Not Your Cinderella

You're at the ball, in the center of the room.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

But they all hate you. You've only got your prince to protect you, your handsome prince with his spiky brown hair and daring blue eyes.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

He dances gracefully, followed, always, by a blur of gold.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

Your heart is pounding, you fear for his life. Because the dance is deadly, the dance of war. But you know he is strong.

You have to run, or else he'll never let you go. As much as you love him, you can't put him in danger.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

Your ball gown is torn, your blond hair is tangled. But you manage to run, break free. You've escaped. Finally. But you miss him. And that's when you realize: you left it there.

Your sketchbook.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

He dances skillfully, but a blur of silver catches him, and he stumbles. If you don't hurry, the dance will be over.

"Firaga!" you scream. You don't really know magic, but you'll do anything to save him.

He holds you close, trying to protect you from the raging fire, and shields you from attack with his own body.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

Now it's over, and the dancers are fallen. You pass the familiar faces and try to be strong. But when you find the burnt sketchbook, a few droplets of water escape your icy blue eyes.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

This is where Cinderella is supposed to have her happy ending. But there's a twist here. You're not supposed to be Cinderella. You're just the understudy, the wicked stepsister.

In fact, you already have a prince. He's like your prince, but he's just a copy.

And he already has a princess. His Cinderella is waiting for him, even now.

You gave up the sketchbook. You did it for him.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

You'll do this for him, too.

Your hair drapes around your face like a curtain, hiding your tears.

It's better if you don't say goodbye.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will him to forget.

You did it for him.

Whish, the dancers spin round and round.