Cinderella; The Other Way Around, Part 3

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Anastasia and Drusilla have a dreamy look in their eyes. How pathetic! Even Fiona stands a better chance than them. Girls like them have to kiss seven frogs to get to the prince finally. Or wait, was it fourteen? Oh and girls like me? To be accurate and honest, a girl like me just has to flirt with him online. See? Upsides of having a Twitter. My sisters, you ask? Oh no, they don’t have any followers. That’s what happens when you befriend mice instead of humans. I almost feel glum for them. Except not!

One of my curls falls loosely, so I decide to borrow a pin from Drusilla. She has jet black, frizzy hair and without the support of zillions of pins her hair go flying in all the possible directions. As I pull a pin from her high puff, the nest she calls her hair comes undone, and I say “there! You look so lovely!” One down, one to go. I give myself an imaginary pat on the back. Even fairy godmother would be proud of me.

The royal palace is here, and I step out of the carriage, making sure I ‘accidently’ step on Anastasia’s gown. It tears. “Oh, my!” I say, my voice, panicked. “Oh, Anastasia, lemme see.” She is about to burst into tears when Drusilla gasps, “the palace!” It’s magnificent. Absolutely mesmerizing. I smirk. If you could just see their expressions at this moment, you’d laugh your head off. You see, there’s a fine line between ogling and admiring something. Their eyes have nearly gouged out of their sockets.

The ball is organized in the open balcony. A beautiful full moon is hanging low in the sky. Multicolored flowers adorn the railing of the balcony. I feel all eyes on me when I enter and quickly scan the crowd for any competition until my eyes land on the Prince. He stares at me admiringly; his mouth, slightly agape. He passively shoves away the girl he was dancing with and comes towards me. He puts his most gentlemanly demeanor on and with his hand held out for mine, requests, “may I?” I flutter my eyelashes and pretend to be shy. A lock of my hair gets out of its place at the precise timing. That must be fairy godmother.

We start dancing. “You must be Cinderella,” Price Charming says, his eyes filled with awe. I reply in the affirmative. He looks very impressed. In fact, captivated would be a better-suited word. He asks me who my ideal is and I answer in mock seriousness, “Oh, you must be kidding me! Do I need one?” He laughs, and I add, “but I look up to your mother.” He looks even more impressed. Bingo! We share a few more words, and the clock strikes 12.

Oh my! I turn, but Price Charming holds me back. I quickly whisper, “down by the baker’s shop, just opposite to the poultry farm, there’s a red brick house. Come and claim what’s yours!” I wink and walk away. And for good measure, I drop my glass sandal by the staircase.

The next morning, I hear the prince arrive with his cabinet. I count to ten and head downstairs. Prince Charming has done an excellent job, putting up a pompous act for all the maidens to try on the glass slipper. Stepmother has welcomed the Prince and looks expectant. Anastasia goes first. Her foot is too fat and swollen for the shoe. Drusilla’s next. Her foot is so muscular that for a second I fear she might shatter my precious slipper. Finally, I try. The shoe fits! Well, of course! What were you thinking? Prince Charming looks surprised. I know he’s faking there. Takes one to know one. “Shall we?” he asks. I giggle, and we live happily ever after!

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