A/N: I didn't edit this at all. All the same, I hope it's enjoyable.
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My God. He is my dream, some fantasy so perfect...I thought he couldn't be real. And yet here he is, in front of me, clasping my foot in his warm hand, a foot clad in the most beautiful glass slipper I have ever seen.
"This must be a mistake," he says, so quietly that I figure I must have misheard him.
"Your Highness?" I ask breathlessly.
"But she must be the one," he replies, and suddenly he clasps my hands and offers me a dazzling smile. "What is your name?"
"Anastasia." Princess Anastasia. Queen Anastasia.
"I remember you," the Prince says slowly. "You were at the ball, and I danced with you, and you wore these glass slippers..."
Glass slippers? Like the one Cinderella had in her room...
It's Cinderella he wants, not me.
As if by magic, she descends the stairs, perfect and beautiful even in her rags. "Your Highness...may I try on the slipper?" Her voice is celestial, ethereal.
The Prince turns to look at her, and I hold my breath. I'm sure he will know her at once for his own true love...how could he not—?
But he doesn't spare her a second glance. His gaze returns to me. At once, I breathe again and think him the greatest fool who has ever lived.
"I'm afraid it's too late, Cinderella. He's already found me." I stretch out my leg, which, although never as lovely as hers, absolutely glow with the light from that glass shoe.
"What?" Her face whitens, and I know even more certainly that it was she, not I, he was looking for.
"I have found her!" he cries, sweeping me up in his arms. "My true love! Anastasia! We must be married tomorrow!" He sets me down, his stupid, handsome face suddenly solemn. "You will marry me, won't you?"
"Yes." My mother coughs once, a reprimand for this unenthusiastic response. "Yes! My darling! I knew you would find me!" I hold him close, and catch my mother's eye. She nods once with a small smile.
I survey this scene from the vantage point of the Prince's embrace. My mother, glowing with greedy pride; Drizella, jealous but satisfied; and Cinderella, pale and trembling with silent tears.
"Come, love; let's go home to the palace." He takes my hand and whisks me into the carriage, grinning like an idiot. My mother and sister run outside to bid me farewell, both crying and laughing.
I catch one last glimpse of Cinderella, hovering in the doorway. Her blue eyes are wide and wet, staring after the man who was her last hope. She is exquisite, with her smooth blond hair and soft pink lips. She looks like a shattered doll.
"My love. My love," the Prince whispers. I smile, feeling my chest swell with triumph. He is mine now; I took him. Certainly I will come to hate this royal oaf, but my victory and my expensive new life will sustain me on cold nights.
Cinderella has nothing to keep her warm now, not even hope. I doubt she'll last another night.