Cinderella

“I love her dearly,” he said and smiled for the first time in a long time. “I love her Ella.”

“Then so shall I,” his daughter dutifully replied, forcing a smile and swallowing a cry. They embraced tightly, yet something lay between them, a darkness and sadness too acute to confront.

So the bells tolled and confetti tumbled and the new bride flashed her bright white teeth at a thousand onlookers. She reserved a special grin for Ella; her eyes were ice. Ella's smile froze, cheeks hurt, but she held it, and blew a kiss to her father as the couple set off.

The crowd cheered and strode to the bar. Two women lingered, fingers pointed, heads nodding and bobbing, eyes narrowing. Strangers, now step-sisters. Ella nodded back. The two departed, laughing out loud.

Mr Prince was here, shaking hands with the queue of women waiting to meet and greet and whatever him. Ella wanted to laothe him, but loathed herself for wanting him. Tall, handsome, wealthy, but also very kind;a good friend of her father's, and way out of her league.

She dropped her gaze, dragged deep on a cigarette. To the butt, then lit another.

One of the step-sisters approached gingerly, holding her dress like it might blow away. “Excuse me, you're Ella?”

Ella held a hand out and coughed on a puff of smoke. Doubled over, ash and embers popping and stirring from her cigarette, splashing across her newly-bought dress. The cigarette tumbled away. The step-sister doubled over too—laughing, pointing. Sister number two joined her from who knows where. Elle stifled a groan, straightened up, and went to the bathroom.

Mirrors surrounded her. Everywhere Ella, ash-stained and sad. She wiped the tears and said, “Be a big girl.” She scrubbed at the stains and only smeared them, and now she was tearful. Over the sobs she heard a creak—the two sisters.

“Aww,” said one. “Covered in cinders.”

“Cinder Ella,” said the other. They jeered and left.

Elle looked into the mirror, into her dark-ringed eyes. A fce popped out from over her shoulder. She yelped.

“Relaaaax,” said the arrival, her face beaming with light. “I'm your pal, your buddy, your Fairy-uking Godmother. And you look like you need a treat.” She raised a hand to Ella's mouth and Ella didn't think twice—nor once—she swallowed them and muttered “Thank you” and went to the bar.

Minutes passed. Vodka bulls were really kicking in. Afternoon light suddenly seemed so damn beautiful. And when she looked at her dress she realised it wasn't stained—it was mottled, like the shadows cast by clouds across grassy fields in summer. Patterns flowed across her surface, and she glowed, and she smiled.

Music flowed smooth, and she followed its beat. Others looked upon her in awe. She was the princess.

“Where is my prince?”

She found him smoking in the corner, his eyes fixed upon something far-off. She stood by, and reached for his hand. He jumped, and laughed, and leaned in to kiss, then said, “Are you OK?” and other things like “Get this girl some water!” Then darkness came.

She awoke to starlight and cool air touching her cheeks. Prince was there, holding her hand, and she felt like hell had creeped into her bowels and released demons into her face. The sisters were around her apologising profusely, “We didn't mean it” “Oh don't die”.

Lights flared up from the corner: red and blue. “About time!” roared Prince, letting her go, and soon she was floating.

“My chariot has arrived,” she said with a smile, and closed her eyes. “Goddamn Fairy Godmother.”