Alrighty. The prompt was a Cinder-esque backstory-ish thing... Well, that's what it started as, anyway. This will be a ten to twelve chapter fic about Cinder in a very sympathetic light. I still like Cinder, a lot. She's an amazing character. She's mysterious and just down right, deliciously evil. Who doesn't love that. Well, this is in a weird, Cinderella light, but it's harsher than the Disney version, but not nearly as bloody as the original German fable. At least, I hope not.

Warning: Trigger: Domestic Violence, Child Abuse

I have to include a warning for obvious reasons, people.

Chapter 1: Her New Mother

A constant reminder of a time before she was ever here, that's what she calls me continuously when Father's not around. I take a deep breath as she paces the floor rather quickly. "Girl, how old are you?"

I duck my head as she turns on me with a malevolent glare. "Fourteen, ma'am." She scares me so much. I don't want her here. I told daddy this. She's so mean to me, and her son is even worse sometimes.

She claps her hands at me. "Look at me when I speak to you, my dear." She calls me that because she hasn't learned my name. She says it sounds so much more endearing than 'girl,' but she sneers it when she's not in the presence of company. I may be young, but that doesn't mean I don't know hate when I see it.

I stare into her cold, brown eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

She nods and continues her excessive pacing. "Now, you do realize that my husband is leaving for a month, and in that time, I want this house to be absolutely sparkling. Do you understand?"

I force a smile. He's my father first. I want to say it so bad, but have to hold my tongue. "What of the servants, ma'am?"

She smiles wickedly. "Please, call me Mother."

I gulp. "Yes, Mother."

She flicks her fingers and proceeds to inspect her nails. "They have been sent away. They were a very trivial aspect of this household, and my husband absolutely agreed to my sentiment." She rounds the chair in front of her, gliding her fingers across the top of it. Her voice turns sickeningly sweet. "Do you believe in destiny, my dear?"

I nod at her. What child doesn't. I've had my share of fairy tales, even with Father being away so much. "Yes, Mother."

"Then you understand why I am here and you are in this position, don't you?"

I really don't, but I nod anyway. "Yes, Mother."

She runs her finger under my chin to make me look her in the eye and smiles down at me. "Good, now go to your room. My husband is leaving in a few minutes, and I don't want you to be the last person he sees." She shoos me off to my room, and I just try to get there as slowly as possible, hoping that Father will pass by me. He doesn't though. He must have already left his study. I sigh and trudge to my room and close the door.

"What are you doing in my new room?" I turn around to see silver hair poke up from behind the bed.

I put my hands on my hips. "This is my room, Ozzie."

He walks over to me and slaps me. I put my fingers to my lip and pull them away to find blood staining my fingers. "Do not call me that, and this is my room now. Mother has told me you are to take the attic."

I gasp. "I wasn't told this." Am I never told anything? I hold back the tears that are trying to form at the prospect of having to sleep in the dark attic.

"You know now, so get out of my room." He scowls at me and tries to push me out.

"What about my clothes?" I struggle against him, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

He scoffs. "What clothes, Cindy? You have them on, remember?"

That's when it clicks. Those boxes that they moved while I was cleaning the drawing room were my stuff. They sold my things. The tears start to fall now, and I can't stop them. They've planned this. They were plotting this entire time! I couldn't see it, and I'm utterly disgusting. This is turning into one of those stupid fairy tales that I used to read. What was it called? Cinderella? And it even has my name in it! It's like they're ripping off the story!

"Now, get out of my room, you little cretin. I'd rather not have you in my sights." He throws me out of the room, and I hit the far wall of the hallway. I hear something crack, but I pay it no mind as I stand. It's harder to breathe now, and I can feel myself get dizzier and dizzier. Next thing I know, though, I'm laying on the floor of the attic, cold and helpless as I fade into unconsciousness.

"Wake up, you filthy child. Get up and make me breakfast!" I groan as I turn over and wince. I was really out that long? I try to take a deep breath, but the pain stops me from doing so. I think I broke a rib. I've read about this kind of thing. I just have to hope that it didn't puncture a lung. I don't want to die just yet. I want to see Father one last time.

I sit up slowly, careful not to jar my side. "Yes, Mother." I stand just as carefully. Why did Ozzie have to throw me? He could have just as easily just slammed the door in my face. It makes no sense to me. He did a complete three-sixty as soon as Father left.

"Hurry up. You still have your chores to do, too!" She sounds so impatient, and it takes everything in me not to purposely hinder everything now that I know of my imminent servitude.

"Yes, Mother." I think differently when I realize that she has full custody of me, and she can literally do anything she wants to me. I walk as fast as my body will let me, taking the stairs two at a time.

I round the corner and almost run into her. "Finally! What did you think, that you were going to sleep the day away?" She throws her hands up dramatically.

I wince as I jump back when one of her hands come flying toward me. "No, Mother."

She nods. "Hop to. I don't want to wait forever!"

A/N: *rubs hands together* So, how was it?

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