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(Prompt #4: What happens if the shoe fits one of the icky sisters?)
Stepmother was hell-bent on marrying off one of her daughters to the Prince. As soon as she heard that he was scouring the kingdom for the lady of the glass slippers and that this lady, furthermore, had the most ridiculously tiny feet, she sent a servant to the apothecary to buy bandaid gauze and a vial of chloroform. Then, she summoned her girls into their parlor room. The elder stepsister, Snooty, trounced in- each index finger pinching a fold of her dress between her thumb to reveal a flash of her new Kingsley McChadwick heels (they were the fashion rage of that era). The younger stepsister, Sluggy, trailed behind her.
Stepmother’s eyes swept over her progeny. Well, it was no contest here, who was the more savory of the two evils. “Snooty dear, be modest and let down your dress.” In response to a glower: “Soon, you’ll forget all about those when your feet rolls into McCharmings.” Snooty gasped. As prestigious as the McChadwick brand might be, nothing trumped the McCharming reserved, in law, only for royalty. McCharming shoes were more art than wear– blinding art, at that, as they were always encased in the rarest of gems. Snooty instantly comprehended Stepmother’s meaning. Sluggy traced her toes over the curlicue designs of an Orient-imported rug– stifling a yawn. “Oh…Mother! I’d just die for them! Just think– me, Princess! McCharmings! Prince Charming!” Stepmother’s lips curled upwards slightly into, arguably, a smile.
Hours later, wails pierced every nook and cranny of the large manor. Servants were seen carrying a bucket of hot water and half-bloodied sheets and gauze out of Snooty’s bed chambers. Inside, she lay– sobbing. Her McChadwicks lay at the foot of her bed. Stepmother had heard about a foot-binding ritual from a China Man who had ventured from his own kingdom to ply fine silk. The whole ceremony, while grostequely painful, was the only way. Snooty would emerge– a bit broken but mostly thankful– for her newly unnatural “Lotus-like” feet.
Down in the scullery, all the servants were murmuring about the strange going-on’s. Cinderella sat on a bench by a knobbed worktable– peeling potatoes for a broth and wondering with them.
—
Prince Charming eventually reached their manor. Thankfully, the common etiquette in that kingdom and in that day was for a gentleman to avert one’s eyes from a lady’s bare foot. So, he never saw Snooty’s stump of a former foot with its piggishly backwards-bent toes, although he did fancy, for a moment, that he had caught the whiff of some stench. Cinderella didn’t learn of Snooty’s departure to the palace until she overheard Stepmother’s admonition to Sluggy to try to muster up some energy and charm– especially given their newfound kinship to the royal class. Cinderella snuck up to her bedroom in the attic to cry but the tears didn’t last long. Cinderella, for all her soft, pretty, doe-eyed looks, was no idiot. She realized she might have dodged a javelin. I mean, imagine going off with a man who remembered you by the merit of your foot size and nothing else! However, poor her current conditions, she felt she was better off– or would be.
—
Fastforward a year later. Stepmother, in her old age, had caught dementia. She spent most of her days lying in her bed or sitting by the window overlooking the spires of the Charmings’ castle far off in the distance, absent-mindedly stroking a fur blanket that she thought was her long-dead Siamese cat (good riddance, said the rats). Without her iron grip and in grudging rememberance of her former abuse, most of the servants had packed their meager belongings and left. At the end, Cinderella was really the only one left trying to take care of the household. Sluggy had no ambitions (as she had no personality). So, she deferred to Cinderella in all matters of decision-making. When Stepmother finally passed, Sluggy– eager to avoid the mental labors of estate transfers and other such legalities– automatically bequeathed Cinderella with those responsibilities and rights. She rightfully trusted her anyways. Cinderella was a strong-minded, enduring pushover when she had to be. And then, just plain, strong minded other times. Cinderella immediately went about transforming one unused wing of the manor into a Bed-and-Breakfast haven. Within a few short years, the patronage of coming-and-passing folks had turned a fair profit for the household. Cinderella now sat as matriarch of the household (and unfailing benefactor to Sluggy– making sure some staff member always ensured her pillows plumped and blankets turned and re-turned for her thrice-a-day naps).
—
Now, let’s not forget Snooty and the Prince. We had left off, with them, galloping in carriage back to the palace where they, of course, promptly wedded. Snooty never looked back. So, it wasn’t until she became pregnant (due to a night Prince Charming came in– hammered after a drinking duel with his father) and tradition dictated that a ball with all family present be held in honor of the occasion, that she invited her family. Of course, by this point, her family was reduced to Sluggy and Cinderella. It was a grand affair– fifty-tiered, dangerously wobbling cake; garish chocolate fountains sprouting here and there; orchestra in some unseen pit furiously pumping out gay music as the Princess and Prince sat stoicly on their thrones and watched their guests dance. Cinderella had reluctantly left her business to come to accompany Sluggy so she was periodically excusing herself to the nook behind a stairwell a bit removed from the ballroom to get wind of her manor’s going-on’s. (No, she wasn’t on a phone since those had yet to be invented. Remember, she was beloved by animals, and her bird friends would swoop past a royal alcove as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, alight upon her shoulders, and chirp news into her ears.) It was during one of these ‘back-stairwell’ breaks, as she was communing with her winged couriers that she bumped into Prince C. The ball for his Princess was tragically dull to him– especially given, that in deference to her condition, it was a dry ball. He was hankering for a shot of whiskey and edging his way towards the stairs up to his royal bed chambers when he had happened upon her voice: “Well, tell Sir McSutton that interest is edging up a tithe’s percent, but don’t forget to ask after the Missus! [Pause] No, there’s no bandying about the fact; in fact, it’ll be two tithes’ worth if his errand boy doesn’t show with the proper pences by next day before Sabbath. This isn’t an almshouse, mind you– perhaps, so for the poor but not so for those who can manage. And, well, he can manage– mistress and such.” Prince C’s stealthy gait grinded to a halt. As heir to a kingdom’s realm and business, he had long been privy to such talks but never in the pitch and tone of a lady. And one so lovely– like a lark!
Some small movement made her turn. You know what happens next. Instant electricity. All the cliche stuff.
He pursues her. She fights it. He doesn’t know why he wants her so badly. She knows why she needs to run from him so badly.
Ok, I’ll backtrack. The two were a good-looking match. She was as curved as he was chiseled. That was the first thing. The second thing was that she was different from any other woman he had met. She was an aspirant on her own two feet alone– a woman with numbers and other stuff in her head that was just unheard of in a woman. But, even during their first beguiling exchange of few yet highly charged words, she knew better.
So, she took off– running (yet again) down the grand palace stair– this time, with shoes left intact, leaping into her carriage and riding off. Prince Charming was beat and he defeatedly returned to his chambers where, by this time, Princess Snooty had retired– complaining about her swollen lotus feet.
—
Cinderella, while good-hearted, was no virtuous hand-maiden. He, by his intelligence’s wiles, found her location. He came to her manor while she was summarily wielding her business. He wound her up in his brawny arms and they crumpled, in the manor’s garden, into a kiss of forbidden lovers. In a way, she welcomed the descent into something that was consuming that was not about business.
But, when he declared his undying devotion for her, she shook her head and retreated. He could have commanded her to re-open the doors, taken her at his whim. But he knew too, that on some level, things wanted are best as such because of the wanting. He trudged back to the castle and a few months later, the moment was forgotten as he welcomed the birth of his son in the bed chambers shared with his Snooty who was just a moment ago, wailing– now sniffling. Snooty smiled when she saw his tears trailing from his cheeks down to his five o’ clock shadow. And, in that magnificent room, with trumpeters blairing right outside the terrace, they shed their separate tears.
The Funny in the Angela 