This is my entry for Stella's 'Fairytales Gone Wrong...' contest. It's a rewrite of Cinderella from a slightly different perspective - it's only one part but it's quite long.
Cinderella Was a Swindler
“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!”
I held the ripped piece of fabric to the rest of the dress as if it might somehow bind itself to it once more. It did not. The large satin bow, which only one minute ago had been lovingly stitched to the waist, had torn a piece of the skirt off with it.
“Grandma will be so upset!”
A solitary ray of sunlight struggled its way through the high, dusty window and across the centre of the floor, before resting like a spotlight on the damaged dress. I had no time to hide my clumsiness before a voice from the hallway barged into the room.
“Dulcina, what on earth is taking you so long to find –” Alexandra’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of the pink scrap in my hand, before her mouth widened into a smile, her expression settling on a cross between surprise and pride. “Well, well, well, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“What?” I feigned confusion. I rested the piece of material over the mannequin Grandma used for dress-making, which now flaunted the ruined outfit my stepsister was supposed to wear in a few hours time. “I’m just having a little trouble finding the scissors…”
Alexandra smirked. She took a mere two steps past me to the mahogany desk, on top of which lay a pair of large, clearly-visible, metal scissors.
“It was an accident,” I confessed in a whisper, hurrying to close the door over. “I tripped on the thread box and was about to hit my head on the desk, I just –”
This time, it was my eyes that widened in shock, and partly horror, when my sister sliced through the remaining portion of the skirt to leave a gaping slit.
“That was an accident too,” she commented with a shrug, before moving toward the door.
“Alexandra, we can’t leave it this way! What will Cinderella do when she sees her dress? What will Grandma do? We have to tell someone.”
My sister turned, one hand still on the door handle, and eyed the scene before her. “Go ahead, then.”
*
“Stop your display of self-reproach, Dulcina.” My sister smoothed her own green gown where she had sliced Cinderella’s. “You’re beginning to irritate me. It was an accident, remember?”
“Exactly,” Mother said, with a smile that was possibly supposed to be sympathetic but conveyed something nastier when you caught the trace of self-satisfaction in her eyes. Alexandra had inherited those eyes precisely – one of many similarities between the two that inevitably made my sister the favourite. “Stephan’s mother will see if she can fix her up with something.”
I looked out of the window and rolled my eyes. ‘Stephan’s mother’! That was the way Mother traditionally referred to her mother-in-law, Cinderella’s gran. As if she hadn’t played Grandma to Alexandra and me as well for all these years. I felt another pang of guilt as I remembered her face when she saw the dress; she could tell that the damage was not fully the result of an accident.
Cinderella threw a bit of a tantrum when she saw her dress, crying that she could not go to the ball. The second she had left the room, Alexandra snapped at her hairdresser to hurry up, and Mother called immediately for the carriage. Although I hate to admit it, I too hurried to pick a pair of shoes before Cinderella changed her mind. Alexandra was not the only one jealous of our younger stepsister; Cinderella was both the cleverest and fairest of us all, and if she was not attending the ball then she would not have the opportunity to overshadow everyone else for a change.
So as the carriage rolled up the long driveway to the castle, my stomach fizzed with a mixture of guilt that Cinderella couldn’t come, relief that she wasn’t and excitement that I was finally going to meet the Prince, the reason for this whole to-do. Although it had never been made official, everybody knew tonight was the night that the Prince was going to choose his future bride. He had just turned twenty-one – an appropriate age to think about the day when he would take over the throne, and to be ready for when that day came.
“Are you ready, girls?” Mother asked, jolting me from my daydreaming. She ran her hands over her elaborate chestnut-brown up-do, a replica of my sister’s. “Remember everything I have taught you, Alexandra. This is your chance.”
Alexandra’s chance to win the Prince, but, more importantly, a title and everything that went with it. I was to make way; marry a Duke or a Lord or some such like.
“There’s my future home!” Bright lights and greed gleamed in my sister’s eyes, and I turned once more to look out of the window.
Large, looming, bright and white, the palace was illuminated by the most brilliant floodlights set in the perfectly manicured lawns. A line of horse-drawn carriages moved slowly along the front of the building, while hundreds of people in their most expensive formalwear seemed to drift like bubbles up the purple-carpeted stairs and through the grand, thirty-feet-tall doors.
When the door of our carriage was opened by a footman dressed in the white staff uniform of the royal household, it felt as though my very skeleton was shaking. Mother left the carriage first, followed by my sister, who was trying her best to look demure. I managed to avoid tripping down the step, and joined them to make my way up the most intimidating and inviting staircase I would ever see.
I tried to capture the image of the ballroom in my mind, thinking that this was possibly the only vision that one could never remember to be more beautiful than it truly was. The room could have been carved from pure gold. The very walls seemed to shimmer, like the chandelier overhead inlayed with Swarovski crystal. Hundreds of beautiful people were waltzing or talking quietly or nibbling delicately on tiny foods presented to them on real silver platters. A full orchestra played from a bay between two magnificent marble staircases on the furthest side of the room.
I was lost.
Mother glided off to speak to someone she recognised and I moved to follow Alexandra, who seemed to be searching for an optimum spot from which to be noticed when the Prince arrived.
*
I would say that almost all the guests had already been in the hall for some time, since Prince Charming was due to arrive at any minute. So when that solitary girl appeared in the doorway, she drew everyone’s attention. Dressed in a stunning white ball gown that sparkled with its own crystals, her blonde hair swept up into an elegant knot, she recognised me first and came hurrying over before I realised who she was.
“Dulcina!”
I could not speak.
“Grandma had another dress! Isn’t it wonderful?” Cinderella grasped two handfuls of the skirt and lifted it a couple of inches off the floor so she could spin around.
“It’s gorgeous,” I finally commented. “I feel like the ugly stepsister.”
“You are beautiful,” said a voice behind me.
I turned around in surprise, thinking I must not have heard properly. Unfortunately, I had, but the young male who had spoken was moving past me towards Cinderella.
“Thank you.” She smiled graciously.
“I love your shoes,” said a girl our age, who was staring at Cinderella enviously.
I glanced at her shoes and did a double-take.
“Thank you,” I said. “They’re mine!”
Those glass slippers were the most beautiful thing I owned and I had been desperate to wear them tonight. In my hurry to leave the house, I had had no time to look for them.
“I know, and they are the most stunning shoes I have ever seen,” Cinderella declared. Then, with faux innocence, “Can you believe they fit perfectly? I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed them. The shoes I was going to wear were pink and really only went with the other dress…”
She could have planned this whole charade.
“Of course I don’t mind,” I replied, with as much false sweetness.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice boomed. There was an almost tangible ripple in the air as every head in the room turned to the stairway behind the orchestra, hundreds of conversations abruptly forgotten. “His Royal Highness, Prince Charming.”
Something indefinable about the young man descending the stairs commanded attention. Perhaps it was a fusion of his lean yet muscular build, his dark hair and sharp jaw, with the fawn-coloured uniform and easy confidence he wore. His brown eyes scanned the crowd that bowed low before him, searching for the girl with whom he would dance first.
There was not a sound in the room when he began walking around it. The chandelier could have fallen from the ceiling and provoked no more reaction than a momentary glimpse.
My breath caught.
He was staring this way. He was striding in my direction. My heart pounded, providing percussion for the strings that had commenced play in my mind, and every female on this side of the room, including myself, seemed to take a step towards him, and –
“Oh! Do pardon me, ma’am!”
A young servant immediately bent down to pick up the tray he had dropped when I had stepped into his way.
“I am very sorry!” the man said, quietly, for everyone was looking this way, watching the Prince moving nearer and nearer…
He passed me. His eyes had not been connected with mine.
My face grew hot. I felt like I had been winded. I slowly turned, knowing the sight that would greet my eyes.
“Would you like to dance, ma’am?”
Cinderella had the decency to look surprised. But she quickly accepted, and the Prince led her onto the dance floor, the band taking this as their cue to begin playing once more.
“Please do forgive me!” The servant was still apologising profusely, his eyes full of concern as they scanned my face. He could only have been about seventeen years old too.
“It is quite alright,” I said, through gritted teeth, brushing little particles of food off my dress. “Only cheese and biscuits.”
Then, with the smidgen of dignity I had left, I stalked off to inform Mother that Cinderella, in case she had not noticed, had come to the ball.
*
Mother had been livid. The second that the Prince let my stepsister go – they had danced for hours – Mother whispered in Cinderella’s ear sufficient threats that frightened her into letting Mother take her home. By the time the Prince returned from whatever he was doing – saying farewell to some royal official, or using the bathroom – Cinderella had disappeared, and he had no way to find her but her Christian name and one of my shoes, which she had lost when Mother had dragged her away. As the only other people who knew Cinderella, Alexandra and I had been forbidden from providing anyone with any information. I was furious – I could not claim my shoe back.
One week later, Prince Charming was visiting the household of every eligible maiden who had attended the ball, in the hope of finding the person whom the shoe fit perfectly.
“Mother, this is a disaster!” Alexandra complained, as we sat in the drawing room playing chess, awaiting the Prince’s visit. “The shoe will not fit me! They were made especially for Dulcina!”
Wild hope struck through me. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to glow a little brighter on the varnished floorboards.
“Calm down,” Mother said, looking intently out of the window and down the drive, as she had been for around forty-five minutes now. “Once the Prince is here, it is your job to charm him. He will forget about the shoe.”
“I do not think it will be that simple, Mother! You know what Cinderella is like! She had him wrapped around her finger at the ball, that little wench!”
“Your stepsister will not prove a problem,” Mother murmured.
I looked up from the chessboard, intrigued; Alexandra had not glanced at it in several minutes.
“Why not?” I asked, curiously.
“She is currently locked inside Stephan’s mother’s sewing room.” Mother continued to stare out of the window.
“You locked her in the attic?”
Mother turned for a moment to look straight at me. “If it comes to the worst, you will try on the shoe. It will, of course, fit, and you shall marry the Prince. You and Cinderella are somewhat similar – you both have fair hair, you both are rather quiet. He will be unable to tell the difference.”
Could all of this actually work out in my favour?
Alexandra was gaping at Mother in dismay. “But, she can’t!”
“Hush! That is the Prince now. Alexandra, compose yourself.”
It was a moment before either of us moved. Then we hastily jumped up, sorted our dresses and ran our fingers through our hair before the doorbell rang.
Mother answered; she normally made Cinderella do it.
“Good morning, Lady Trafford. My name is Thomas Martin,” the youngish voice proclaimed. “On behalf of His Royal Highness, Prince Charming, might I request a moment of your time?”
“Of course, do come in, Mr Martin, Your Highness.”
A young man entered the room. He was followed by the Prince, who looked just as wonderful as he had at the ball. Now dressed in a simple grey suit, he wore a serious, almost troubled, expression on his face. My sister and I curtseyed.
“Would you like to sit down?” Mother asked, gesturing toward the leather couch and armchairs.
“No, ma’am,” Thomas Martin said. I started when I realised that this was the young man who had dropped the tray of food over me at the ball. What on earth was he doing here? “I am sure you are aware of the reason for this visit.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mother confirmed. “However, to begin with, would you like a refreshment?”
He turned around to see the reaction of the Prince, who shook his head.
“No, ma’am,” Thomas said. “We are here simply to find Cinderella. Or, more accurately, since we have met around twenty ‘Cinderella’s already today, the young lady to whom this shoe belongs.”
He carefully produced my glass slipper from a satchel he wore across his body.
“It is my shoe,” I spoke up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alexandra’s head snap around to look at me. I felt certain that she could have made me ill with the loathing radiating from her glare.
“Would you care to sit down, ma’am?” Thomas asked. I saw the recognition dawn in his eyes.
I perched on the edge of the nearest chair. I spoke as quietly as was possible when he moved to kneel on the rug, knowing it was rude to whisper in company – possibly particularly royal company. “I thought you were a servant?”
I leaned over to remove my shoe, hating even in this situation to have bare feet in the presence of others, and Thomas replied, “A most trusted servant. My dad is the bodyguard of His Highness.”
I sat up straight again and smiled at the Prince. No one had noticed our whispers.
I rested my ankle gently on the hand that the Prince’s bodyguard’s son, apparently, was proffering, and the room around us seemed to still as he moved to place the slipper onto my foot. My toes slid inside the shoe. It did not feel as cool as it should, on account of all those other girls wishing to make it their own. Then, just before it slipped snugly around my heel –
“I am afraid it does not fit, Your Highness,” Thomas stated, removing the shoe and standing up to face the Prince.
My mouth fell open. Mother mirrored my shock; my sister appeared confused.
“That is my shoe!” I insisted.
The Prince looked as though he might roll his eyes, but refrained.
“It’s my turn to try it!” my sister declared, triumphantly, although goodness only knows why since she knew it was not going to fit – a fact that Thomas soon confirmed.
“My feet must have swollen up,” my sister said, in mock confusion. “I think it was all the dancing at the ball…”
“We must go now,” the Prince said, speaking for the first time, before a quietly confident voice stopped him.
“It will fit me.”
It was all over.
“And why are you so certain of that?” the Prince asked the girl standing in the doorway, rather less-than-charmingly, dropping all formalities in his irritation over this tedious search.
“I have the other shoe,” Cinderella said. She took one hand out from behind her back to display my other glass slipper.
I could have strangled her.
“That is mine!” I shouted.
But Cinderella paid not a jot of attention to Mother, Alexandra or me. I doubted if she ever would again. Thomas directed her to a chair, she sat down, and he slid the glass slipper onto her traitorous foot. By the time she put on its partner and stood up, the Prince was already standing before her.
“May I please speak with you?” he asked, softly.
Mother began to protest. "I am sorry but you must have made –”
“I assure you, ma’am, I have not made a mistake,” the Prince said, firmly, taking Cinderella by the hand and leading her from the room.
I ran to the window and watched my glass slippers step into the royal carriage.
“I expect I shall see you at the wedding, ladies,” Thomas said with a smile, still in the room. He turned towards me and I narrowed my eyes at him. “Good day to you all!”
My jaw dropped when he winked at me, before disappearing through the door after Cinderella and Prince Charming.
(yes, I'm complimenting myself.) Myeh, you deserved it, and for that reason, this review is going to be harsh, because I'll have to find all the things I disliked about it, which were few.
