For school I had to rewrite a fairy tale. “YES!” I thought, “Something where all my creative juices can flow!” But nothing really came to mind. At all. Finally, a few days before it was due (when I was in the car driving down to visit my sister at college), I just started writing. And the words just kept coming. My two page requirement was soon surpassed. Anyway, this was the outcome.

I have recently become aware of a story about a young girl who loved her father very much, but after her father died, her wicked stepmother and sisters treated her like a servant until her fairy godmother arrived and made her a beautiful dress and carriage so that she might go to a ball, meet prince charming and live happily ever after. You have no doubt heard the tale of which I speak. This story bears my name, Cinderella, and claims to be mine. However, the facts of this popular yarn differ so radically from my own story that I truly wonder how it can possibly be mine. I doubt that this Cinderella story would be so popular if the real facts were upheld and persevered. The circumstances aren’t nearly as bright as they are made out to be. Ergo, I can go no further without relating the proper account of my tale, the story of Cinderella.

The brief summary of the popular version of my story at the beginning is true: I did love my father, and when he died I was forced to take the role of a servant, but not by my stepmother. My father, as it turned out, was a man of disreputable character, and upon his death, left a large sum of debts for me, my stepmother and sisters to pay off. We, not wanting to lose the family estate, let several of the staff go and took on the chores ourselves. We lived, not happily, but comfortably. And as to my stepmother being wicked, that is far from true. She was strict, insisting on an early bedtime for me and making sure I finished my day’s work, but she was certainly not cruel. Or at least as I look back, I know her not to be so. I probably would have been hasty and dubbed her so in my youth, for I was a stubborn, hot headed little thing, not at all like the dulcet, charming girl depicted in the popular tale.

One day, when I was about sixteen, our family, still a part of the royal court, was invited to the palace ball. I immediately assumed that I would be going and started going on about how I would meet the prince and he would fall in love with me and what I would wear and so on. My stepmother, upon hearing the manner in which I handled the invitation, was determined that I should not go. Her reasons – that I was yet too young and foolish for such a thing as a ball and that I would be out far past my bedtime – I would not heed and I adamantly insisted on going. This verified my stepmother’s worries and she firmly said that I could not go.

I was put into a rage. I stormed about the house and screamed and wailed that I should be allowed to go. Finally, my stepmother, fed up with me, said that I could go only if I finished the chores that I had been putting off for days. The amount of work that I had compiled was enormous to the extent that there was no way I could get it done in time for the ball, but this did not discourage me. I set off to work and quickly tried to complete the tasks before me.

However, I did not finish in time, and I was once again thrown into hysterics at seeing my stepsisters (two and five years older than me) get ready. I cried over every jewel they pinned on, wept over every button fastened, and mourned over every spray of perfume.

Right before their going, my stepmother gave me explicit instructions to finish my chores and to go to bed on time – both of which I had the fullest intention of disobeying. As they left, I gave out one last sob of misery and sank down utterly depressed.

A few minutes passed with me all alone feeling quite sorry for myself and bitter towards my stepmother and sisters. It was then that glowing lady appeared. I quickly got to my feet alarmed but the lady spoke and said, “Don’t worry you poor, poor child. I’m your fairy godmother.”

Imagine my surprise! I was aware of tales of such fair folk, but I had never seen one before or really believed they existed. I looked over the lady wonderingly. Her demeanor was serious, though her face looked as if it were about to laugh. She was exactly what you would label a mother or rather a grandmother: white stiff hair combed back into a neat bun, of a slightly fatter build that played nicely into cheeks and neck, eyes that disappeared when she smiled, long cloak-like dress partly faded. The only thing that seemed out of place was a delicate silver wand she held in her hand.

“Don’t worry,” she said again. Her voice was smooth and full of deep variation. If I were to have met her now and not then, I would not be so trusting as I was. There was something in her face, something in the way it was light but serious. Like she was trying so hard to keep from laughing.

“I have every cause to worry,” I said impertinently.

“I know your worries, but come. I am here to break you out of here. You shall indeed go to the ball!”

That was music to my ears and I immediately let myself be taken in by her. With her wand she made me a dress (of a cut I know my stepmother would have disapproved of) and cloak. I wanted more. So she added some large earnings and a headband of an elegance not even closely matched by the jewels my sisters had just an hour ago put on.

Then she created for me a carriage out of a pumpkin in our garden and turned the pesky mice and rats that inhabited our barn into horses. And I was off! But not before a strict warning from my fairy godmother to be home at midnight for that was when the magic would end. She also said that whenever I needed her again, just to call and she would arrive.

What a ball it was! I had never been to the palace before, but it was a wonderful sight to see. Lights, fireworks, music, tall ceilings, paintings, ponds, gardens, and so much more that caused me to wonder and gaze at everything! And such finery! All the people were magnificently dressed. But none could compare to me in my magic dress. Heads turned and followed me. I had several men in my wake gaping at my beauty. And it felt wonderful!

You might be wondering if I was nervous or in fear of meeting my stepmother and sisters, but alas, I did not think that far ahead. And the party was so enormous – thousands of people – that the likelihood of our meeting at all was quite slim.

You might also be wonder when Prince Charming comes in. Well, it was about an hour after I arrived. It would have been ten o’clock or close to it. I was walking along the edge of the ballroom trying to see if I could catch a glimpse of the prince when a dashing young stranger asked to dance with me. I had already had several flirtatious suiters that night that had amused me, but I was searching for the prince, so I rudely said no to his invitation to dance. He was completely taken aback at this and proceeded to inquire who I was. Annoyed that he was still there, I said that I was a relative of the queen and could not be seen associating with those below my rank. Our conversation escalated in this manner, until he said, “I could just order one of my palace guards to make you dance with me”. It was only then that I took my gaze off of his handsome face and recognized the palace coat of arms on his shoulder. He was the prince!

Immediately, I apologized and said that of course I would dance with him if he still would dance with a wretch like myself. After many bows and regrets, he grabbed my hand and said that he enjoyed a challenge every once in a while. His manners were impeccable, his speech perfect and I found myself most in love and wanting to impress him. So, when he asked where I was from, I turned the conversation to how I had gotten to the ball. He was most intrigued. I thought because of my rebellious attitude which I believed he admired, which no doubt he did. But he had a more devious interest. When I told him of my fairy godmother’s promise to come again whenever I called, he slyly implored me to relate all the details of my adventures of that day. And I did most happily.

As we talked, we walked into the garden and the topic changed to other things. After a bit, we happened upon a little brook and I had such an urge to skip through it, for I was giddy and the water was no more than two inches deep. So we did. We took off our shoes and I hiked up my skirt and we splashed and jumped with giggles and childish amusement. At one point I slipped and he caught me; it was then he told me of how much he loved me and that he had to see me again soon. I was most flattered! And I told him he was the world to me. But then the clock struck midnight and I remembered what my fairy godmother said about the magic wearing off, so I quickly ran away with a promise to see the prince the next day. I quickly tried to grab my shoes, but in my haste, I left one slipper.

I got home just in the nick of time and jumped into bed perfectly content and on air. And apparently tired, for I slept several hours. When I awoke, I let my feet swing over my mattress with a light airy ease and I found it was not so easy. I told myself that I was just stiff from the night before – if only it were so! I looked down at what I thought was to be my magic dress (I had not changed the night before) and found it quite gone, and only my underthings remained. And something else besides. I was not me. Well, of course I was me, but I didn’t feel like me. My once flat stomach had a roundness to it. My hands were rough and wrinkled and veins popped out of them in purple and azure hues. I ran to the mirror and let out a scream. My eyes were sunken, my lips faded, my hair wiry. And yet I reconized the face in the mirror to be mine. It was my face. I did not look old as much as worn. Or spent.

In desperation I called for my fairy godmother. She appeared with remarkable swiftness. I was about to relate my peril to her when I stopped amazed. This lady was not the same person I had seen yesterday. This fairy’s robe-like dress was dark and yet shone and sparkled. One would never label her a “mother” on first sight – she had not that feature. Her hair was long and flowing, though it was the color of dazzling silver, and had strands so pure white that they sparkled. Her lips were well rounded and the color of blood. Her eye weren’t sunken, but large and expressive. But then I noticed she clasped a silver wand with her long slender fingers: the same silver wand. And as I looked into her face, I realized it was the same fairy godmother.

I presumed to tell her my predicament between choked sobs and shouts of fury. I was full of questions but I did not care so much for them to be answered. All I wanted was to look the way I had. I was thinking only of the prince. What would he say with me looking this way? And finally, too curious and confused to think, I asked her what had happened to her.

She looked at me, no more pretense of seriousness. She was all laughter now. And she laughed, not an evil laugh, but one that made my blood run cold nonetheless. “Why, I find I had better explain.”

“No, no, no!” I said, “I just want to look the way I did!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see,” she said, “this is all the price.”

“What?” I said, so confused I scarce knew what to say.

“Yes, yes. Do you think I work for nothing? That wouldn’t do! I’m no mortal, but I still need to survive!”

“But, what do you mean, ‘this is all the price’?”

“Just that, dear. Your youth for, what was it again? Oh, yes! A dress, cloak, earnings, headband – that one was gorgeous! I’m quite proud of that bit of work – Where was I? Ah, a carriage, and horses.”

“You took my youth!” I was amazed and horrified.

“Well what else do you have that I could possibly want?”

“You deceived me!” I cried.

“I don’t remember lying… But it is quite done anyway.”

“But fairy godmother!”

“Oh, I take that back, I did lie, didn’t I? Oh, well! I’m not your fairy godmother. Such things do not exist. Fairies of course do, for I am one,” She giggled, “But somehow saying ‘godmother’ makes mortals more willing to cooperate.” She said this perplexed as if she didn’t understand why it was so.

I was hardly listening to her. “You took all my youth!” I said.

“Not everything! Goodness, have you looked at yourself?”

I looked again in the mirror.

“No, not there, well I suppose a bit there. You still have fine teeth, and your eyes themselves haven’t chanced, but I was referring to there.”

I followed her pointed finger to my feet. I lifted up my underskirt and looked. There stood two perfect, youthful feet.

“You see?” She said. “I didn’t take everything. And your insides are still in perfect order! And there is much more that you can offer! Is there anything else you want? Perhaps a nice house? Or more servants? Oh, how I would love to get my hands on those toes!”

“No!” I said. “I don’t want anything else!”

“Very well,” she said with a sigh. “You do know, that I am indebted to you. Any fairy that gives their magic to anyone is bound to them.” She said this as if reciting from something.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I means I have to do whatever you say. Always. I mean, there’s still a price of course, but if you call I have to come even if I’m enjoying myself somewhere else.”

“Do you have to leave when I tell you to?”

“Why, yes, I suppose.”

“Then go!”

She was gone. I was alone. Alone with my ugly self.

I stayed in my room that day. My stepmother came a few times to my door to see if I wanted food, but didn’t force me to leave. (No doubt she thought I was still bitter about not being able to go to the ball).

It was after dinner time when the doorbell rang. There was a hustle downstairs and then royal trumpets outside. I went to my window to see who was there and low and behold, it was attendants from the palace! I was frantic!

I put on my largest tunic and a veil and waited to see what happened. There was more commotion downstairs as the party entered the house. I tried to hear what was being said, but to no avail. After a bit, my stepmother came to my door and said that there were visitors from the palace. I opened my door and as we walked downstairs she explained to me what was going on (she did not seem to notice the change in me, for my tunic was large enough and my veil a good one). The prince apparently had met a beautiful young girl last night, she told me, but she ran off before he got her name. He was searching for her and hoped to discover who she was by a shoe that she had left in her haste.

I knew that the shoe was mine, and that I would still fit in it! Ah, out of all the things that was unchanged, my feet were it! I thought how lucky I was, but I see now that I was not as fortunate as I appeared.

When I went downstairs, I was seated and a palace servant took out a shoe (it was mine) and placed in on my foot. It was, of course, a perfect fit. All the palace attendants went wild with shouts of “we’ve found her!” and before I knew it, I was in the royal carriage off to the palace.

I was then scurried here and there and though hallways and upstairs until finally we came to where the prince was. I was announced, and then I entered.

“What is this?” said the prince. “Why do you hide your face?”

“Because, it has changed much from last night. The magic I spoke of has spent me,” I said. I did not want to lie. Besides, what else could I say?

He came over and unveiled me. He started and I flinched. “I see what you mean. What an ugly horrid thing you have become.” I didn’t move. “Well, I suppose this will make my plan all the easier, for I had not wanted to trouble you so when you were beautiful. Magic does strange things to a person, but this?” He gestured to me, “Well, like I said, it will make my plan easier and my conscience clear.” He laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“Come, guards! Take this wretch away and lock her in the tower. I will follow shortly.”

“What?” I gasped.

“I can’t have you scaring my guests,” he said.

I sat in the cold tower for about an hour before he came. Two guards came with him with torches.

“Now,” he said when he came nearer. “Call to your fairy – what did you call her? Ah, yes, godmother.”

“Let me out,” I said rather pathetically and confused as to why he wanted me to do so.

“Now!” He said this so severely that I dared not refuse him.

So I called. And there she appeared.

“So,” she said. “Need a little magic after all?” she started looking at the bars of my prison and then added, “Ah, yes. I see you do. Well, this one will cost you.”

The prince was looking at her amazed – completely in awe. But then recovering he said, “No, that isn’t what she wishes. She has called you here for me.”

“Oh, clever,” she said to him. “But unfortunately, I don’t have obey you. I find myself rather in a pesky sort of mood. See I was enjoying myself quite nicely when she had to call and –”

“I don’t care!” he shouted. “You,” he said turning to me, “You tell her to do what I want.”

“Why would I do that? I could tell her to break me out of here and brainwash you all so you won’t know to run after me.”

“Oh, I can’t do all that,” she said.

“What? Sure you can!”

“Oh, I can’t change someone’s mind. That’s far too difficult. All this talk of fairies making people fall in love is such nonsense! I don’t have the faintest idea where you mortals got the notion!” she said giggling.

“Well, then,” said the prince. “If you do have her break you out of here, I will find you and make your life hell.” He said these words right in my face with nothing but the bars between us.

I was naive and scared. “What do you want?”

He turned to the fairy, “Make me the most powerful man in the world.”

She turned to me. I nodded, “Do it. I wish him to be what he said.”

“Interesting wish, but who am I to argue?” she said. “Bibbity-bobbity-boo!”

Immediately I felt myself sink to the floor. My legs had given way. I looked up; the fairy was gone. The prince was looking at his hands to see if something had changed. They hadn’t, but his face had. It looked powerful, deadly, horrible. He looked at me for a second and then walked away with a smirk. He felt the power in him.

A pain from my side hit me, and I grabbed my waist screaming. The prince didn’t turn. He walked away. And as he did, he seemed to get bigger instead of smaller.

My eyes got fuzzy, and I started to gag on nothing. Through my bleared vision, I looked at my feet. They still wore the glass slippers. My feet started to grow puffier and outgrow the shoes. A few seconds later, the shoes shattered.

Now, fifty years later, my kingdom, that was once a peaceful small land, now covers most of the map of the world. It barely has a solid house standing from all the fires and wars that go on.

I am still in that tower. I have never left it, nor have I seen my stepmother or sisters. I have had many years to think about my past. The only visitors I get is a guard who brings me food, and the prince, who still calls on me when he is losing a battle or wishes for more money. Also, once a year, I receive a present and letter from my stepsisters. (They believe that I am the prince’s mistress since there was no wedding announcement and since I have not returned.) This year, it was a book of stories and Cinderella was in it. I decided to set the record straight as soon as I finished it. I am writing this account of Cinderella into the walls of my tower where someone might someday discover it and realize that there is no happily ever after.