Once Upon a Time
13 Jun 2020Today’s prompt: “Pick a classic fairy tale, and set it in your modern-day hometown.” [I feel like modifying this prompt to keep the tale in its original timeline, but provide a new perspective on it.]
You pour your stepsister’s lentils into the fireplace. “Enjoy your dinner,” you laugh. Your sister joins you in the mockery, dubbing your stepsister “Cinderella” as her fingers trace through the ashes to pick out her food.
Look. That’s the thing with stepsisters. If you don’t put them in their place, they’ll start expecting the same attention, love and resources as everyone else in the family, and there’s only so much to go around. Your family can only afford so many pretty dresses.
And you’re going to need a pretty dress. The king has announced a ball in a fortnight and invited all eligible maidens. He’s looking for a wife for his son.
On the night of the ball, you’re decked out in your finest. So is your sister, but you know she hasn’t got a chance. Your nose is much cuter than hers. Oh, and ash girl’s staying at home, of course. Mom doesn’t want her competing with you or your sister.
The ball is infuriating. The prince danced with this one girl the entire night. She completely monopolized his time. You know if you’d gotten a fair shot to dance with him, he would have been completely taken with you. But no.
That girl he was dancing with was pretty weird though. And not just because you thought she looked vaguely familiar. Who the hell runs away at the end of the ball, just when the prince is about to propose? Maybe you’ve got another chance after all, you think.
You were right. Another ball is held. You and your sister insist on more expensive dresses, so you can catch his attention this time. You get to the ball, but before long, there’s that same vaguely familiar girl. And the prince is only paying attention to her. He must have just not noticed you in the crowd, because you made sure you were looking devastatingly gorgeous that night.
She ran away again! Cray.
A third ball. A third chance. Your hair? Upswept to perfection. Your face? Flawlessly made up. Your decolletage? Noticeable. And yet, once you get to the party, he only has eyes for that tart.
She runs away at the end of the evening, but this time she lost a shoe. So now the rumor mill is saying the prince is going door to door with this shoe and trying it on every girl in the household. Because apparently he wouldn’t recognize her on sight? Maybe he’s face blind? Well, that would actually explain a lot, because he clearly was incapable of comprehending your beauty.
Your mom comes to you with a strategy. “Look, here’s a knife. If the shoe doesn’t fit, just cut off a toe or something until it does. When you’re engaged to a prince, servants will be carrying you around anyway.”
The prince comes to your house. You try on the shoe, and yeah, no dice. It’s way too small. This girl must have some ridiculously tiny feet. You cut off your big toe and slide the shoe on. It’s agony, but it’s bound to be worth it.
You and the prince ride off together. You wrap your arms around him and nestle into his back as he urges his horse toward the castle. You’re about to pass a meadow, when you hear voices. “Turn and peep, turn and peep, there’s blood within the shoe. The shoe it is too small for her, the true bride waits for you.” You look around, but you can’t see anyone. Just some birds.
You’re horrified to see the prince turning his head. And you can’t help but stare at your own foot. Blood is noticeably seeping into the fabric of it.
You’re dropped back off at home. A servant of the prince rinses out the shoe. And now it’s your sister’s turn. She comes out of the bedroom, the shoe securely on her foot, but you’re pretty sure your mom gave her the exact same advice. Sure enough, about an hour from when they start off at the castle, your sister arrives back home, mortified and clutching her heel.
And then freaking Cinderella comes out. You know it’s not her, because she didn’t go to the ball. And yet her foot slides in effortlessly, and the Prince deems her his true love. Gag me.
It’s embarrassing to have to be there on her wedding day. The idea of watching her dance with him again pains you. Fortunately, you don’t have to. Unfortunately, it’s because birds peck out your eyes.
To add yet more injury to insult, you die from an infection from your self-inflicted foot wound. Medical care is just not good in your time.