dagger. Her plan would go smoothly, and she’d didn’t even have to kill the King. That stranger had done it for her. And he’d be back for his dagger.
She looked out of the open window and shivered in the cool night air.
Cindy was lucky the Prince left the door open a crack or she might not be able to hear their conversation at all.
“But father, she’s so beautiful. I’m sure she’ll-“
Cindy pressed herself farther into the alcove and frowned. She’d worked too hard for it to all fall apart now. Years of torment by her step mother, Edith. Years of planning her escape, and now it was possible. She would get revenge for everything her stepmother and stepsisters had done. But Cindy needed to be queen in order to ruin that women’s life thoroughly, and in order to be queen she had to marry the Prince. Following the marriage, regicide was just a matter of course. She had to be queen.
“I won’t listen to this nonsense a moment longer, my boy. There are plenty of nice ladies in court who would make a fine wife. Get the girl a position in the castle and-“
Cindy slipped out of the alcove and walked away, frowning. A position in the castle? So she could be a maid again? Cleaning ashes from the fireplace for the rest of her life? No! She wouldn’t stoop to that. Not after everything.
She made her way down the hall, back into the Prince’s room and waited for him. There was plenty in the room she could steal and sell for a profit- skip town and start a new life somewhere else. That wasn’t good enough. Dear Edith wouldn’t get her just desserts in that scenario, and Cindy wasn’t going to let the bitch off easy. No way in hell.
Finally, Prince John walked in. He smiled when he saw her, but his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“When are we to be married, John?” Cindy asked and fingered the tips of her blonde hair. It took several painful months to the get the color just right: sunlight hitting a field of wheat in the summertime. Most men couldn’t resist it. When she was queen she’d dye it black to spite them.
“Soon, darling, soon. My father is a bit surprised at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll come around.”
Cindy nodded and smiled, being careful not to look at him too directly. Men didn’t like that. It challenged their authority. When she was queen she’d stare at everyone right in the eyes and watch them squirm. “Oh, I’m so excited John! We shall be so happy when we are married, don’t you think?” she said and pushed her body into his, wrapping her slender arms around his back.
“Yes. When we’re married. Perhaps until then I should show you to your room. Just until my father comes around of course,” he said and petted her head, like she was some stray dog.
Cindy gritted her teeth. She hoped it wouldn’t come to this. If he sent her to the servant’s quarters now he’d forget about her in a week. She was not going to be forgotten. Not after everything she’d done to get there. The gown took months to sew- and those damn glass slippers! She paid a glass blower years of savings for them, right before she poisoned him and took the money right back. She couldn’t have anybody alive know of her plan, not even a sliver of it, lest she might be found out.
“New room? I’m not to stay here with you?”
“With me? Before we’re married? That would cause a palace wide-“
Cindy stood on her toes and pressed her lips into his. “Oh, John,” she moaned into his mouth.
The Prince, for all his pretense, gave in as easily as she thought. In less than five minutes they were both undressed and fumbling around in bed.
When he was finished she kissed him full on the mouth. “Do you love me, John?”
“Of course, my darling,” he said and rubbed her back, grinning like an idiot.
Cindy smiled, but not for the reason he probably thought. If the King wouldn’t approve of their marriage she’d just have to kill him before hand.
#
Cindy slipped past the last guard. Her weapon of choice, a poison distilled from the foxglove that grew in the palace gardens, filled the bottle pressed to her chest. If anyone found her wandering around the castle so late at night she would pretend she was lost. Where was the Prince? Where was her love, John?
She reached the King’s room at the end of the hall and tried the door. Locked. Pulling the pick from her skirt she fit it into the lock and- the door opened suddenly. A man, younger than the King, stood over her with a dagger in his hands and dangerous eyes.
“Who might you be, little mouse?”
Cindy stepped back, tucking the lock pick into the sleeve of her dress. “I wanted to talk to the King about J- Prince John, my love. I thought I could change his mind about the marriage if I could-“
The man laughed, taking a step back. “Did you now? Is that why you’re dressed all in black? Or know how to pick a lock? Don’t take me for an idiot, madam, or I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Cindy gritted her teeth. Who was he? The King’s personal guard? The man was too tall and broad shouldered for her to over power but perhaps she could seduce him then kill him.
“I really just wanted to speak with his majesty,” she said, watching the stranger carefully.
The man leaned against the doorframe and tucked the dagger back into the sheath on his belt. So he didn’t think she was a threat? Well, she’d prove him wrong.
“I’m afraid the King is past words at the moment.”
Cindy stared at him. “Did his majesty drink too much at dinner?”
The man smiled, just slightly. It made him handsome, even with the long, rough scar that trailed down his cheek. His hair looked dark, but in the poor light it was difficult to tell. “It wasn’t the drink, I’m afraid.”
Cindy frowned and tried to glance past him and into the King’s rooms beyond. “If I could just wake him I’m sure I could-“
“Convince him of your love? I’m sure the King of this realm wants to talk to the Prince’s scullery maid. You two will be married in no time.”
Cindy took a deep breath and tried not to glare. “I was the girl with the glass slipper. The Prince said he would marry me at the ball. He searched the entire city for me. Why shouldn’t we be married?” God, she sounded like one of her insipid stepsisters.
The man raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Do you believe everything men tell you?”
“Why shouldn’t I believe my love?” Cindy said, trying to keep her voice light and innocent, but this man made it difficult.
He laughed and stepped back. “Would you believe me if I said I loved you, little dove?”
“I- well we just met so that’s silly.”
“How long ago did you meet your love, Prince John?”
It sounded even worse when he said it. “Two weeks ago but-“
“You women are all the same. The Prince isn’t going to marry you, a pretty maid with no brains in her head. This country needs a queen, now more than ever, and I’m afraid you aren’t it.”
Cindy moved. One moment she was outside the door, the next she stood on her toes, pressing the man’s dagger into his neck. He might be stronger but she was faster. “If you insult me one more time I’ll slit your throat,” she hissed.
His eyes wide, the man put up his hands, but he never stopped smiling. “There she is. There’s the queen this land needs.”
“Show me to the King.”
“So you can slit my throat? No thank you. Give me my dagger back first.”
She couldn’t slit his throat without making a mess. Slowly, she lowered the dagger and stepped back. “Leave. I’ll keep this, for now.”
The man pointed at the door to the right. “The King’s in there,” he said and opened the window. Why wasn’t he using the door? “I’ll come back for the dagger, so please take good care of it, my queen.”
He slipped outside before she could answer.
Cindy shook her head. There was time to worry about him later. She rushed into King’s bedchamber and carried a lit candle to his bedside.
Blood soaked the King’s sheets and pillows, the gash in his neck gapped like a smile. Cindy stepped back and dropped the dagger. Her plan would go smoothly, and she’d didn’t even have to kill the King. That stranger had done it for her. And he’d be back for his dagger.
She looked out of the open window and shivered in the cool night air.
Superstition by Elizabeth Lorraine Mitchell
She had never paid much attention to the stories. She had never needed to.
Even while she walked up the palace steps in the dark, Ella had not paid much attention to the things surrounding her. If she had, maybe she would have noticed when she lost her glass shoes. At the time, though, the mere fact of being so far out of her home was all she could even begin to notice.
“Ella! Get moving!”
Not that her stepsisters had allowed her much time to even notice that.
Were all royal palaces so very…dark? Her own manor was modest in comparison, and she couldn’t imagine even the kitchen, where she spent most her time, being as dark as this. Yes, there were candles and torches, some gas lanterns even it looked like, but still it was dark. She saw, seemingly far in the distance, the prince. Despite the gloom, he seemed to shine…
“Excuse me…” Ella looked behind her. Her eyes had strayed to the window, where she watched the moon. It was full, and she was trying to remember why that was dangerous.
It was him.
“Excuse me, but I notice you are perhaps the only young lady here who does not seem to have worn her pendant…perhaps you could explain to me why?” she blinked. Words failed.
“Uh…uh…sorry?”
“Are you not from here, then? I apologize, miss, I am new here myself and so I merely wondered.”
“I…I am sorry, your…um…”
“Please, please. Call me Draco, I tire so quickly of titles.” Ella smiled. “Well, then I suppose you can call me Ella. I tire of titles as well.”
He returned her smile. “Now, may I ask…the pendant. It is a tradition here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, and if my stepmother cared whether I lived or died I imagine she would be very angry about my lack of interest in superstitions, but I suppose as it is I am lucky she isn’t. I have no really feeling that a silver crescent moon around my chest will protect me from any sort of monsters, and the truth is that her daughters would steal it from me anyway if they so much as knew where I kept it.”
“I see. So your mother, she passed away?”
“Years ago, now. She was the only one I knew who did not believe in superstition. I always admired her for that, and so I do not give in either.”
Draco nodded. “I have been told that here traditions run deep, and belief is not so much accepted as expected. And do you really not feel there is anything to believe?”
“No, I must confess I do not, prince. I feel that what remains here, among the people, is at least as dangerous as what might lurk out there.” They both turned back to the window and stared out.
Shortly before midnight, her stepmother and sisters forced Ella to leave; Prince Draco had long since felt the need to take his leave and greet other guests, though he had added before he left, “It was good to meet you, Ella. Perhaps another time we might talk more about your traditions, and those you do or do not keep.” She had smiled and nodded before he walked away. As he did so her, stepmother had found her, mouth bursting with words about how selfish a brat like her was to waste the time of a prince.
Her mind was in a fog as she went to sleep, and it was not until the next morning that Ella realized her glass shoes were gone, lost somewhere the night before. How had she gotten home this way? Why didn’t she even remember? She went into the kitchen and began to fix breakfast. The porridge was cooking as she heard the door slam, announcing her stepmother’s entrance.
“Your shoes.”
“What?”
“Ella. Your shoes. The shoes that you wore last night, where are they?”
“I…I lost them,” Ella answered, looking away from her stepmother’s eyes.
“So this…is yours?” her stepmother asked, pulling a slipper from behind her back. Ella’s eyes widened.
“Where did that come from?”
“Prince Draco. His messenger also says that His Majesty requests that you come to the palace tonight, to prove that the shoes are your own. You must bring this one back and put them on in front of him. An odd request, perhaps, but remember that he is a ruler. If you bring shame on me and your father, Ella, you will be out on the streets by tomorrow at dawn.” She walked out, leaving Ella slowly stirring the now-burning porridge.
When she stood in front of the palace for the second evening in a row, Ella wondered if there really was more to those stories than she had believed. The spirits, the monster, and the demons which haunted so many of the stories she had heard as a tiny child, before her mother had ordered the serving women of the household to stop telling them… what if they were true? She reached for her throat. If so, then standing here was more dangerous than she could imagine. Ella quickened her pace.
Holding one of her slippers in hand, Ella was led to the same ballroom where all had gathered the night before. This evening, though, the curtains were all closed, save one, and the room was empty aside from the prince.
He was looking out that window, up at the full moon- full for the second or the third night? Ella wasn’t sure-, but turned to her when the page had left. He smiled, and Ella felt her muscles relax. She loosened her grip on the slipper slightly as she held it out to him, and he nodded. Walking towards her, he presented Ella with the other.
“I had hoped, Ella, that the slipper was yours. If it is not, of course, I suppose I will have to ask some of the less…amusing of last night’s guests. Your sisters, perhaps?” he reached her and took her hand. His felt very cold to her, though she couldn’t imagine why that would be.
“Do you like my castle, Ella?” he asked.
“Yes, it is very beautiful,” she answered, trying to smile in what looked like a gracious way, but realizing she wasn’t sure how that looked. “I have lived here most of my life, your majesty, but never before last night had I come close to being inside.”
“Please, Ella. Call me Draco,” he said, leading her to a couch near the one open window. The chill air mingled with the coldness of his hand, and Ella tried to smile.
“If you ask me to, Draco,” she answered.
“Much better,” he said. “I dislike being addressed by titles so often, it makes me feel old. Now, sit, and try on this slipper.”
She lowered herself onto the couch; her dress, the second most formal she owned, billowed out around her. If she had needed to run, she thought, it would have been almost impossible. But then, why would she need to run? Draco kneeled down in front of her, the slipper he had kept in his hand.
It slid on perfectly, even more so, it seemed, than the evening before. As this thought entered Ella’s head, though, Draco was pulling her roughly to her feet.
“And finally…the real reason that I wanted you to come here,” he whispered into Ella’s ear. She froze. Her stepmother’s words ran through her mind.
If you bring shame on the family…
The prince’s mouth pressed against Ella’s neck, his lips cool and slightly dry. She shivered. How was she supposed to respond to this, the advance of a prince?
Then she felt pain, a pain sharper than anything. Sharper than her father’s silence, sharper than her stepsisters’ words, sharper even than her stepmother’s beatings when she was a child; she felt herself growing lightheaded. What…
He lifted her with a surprising strength and pressed her against the glass of the windowpane. Then he spoke.
“You see, then, Ella, why I was so fascinated by your lack of superstition…” then the pain again, now stronger, sharper. Her hands…she couldn’t feel them. What was it that could kill a demon? Why couldn’t she remember? Gold…iron…no…and then she remembered.
The glass shoes she wore had been blessed with holy water, a gift to her mother from a far more superstitious relation to give her luck wherever she stepped. If only she could reach her feet and remove it without the prince’s notice. He gripped her arm as she fell, and she found herself going backward to the couch.
“Hold…still…” he snarled. Her hand reached uselessly out for the shoe. She shook even more heavily as his fangs entered more deeply, but the jolt sent her back. Her left hand clutched it, feeling its warmth for the first time.
He fell against the window as the slipper went through his heart, shattering the glass in both.
Even while she walked up the palace steps in the dark, Ella had not paid much attention to the things surrounding her. If she had, maybe she would have noticed when she lost her glass shoes. At the time, though, the mere fact of being so far out of her home was all she could even begin to notice.
“Ella! Get moving!”
Not that her stepsisters had allowed her much time to even notice that.
Were all royal palaces so very…dark? Her own manor was modest in comparison, and she couldn’t imagine even the kitchen, where she spent most her time, being as dark as this. Yes, there were candles and torches, some gas lanterns even it looked like, but still it was dark. She saw, seemingly far in the distance, the prince. Despite the gloom, he seemed to shine…
“Excuse me…” Ella looked behind her. Her eyes had strayed to the window, where she watched the moon. It was full, and she was trying to remember why that was dangerous.
It was him.
“Excuse me, but I notice you are perhaps the only young lady here who does not seem to have worn her pendant…perhaps you could explain to me why?” she blinked. Words failed.
“Uh…uh…sorry?”
“Are you not from here, then? I apologize, miss, I am new here myself and so I merely wondered.”
“I…I am sorry, your…um…”
“Please, please. Call me Draco, I tire so quickly of titles.” Ella smiled. “Well, then I suppose you can call me Ella. I tire of titles as well.”
He returned her smile. “Now, may I ask…the pendant. It is a tradition here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is, and if my stepmother cared whether I lived or died I imagine she would be very angry about my lack of interest in superstitions, but I suppose as it is I am lucky she isn’t. I have no really feeling that a silver crescent moon around my chest will protect me from any sort of monsters, and the truth is that her daughters would steal it from me anyway if they so much as knew where I kept it.”
“I see. So your mother, she passed away?”
“Years ago, now. She was the only one I knew who did not believe in superstition. I always admired her for that, and so I do not give in either.”
Draco nodded. “I have been told that here traditions run deep, and belief is not so much accepted as expected. And do you really not feel there is anything to believe?”
“No, I must confess I do not, prince. I feel that what remains here, among the people, is at least as dangerous as what might lurk out there.” They both turned back to the window and stared out.
Shortly before midnight, her stepmother and sisters forced Ella to leave; Prince Draco had long since felt the need to take his leave and greet other guests, though he had added before he left, “It was good to meet you, Ella. Perhaps another time we might talk more about your traditions, and those you do or do not keep.” She had smiled and nodded before he walked away. As he did so her, stepmother had found her, mouth bursting with words about how selfish a brat like her was to waste the time of a prince.
Her mind was in a fog as she went to sleep, and it was not until the next morning that Ella realized her glass shoes were gone, lost somewhere the night before. How had she gotten home this way? Why didn’t she even remember? She went into the kitchen and began to fix breakfast. The porridge was cooking as she heard the door slam, announcing her stepmother’s entrance.
“Your shoes.”
“What?”
“Ella. Your shoes. The shoes that you wore last night, where are they?”
“I…I lost them,” Ella answered, looking away from her stepmother’s eyes.
“So this…is yours?” her stepmother asked, pulling a slipper from behind her back. Ella’s eyes widened.
“Where did that come from?”
“Prince Draco. His messenger also says that His Majesty requests that you come to the palace tonight, to prove that the shoes are your own. You must bring this one back and put them on in front of him. An odd request, perhaps, but remember that he is a ruler. If you bring shame on me and your father, Ella, you will be out on the streets by tomorrow at dawn.” She walked out, leaving Ella slowly stirring the now-burning porridge.
When she stood in front of the palace for the second evening in a row, Ella wondered if there really was more to those stories than she had believed. The spirits, the monster, and the demons which haunted so many of the stories she had heard as a tiny child, before her mother had ordered the serving women of the household to stop telling them… what if they were true? She reached for her throat. If so, then standing here was more dangerous than she could imagine. Ella quickened her pace.
Holding one of her slippers in hand, Ella was led to the same ballroom where all had gathered the night before. This evening, though, the curtains were all closed, save one, and the room was empty aside from the prince.
He was looking out that window, up at the full moon- full for the second or the third night? Ella wasn’t sure-, but turned to her when the page had left. He smiled, and Ella felt her muscles relax. She loosened her grip on the slipper slightly as she held it out to him, and he nodded. Walking towards her, he presented Ella with the other.
“I had hoped, Ella, that the slipper was yours. If it is not, of course, I suppose I will have to ask some of the less…amusing of last night’s guests. Your sisters, perhaps?” he reached her and took her hand. His felt very cold to her, though she couldn’t imagine why that would be.
“Do you like my castle, Ella?” he asked.
“Yes, it is very beautiful,” she answered, trying to smile in what looked like a gracious way, but realizing she wasn’t sure how that looked. “I have lived here most of my life, your majesty, but never before last night had I come close to being inside.”
“Please, Ella. Call me Draco,” he said, leading her to a couch near the one open window. The chill air mingled with the coldness of his hand, and Ella tried to smile.
“If you ask me to, Draco,” she answered.
“Much better,” he said. “I dislike being addressed by titles so often, it makes me feel old. Now, sit, and try on this slipper.”
She lowered herself onto the couch; her dress, the second most formal she owned, billowed out around her. If she had needed to run, she thought, it would have been almost impossible. But then, why would she need to run? Draco kneeled down in front of her, the slipper he had kept in his hand.
It slid on perfectly, even more so, it seemed, than the evening before. As this thought entered Ella’s head, though, Draco was pulling her roughly to her feet.
“And finally…the real reason that I wanted you to come here,” he whispered into Ella’s ear. She froze. Her stepmother’s words ran through her mind.
If you bring shame on the family…
The prince’s mouth pressed against Ella’s neck, his lips cool and slightly dry. She shivered. How was she supposed to respond to this, the advance of a prince?
Then she felt pain, a pain sharper than anything. Sharper than her father’s silence, sharper than her stepsisters’ words, sharper even than her stepmother’s beatings when she was a child; she felt herself growing lightheaded. What…
He lifted her with a surprising strength and pressed her against the glass of the windowpane. Then he spoke.
“You see, then, Ella, why I was so fascinated by your lack of superstition…” then the pain again, now stronger, sharper. Her hands…she couldn’t feel them. What was it that could kill a demon? Why couldn’t she remember? Gold…iron…no…and then she remembered.
The glass shoes she wore had been blessed with holy water, a gift to her mother from a far more superstitious relation to give her luck wherever she stepped. If only she could reach her feet and remove it without the prince’s notice. He gripped her arm as she fell, and she found herself going backward to the couch.
“Hold…still…” he snarled. Her hand reached uselessly out for the shoe. She shook even more heavily as his fangs entered more deeply, but the jolt sent her back. Her left hand clutched it, feeling its warmth for the first time.
He fell against the window as the slipper went through his heart, shattering the glass in both.
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