Cinderella's Side

Hundreds of candles cast a romantic glow upon Cinderella’s lovely face, as Prince Charming held her delicately boned hand. They sat alone in the garden, amidst the summer blossoms. The sweet smell of honeysuckle filled their senses, and the stars seemed to smile down on the couple, bestowing a silent blessing as they twinkled in the hazy heavens.
“I love you,” the Prince murmured close to Cinderella’s ear. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and ran his finger along her jaw line, pausing to stare deep within her blue eyes.
“Oh, great,” she thought to herself, maintaining an appropriate face.
“You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” Charming went on in a low voice. “I knew it the moment I set eyes on you in the ballroom this evening.”
Yeah…that would be romantic, if that were truly the first time your eyes beheld me. I guess serving you water after your long trip back to the kingdom, like a proper and hospitable subject wasn’t enough to catch your attention. Or maybe it’s that I look better in rich gossamer rather than my rags. Ugh! Men!
“You’re a vision, an angel sent from the heavens,” the Prince continued in his attempt to convince Cinderella of his “love”. Little did he know that all he succeeded in convincing her of was that he was a shallow wretch that could not see past an external façade.
Cinderella longed to return to dancing and leave him there alone in his magnificent garden. In fact, she was so lost in longing that she was barely aware of what was happening when she found Charming’s lips were upon hers.
Oh, lord. First the wooing and now this. He’s got his tongue in my mouth! How many ways does he plan to offend me before the night is over? Why, if he were any common man I’d…I’d….well, I’d do something mean.
Just then clock tower began to chime. The bewitching hour was upon them, and Cinderella remembered Fairy Godmother’s insistence upon her leaving the ball at midnight. Cinderella pushed His Royal Highness away from her a little harder than she intended, although him flipping over the marble bench did buy her some time. She made her apologies, lifted her gown, and began running. Time was of the essence.
“Wait, don’t leave, my love. Tell me your name at least,” the Prince cried as he climbed out of the bushes and started chasing after her.
Ha! As if I’d give you my name and allow you to continue tormenting me with your endless blather.
“I’m sorry. I must go,” she shouted over her shoulder as she ascended the grand, opulent staircase.
Just then one of her glass slippers flew off her foot, knocking out a servant with a tray of food. She knew it would happen sooner or later…the slipper, not the concussion. Her feet were too moist and wouldn’t fit into the unique footwear without powdering them. She had been struggling to keep them on her feet all night, as she danced with His Odiousness.
Cinderella flew from the castle, her beautiful ball gown transforming back into the rags she was so fond of. She stopped to examine herself when someone ran into her from behind. She fell to the ground. The culprit turned about to help her rise from the cobblestone.
“I’m sorry, miss, but have you seen a beautiful woman run through this area?”
Oh, God. Him again?
“No, Highness,” she responded, not raising her head.
Apologizing and thanking Cinderella, the Prince begged her pardon and ran off in search of the same person he was running from. Cinderella walked home, carrying her remaining slipper and thinking about her triumph in evading the Prince’s attentions once more.

The next morning while walking through the marketplace, Cinderella spotted a piece of parchment nailed to a door. It informed all that the Prince was in search of the woman he had met at the ball, and that he intended to make her his bride. All women were required to try on the slipper his mystery woman had left behind.
How daft could one person be? There could be a number of women who share my slipper size….Hmmm….Well, then one of them can marry him.
Upon arriving at the cottage she shared with her loathsome stepmother and stepsisters, Cinderella was bombarded with commands to make the three ugliest women in the kingdom beautiful. She fulfilled her task, as best as anyone could with such homely ladies, just as they all heard the sound of a carriage. Her stepfamily shrilled at the thought of having the Prince in their home. Cinderella went to answer the door and, indeed, it was His Majesty.
He was announced by the Duke and followed by a short man carrying a purple pillow, upon which rested Cinderella’s slipper.
Who carries a GLASS slipper on a pillow? I wonder if the other royals are as vacuous as this one.
Cinderella was surreptitiously shooed into the kitchen by her wench of a stepmother. Cinderella hated her with a passion, and wished that times were different so that she could free herself from their servitude. Her stepmother knew nothing of the person she was. She just used Cinderella and her father before her. However, Cinderella found humor in the fact that her stepmother was the one person to realize the resemblance between the girl at the ball and she.
Cinderella waited patiently in the kitchen, straightening up things during her period of punishment. She was half pleased that she was able to escape the Prince, and at the same time she wanted to spite her stepmother.
A few moments later, Cinderella heard voices close to the doors of the kitchen. It was the Prince and the Duke demanding that they be allowed to see the fourth lady of the household.
“Oh, Cinderella? You don’t want her. She’s beneath you. Her mother was a whorish troll and her father was a giant.” Cinderella heard her stepmother’s outrageous lie, and fury burned within her.
“Yup,” one of her stepsisters chimed in. “Giant….HUGE feets.”
Must I be surrounded by incompetence?
Cinderella opened the kitchen doors, and, feigning innocence inquired whether or not someone had called her.
“Yes, mademoiselle,” the Duke answered, taking Cinderella’s hand and leading her to a chair as she cast an evil glare at her stepmother.
“Would you take off your left slipper, miss,” the Prince asked.
She looked at the glass slipper, covered with the toe prints and foot sweat of every young lady in the kingdom.
Ewwwww!
She looked back to the Prince, who now kneeled before her, “on second thought, I don’t think my foot will fit.”
The Prince stared at her for a second before insisting that she try on the slipper. “If it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit. But I cannot leave without being assured.”
“But I could get a fungus,” Cinderella nearly whined, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.
This comment made the Prince chuckle for a moment before regaining his composure. He looked up into Cinderella’s eyes, blue as ever and a dead giveaway as to her identity. He loved that she didn’t want him. “Cinderella,” he whispered, his eyes pleading.
Are you kidding me? Hell no!
Her expression was unchanged.
Exasperated, the Prince ordered the servant, and assumed royal shoe-carrier, to wash the glass slipper thoroughly, and to return when he did so. So a few moments later Cinderella was left with nothing to complain about.
Crap!
The Prince held her calf in one hand and the slipper in the other, but before revealing her secret to the rest of the room, he leaned in closer to her and whispered, “you’ll learn to love me, my sweet.”
Huh?
Cinderella’s expression was one of shock, as Charming pulled away. Her foot slid into the slipper, no powder necessary, and the Prince pulled her up to kiss him.

As if by magic, the couple was suddenly at their own wedding, sealing the agreement. Cinderella knew not why she was promising her life to a man she formerly claimed to abhor, but there was the start of something deep within her that made the idea more bearable. Perhaps it was the power to banish her bitch of stepmother and said woman’s horrid spawn. Although, it could have been the money that caused the feeling…or the title. Nah, it was probably the money. And so to their subjects and to storytellers ignorant of what was really going on after the wedding, the couple seemed to live happily ever after…or something like that.