Short Story: Cinders Of A Fairytale You know how the story goes. It escalates rapidly until the final showdown between the villain and the hero, and the hero always comes out the victor and the villain is vanquished. The hero always writes the story, and should the villain try to share their side of the tale, no one believes them, for why should a hero lie? I'll tell you why the hero should lie. When they're not the hero. You know who I am. Lady Tremaine, stepmother of Cinderella. But what you don't know is my side of the story. The truth. I do not write this story to absolve me of guilt. I wish only to show you that you should not always believe what you are told. Question the facts presented to you- you may find yourself looking at a very different tale. Once upon a time (since everyone uses that beginning nowadays), I lived with my sister and my father on a farm. It was a beautiful farm on the far edges of the county, with many fields. My sister and I were as different as night and day- and I use this similie knowing full well that I represent the night in it. She was everything a woman of the time was supposed to be- beautiful, graceful, eloquent of speech, and utterly charming. I was more interested in, and consequently better at, the more practical arts- farming most particularly, surpassing the abilities of even my father. In appearance, too, my sister and I varied greatly- she was blonde and blue eyed, whereas I was brunette and had heterochromia iridium- that is, my eyes were of different colours, and in my case, grey and brown. Heterochromia iridium was frowned upon by the general population at the time, and the superstition held by many was that I was a fairy child, a changeling swapped at birth. My sister and I, despite all our differences, were close. We told one another everything, or at least we did until one day. "Do you ever," she said, staring longingly out the window, "think about running away? Seeing what the world has to offer?" "No, of course not. I am content here. So much so in fact, that I think if my #life should change for what most would consider the better, I would not want it, and I do believe I should find it quite dull in comparison. Why do you ask? Are you thinking of leaving?" "No," she said with a sigh. I didn't think more of it until the next day, when my father and I woke to find her gone. It was not long after that I met my first husband. He was a merchant's son, learning the trade from his father, who was, at the time, buying from mine. Unlike most, he was unafraid of my eyes, and it was only a year before we were married. As predicted, I found that #life quite dull for a time, until almost a year later when my daughters were born. I named them Anastasia and Drizella, and I suppose I spoilt them to some level in doing all I could for them to distract me from not being on the farm. After a while, a year in fact, I realised that I was becoming used to that #life. It was then, late that morning, that there was a knock upon the door. I answered, and standing on the doorstep was my sister, a baby in her arms, presumably her daughter, and a man with her, presumably her husband. We were overjoyed to see one another again, so much so that I saw tears in my sister's eyes. During her time away, my sister told me, sitting at the fire late at night (they were to stay a few days), she had gone to a number of balls, and at one she met her husband. The rest seemed almost sickeningly romantic, with nothing of note, except that my niece was named Ella. Yes. Cinderella is my sister's daughter. In a hushed tone my sister told me that, at an earlier ball, she had met someone who had claimed to be a fairy. This fairy had offered to teach my sister her art, to which my sister had agreed. And, in turn, my sister offered to teach me, an offer which I readily accepted. And so commenced a series of late-night lessons, some at my place, others at hers. The thing about my sister is that, while she proved a rather enthusiastic teacher, she's not actually very good at it. And the thing about me is that, despite my heterochromia and being allegedly a fairy child, I lacked the most basic magical ability. My sister, being not overly patient, gave up after a month. And action which made me very angry. The thing about jealousy, not the false, simple jealousy commonly experienced by the everyday human, but true, overpowering jealousy, is that it festers for as long as it has, always growing, and it gives you blinding strength when it finally breaks loose, and everything in it's path it consumes until there's nothing left but painful regret. And while I may have lacked all magical ability, there is power in jealousy, and it seemed it was enough to curse my sister to be forgotten by her own husband and daughter. And after I did this, she left, and I, myself, never saw her again. For whatever reason, my sister's husband kept in contact with my family and I. I do not know how he thought he knew us, or, indeed, thought he'd ended up with a daughter. But it did not matter. It wasn't long before my husband died in a hunting accident, leaving my daughters and I with not quite enough to continue to live the way we had been. I considered going back to farming, but it wasn't long before my sister's husband, Lord Tremaine, asked my hand in marriage. And while I knew it was wrong, I was desperate, and so I became Lady Tremaine. But it was only another year before Lord Tremaine died, and I was once again widowed, though this time with just enough that I would not have remarry, nor go back to farming. However, there wouldn't be quite enough money for us all to live the way we used to. I suppose it was cruel of me, but for us to continue I had to fire all the servants. To get all the housework done, my own daughters, who had never worked a day in their lives, would be useless, and I, due to my overly strong jealousy leading to this situation, decided that it would be better for Ella to complete all the menial tasks. I know it was not well of me to do it, but I told Ella that it would help her deal with her grief if she were to do the work. And so, she did. I also moved her up to the attic. I don't know why I did so- perhaps she reminded me too much of my sister. The attic got awfully cold during the winter, and so, sometimes, she would sleep on the floor, by the fire. When she woke, she had cinders in her hair, and so came to be known as Cinderella. Years later, we received a letter. It contained an invitation to the royal ball. The prince, it seemed, was looking for a bride, and every woman in the kingdom was invited. Including Cinderella. I know it was cruel, but I couldn't have Cinderella marry the prince, for I knew that I would receive none of the money, and not only that, I would no longer be a Lady and could easily lose all the money I did have. So, I told Cinderella that she could attend the ball if she could complete all of her chores and find herself a dress before we left. And she very nearly did. While myself and my daughters were being fitted for our dresses, she completed all her chores, and made herself a dress, parts of which I recognised from my sister's favourite. "It was my mother's," she said. I mentally panicked that she may, indeed, remember her mother, and I couldn't have that. I, too, recognised parts of the dress as items my daughters had rejected over the past month, and somehow knew how to stop this. I nodded at my daughters. They tore into her dress with no remorse, until it was left as rags. Cinderella ran away crying, and my daughters and I left for the ball. It was as Anastasia and Drizella were being introduced to the prince when she walked in. A beautiful girl in a beautiful gown approached the ball, her head turned downward, shyly. There was something of my sister's style in that dress- a blue like the one you see when you look at something very far away. I almost couldn't stand to look at it- my sister still haunted me to this day. The prince rudely pushed past my daughters. He only seemed to have eyes for the beautiful girl entering the ball. He asked her to dance- I couldn't watch. She still looked too much like my sister. So I turned away from the party. My daughters continued to crane their necks to find a glimpse of the girl, but I didn't stop them. We left the ball just after midnight, knowing we had made no impression on the prince. He'd spent all night with the sickeningly perfect girl, and, rudely, hadn't paid the least bit of attention to anyone else. Surely he'd been raised better! "Cinderella!" Came the daily shriek from my daughters bedrooms. I sighed. If only one of them had won the heart of the prince! Cinderella would no longer be a servant. But there was an air of happiness in her countenance that morning which was almost unsettling. She came into my rooms to hand me a letter that had just arrived. She left the room. I scanned the contents quickly, and, upon seeing that it was from the palace, immediately called my daughters. They rushed in excitedly, almost knocking over Cinderella (who had just arrived with my tea). "The prince has found a lost shoe, a glass slipper, belonging to the mysterious maiden with whom he danced last night. He is trying the shoe on the foot of every girl in the country, and if the shoe fits, he will marry her!" Just then, there was a crash. Cinderella had dropped the tray and the tea, and it had smashed all over the rug. "Clean that up!" I snapped at her, almost without realising it. "Yes, Stepmother. Sorry." She responded, but without her usual nervous manner. Something had definitely changed. She hurried off, and I shook my head. I had other things to worry about. First of all, the glass slipper. That was, without a doubt, my sister's touch. She'd adored the appearance of glass to a great level when we were younger. It was transparent, but yet, had a slight bluish tone to it, especially when it was thick. She'd even spoken about glass shoes once- but I'd reasoned that they'd be extremely uncomfortable. However, perhaps with her magic, it could be possible. Then there was the issue of my daughters. Without a doubt, the slipper would be tried on their feet, but there was no way it could fit them. The letter had claimed that the shoe had been "unusually small", which was quite the opposite of what my daughter's feet were like. I briefly considered attempting some magic, but the last time I'd done that I'd cursed my sister, which was not something I was willing to risk repeating unto anyone, especially now, with my sister's memory haunting my every moment. Besides, even if I did try, the chances of my being successful were, at best, slim. As I reached this particular point in my musings, Cinderella walked back in with her dustpan and brush. But that wasn't what caught my attention. She was humming, but not just any tune. She was humming the tune that had been playing as the prince and that girl where dancing for the first time. The realisation hit me with a shock. She was the girl with the glass slippers. My sister had returned. The next day, I gave Cinderella less chores than usual. I'm not entirely sure she noticed- but she was certainly as happy as she had been the day before. When she had completed her daily tasks, I gave her the afternoon off. She first headed up to her attic bedroom. I stole up after her, and locked the door. Only moments later, there was a rhythmic knock upon the door. I answered, and there was the duke, with the glass slipper on a red velvet cushion. As I welcomed him in, my daughters rushed down. "These are your daughters, ma'am?" He asked. "Indeed they are." I answered, silently cursing them for their rash and hurried descent. "There are no other ladies in the house? No servants, for instance?" "None. After my husband died, we had not the money to sustain such services. It has only been the three of us." "I see. I suppose we should get this underway." "Indeed. Girls? Please, sir, take a seat. Would you like a drink?" "No, thank you." And so he commenced, taking first Anastasia's foot, and trying it on. "If I could just-" she said, squeezing her foot as well as she was able into the shoe. However, she was unsuccessful, and the shoe comically launched off her foot, and into the duke's face. Stifling both a laugh and a sigh, I asked Drizella to try. The duke lifted her foot. "Look! It's a perfect fit!" It seemed so, but when her dress was pushed back, it was revealed that the shoe was hanging before her heel. This time, I was unsuccessful in concealing my disappointment. "Are you certain that there is no one else here? This is the last place of residence in the kingdom. The prince will be awfully disappointed." "Yes, I am sure. My apologies, sir." "Wait!" Came a cry from the stairs. "Let me try!" Either it was the animals or her mother who had done it, but somehow, Cinderella had found her way out of the attic. The duke looked excessively gratified. "Oh, I don't think that's necessary. You see, she didn't even attend the ball." "But the prince's order was for every maiden in the land to try the shoe. Please, miss, take a seat." Cinderella nodded and sat down. As the duke moved forward, I extended my foot just a little, tripping him over. He went flying, as did the glass slipper, which hit the parlour floor with a smash, sending broken glass everywhere. "Oh! Oh no! My apologies, ma'am. I'll clean this up. How will we ever find her now!" "Oh, it's alright," said Cinderella, pulling something from her apron, "you see, I have the other slipper." The duke took it from her hand and slipped it neatly onto her tiny foot. "Would you care to come with me to the palace to marry your prince?" The duke asked. "Oh, yes!" She replied. As they walked out the door, Cinderella turned back to look at my distraught expression. "I forgive you." She told me. If only she knew how much she was forgiving me for. As I finish writing this tale, it occurs to me that I may have been the true villain all along. And there is nothing worse than knowing you were the antagonist of your own story.