This is a pretty new idea, and me just having fun writing. Just wanted to get some feedback.
Once upon a time there was a country. A magical country. There were towering stone castles, beautiful princesses and snarling dragons. Mighty men with shining swords chopped evil stepmothers and hungry wolfs into tiny pieces, and even the most common maiden could become the prettiest lady in all the land.
It was awful. Seriously awful, and I hate to narrate it! I swear to God, there's only so many times you can say "and then he swept her up into his arms" before you actually want to impale yourself on a glass slipper. The cute little fairytales are only happy and smiley because you're shown what they want you to see. I knew what it was really like, being forced to narrate for those narcissitic bimbos and their brainless pretty boys as they danced off into the sunset.
Luckily, it didn't stay that way for ever. Once upon a time a small group of people decided that this magical place had lost its sparkle. They wanted to fight for change and equality. And once upon a time, they did.
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The kingdom of Distonia was a beautiful place, and you'll have to take my word for it because it's gone now. Nestled in the middle of a vast green forest, Distonia was a picturesque peasant village, full of quaint taverns and thatched cottages. There were a few ominous gothic castles were someone could normally be heard cackling, and once there had even been a gingerbread house. The local children had now eaten it all, which had led to an obesity crisis, but that's a story for another time.
One of the larger cottages belonged to a very well respected lady; Lady Miranda Bowford. To be frank, she looked like a cow in a dress. She really doesn’t deserve an articulate description. Besides, you can read everything you need to know about her in her autobiography ‘Living with Misery’. Lies, all of it.
As I'm sure you know, she had two irritating daughters who were as thin as rakes and had the personality to match. They sat around all day moaning they had nothing to do while their poor step sister unblocked the toilet and tried to resist the urge to strangle them both.
Ah yes, the step sister. Originally the daughter of a poor shoemaker who had remarried, she was a paragon of virtue and goodness, a perfect example of womankind. No wait, sorry…fallen into old habits there. She was much more fun that that, always coming up with the funniest jokes when her step-mothers back was turned and always ready with a comeback.
Living with her father had never been easy, her mother having left home after her father’s persistence that little elves had been mending his shoes at night. The virtuous young lady had stuck by her clearly insane father through all the misery and suffering, thus earning her the pity-inducing (and highly unoriginal) nickname of Miserella.
Our story begins on a dark night, Miserella on her knees, scrubbing the kitchen florr furiously. Her normally pale face was shining scarlet, chocolate brown hair dripping with sweat. The rags that she had fashioned into a rather chic dress and apron were beginning to weigh her down.
Her two bimbo sisters and Lady Bowford had gone off to the Prince’s Ball. God, they’d been excited about it, Miserella swore she’d seen an expression cross Lady Bowford’s lips.
Was the Prince really something to get excited about? She’d seen him around town a few times, always posing and smiling. Once she’d caught him looking at his reflection in a spoon and screaming that his beautiful face had swollen.
Scrub, scrub, scrub. The rats raced across the floor, squeaking incessantly and colliding into metal buckets. Miserella didn’t mind them there, the rats and mice had become like friends to her. Not friends in the sense that she told them her problems and sung duets with them, which would be creepy. No, it was just having the company that made her feel better. Even if the “company” did leave undesirable presents in the sink.
Miserella had been scrubbing at the seemingly uncleanable floor for a few hours when a strange golden glow began to emanate from the corner of the room. All the vermin scurried back as the bobbing light pulsed and throbbed, growing in size until it dominated half of the room. A small, plump figure was then pushed out of this egg-like energy and stumbled across the room. The light began to fade.
“I know, I know, I’m late,” said the figure, a middle aged woman with curly silver hair and what appeared to be an extra face of make-up. “I had a Pilates class and it over ran and…”
The woman stopped in mid-sentence, sensing the glares and scowls that Miserella had been giving her since she’d opened her mouth.
“Are you trying to give me heart attack? Are you?” Shouted Miserella, arms gesturing wildly. “Popping up here with a wand shaped vaguely like a knife and bursting through a weird egg thing! What the f-“
“I am your fairy godmother,” Boomed the woman with an exaggerated flick of the wand, while suppressing the urge to add ‘Lucky me’ sarcastically. “And I know that you want to go to the ball!”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes you do.”
“No I don’t!”
“Yes you do!”
“You want to go to the ball, meet the prince, then have a crazy mix up involving a shoe and then live happily ever after.”
“I bloody don’t!”
The fairy godmother was getting angry now. She ironed out the creases on her stocky purple dress and then said.
“Listen, sweetheart. I don’t need this right now. Just get me a pumpkin and shut the hell up.”
See what I mean? That’s always edited out of the kid’s books, isn’t it?
but other than the odd mistake it is a well written piece, well done 
