The Cinder Girl's Story
I wonder if she even noticed.
Dressed in soft, slick satin that draped so sweetly around her perfect form as her gilted hair twined itself effortlessly into perfection, how could a girl of the cinders notice the pain of her feet when surrounded by pleasure? She danced until midnight, didn't she?
Was the music and the magic enough to make her float? Enough to make her feet forget their prison as the rest of her lived a dream? I wonder if the glass made her feet bleed. Were the edges sharp enough to break the delicate peaches and cream of her ankles? Were they sharp enough to draw their outline in slick, wet, red paint as she moved gracefully around the room?
Did she worry about leaving footprints?
From the time she knew the difference between mother and imposter, she'd been forced to sublimate her pain and and longings, hide her tears. She'd learned very young to smile through her rage. How difficult would ignoring blood be to one used to hiding hate?
Maybe she craved the pain.
Maybe the only way she could accept the joy, the magic, was by bearing the pain. She knew nothing came without a price. She knew that she would have this chance only. But she didn't know that magic scars don't heal. Later, as she hid the slipper she didn't lose so carelessly, other women maimed themselves to slide inside the lost shoe. And once again, the glass was filled with blood.
Hidden in her attic room, did she slide that slipper onto her bruised and battered foot? Did she relive her magical night by dancing slowly with an awkward gait? Did her blood represent freedom and the pain opportunity? She took so many chances re-wearing that shoe. Magic wears off quickly and broken glass contains only shattered dreams.
With her eyes closed, one foot encased in glass and the other treading lightly on the bare wood of her room, she stood again at the head of the long staircase encased in red velvet. Before she was namelessly announced, before anyone stopped to stare and the silence caused her to flush, she watched the dancing below her.
So many women in so varied and colorful dresses all resembled the dolls she was only allowed to touch when cleaning in the imposter's home. They were so beautiful and she in her sparkling dress and vise-like slippers nearly left. But magic won't be wasted and her arrival was announced. Immediately, she became the center of attention.
Attention can be heady, more intoxicating than wine; and when unused to attention, a girl can rapidly become intoxicated. She would have done anything to keep the attention then and the determination sparked in her eyes. Her eyes shone brilliantly, entrapping a prince in their gleam.
As he watched her glide lightly down the stairwell he'd watched hundreds descend, as he saw her gown now a brilliant diamond white, now seemingly transparent, he knew he had to have her and a prince is rarely told no.
She was so naive, so drenched in her excitement that she didn't realize what was happening at first. She didn't know how dangerous dancing can be. The waltz is particularly deadly. Waltzing in a magic gown with a handsome prince...she had no chance of survival. Even the numbing pain in her feet couldn't keep her planted on Earth. And before she knew his given name, she gave him her heart.
Now a dress can cover a million sins and a beautiful face with a figure to match can ellevate a baseborn woman up to goddess stature. And sure enough, she had these qualities in abundance. Her hair gleamed nearly silver in the candlelight, the moon changed her from a girl of the cinders into a faerie child. Her features were sharply edged, so finely cut that the Pre-Raphaelite's would have sold their souls for the chance to paint her. She was beautiful and for one night, the world lay at her broken feet.
Princes are trained from the day they first open their eyes that the world belongs to them and they have the right to take anything that interests them. And his interest was fully on the child-eyed slip of a girl with a woman's body. Leading her to the terrace, one brief touch of his lips to hers and he knew that she would be his.
Her fate was sealed before the fateful bell struck and, terrified, shocked out of the spell, she ran for her life back up those stairs so daunting before. Once outside, a prince at her heals, the cinder girl tripped and fell down the gracious driveway, leaving behind a slipper made of magic and rimmed with blood.
As she limped home, her feet shredded, she cradled the remaining shoe to her chest. She didn't know it yet, but the magic hadn't ended. And though she was unaware of how permanent a spell could be, she would soon learn that once you step into magic shoes, your feet will never heal.
