A tale of a neverlasting false love from a girl who rose from cinders.

He promised that you would be there. You were. He promised that you would look at me. You did. He promised that you would fall in love with the girl in the dress. He lied.

He offers me everything in one simple wish. Wealth, power, and the envy of others. It would all be mine, if I just sign the paper, the deed to my soul, for what use is a soul to me?

For that trifle, he gives me the prince. No longer will I have to work. No longer will I have to bow down to those wretched women who dare call me their kin. No longer will I be poor subservient Cinderella, belittled and ridiculed.

He says the dress is enchanted. Whoever wears it will charm the prince. He will know of no other. Could I have resisted? Should I have?

I give him my worthless soul. It cries, begs, screaming as it's torn asunder. It's almost pleasant, an ode to my great fortune.

I don the dress. The folds shimmer as I move, like scales on an oriental fish.

I am so close.

He smiles (sneers) and whispers that I will have to walk. Do I have any shoes?

I don't and he knows, wicked joy spreading across his face. He offers me the heels. Do I try even resist?

I take the shoes, red like apples, like heated coals, like pure temptation.

I walk to the castle, to my future no longer uncertain. I ignore the pain I feel in my soles.

I reach the castle, upright and regal, every bit the future queen. I see the guards and lie charmingly. A "Oh, I was taking a walk. It is such a beautiful night." and the gates swing open to paradise. They don't spare a glance to my feet, bleeding from the walk, marking me as an imposter. Little birds do not sing.

I enter the castle and see you, the prince. No wonder you could never wed anyone worthy of your station. One look and I begin to dread life and wish for death.

Was this to be my husband?

It will be better than my other life though….wouldn't it?

You look at me, and I avert my eyes in a display of submission, hopefully hiding my blatant disgust.

It works; you are taken by me and rush over, deformed hands pushing though the crowd. This whole ball is joke. The king couldn't be this blind.

I put on a strained smile and force my eyes to meet yours. You smile as well, yellowed, rotting teeth peek through blue lips. Ask me to dance. Let this be over with.

And you do, spitting out the request in your hoarse guttural voice, a simple waltz. Can your bent and crippled figure even manage that?

You shower me with compliments as we stumble around the floor: my dress is of the most enchanting quality, how did I know that he loved the color rose, everything matched me perfectly.

Every word spews noxious fumes into my face, yet I blush and giggle. I simper over your comments. I find out that I can act better than I ever imagined.

The song is over and I hint at marriage, my voice dripping honey sweet. "Wouldn't it be great to be like this forever? Every day, being with me" I tell you.

'Wouldn't it be horrible? Every day trapped here with you.' I think.

You agree.

The marriage is on the eighth, the next day. Everyone thought it to be too early, that you made a rash decision, that I, a mere peasant girl, couldn't do this.

I take off the dress, heavy with imagined malevolent aura, weighed down with baubles like sin. Yet I traded my soul for it, so did I truly expect better?

When the day of the wedding arrives, I am wrapped in a black dress. In my soon to be triumph, I fancy it to be of the finest silk, innocent white, not an antique spare for an unexpected union, for a rough, uncouth bride, for a monster groom.

I stand at the altar, grand and foreboding, staring at the priest whose eyes see through my deception. I smile. He can't stop me. No one can.

I wait and wait and wait…

but yet…

you do not come.

I place once more a mask upon my face, this time of worry and concern. I look for you.

I find you.

You sit in my hastily arraigned bedroom, clutching yesterday's gown, as if it were salvation, in the meaty paddles that you call hands.

"I'm here. Where were you?" I say lightly.

He lied. You had fallen for the dress.

You reply "I am in love."