Delorés: The Making of Malice
A Rendition Of Cinderella By the Grimm Brothers
Warning: This story contains graphic sexual content and serious topics. Do not read if you are faint of heart. Please proceed with caution
Special thanks to my Senior Adviser Ms. Adamson. She believed in me the moment I started. May the heavens bless her
All credit goes to the Grimm Brothers for writing Cinderella.
ONE
This story isn't your stereotypical fairy tale. Where the plot always goes along like this: 'Once upon a time, a beautiful princess sat on a pedestal while some desperate man tried to get laid.' We have become accustomed to them. We live and breathe them. Crave them. Demand them.
I believe we need a better sense of reality. Because, truth be told, that basic plot line is incorrect.
People forget that even though these stories are fiction, people still have to live with current issues. Current pain. Current insecurities. Like everyone else who must walk on this dreadful planet.
Someone who shows this perfectly is Delorés De Saint-Pierre. You may recognize her as the Evil Stepmother.
Now, before you criticize her, I would like to input this piece of dialogue. She may be 'evil', insane even. But all that malice must stem off from somewhere.
Don't believe me? I'll prove it.
In Marseille, France, the streets were bustling with hundreds, likely thousands, of people. The local baker, François La Suer, waved gleefully to locals as the tailor, Barbara Verninac, swooned at his devilishly good looks.
This town had a bright, happy face it showed people. Some may say it lowered them into a false sense of security.
Behind this mask, behind this imposter, lay what some might call "The Ghetto" of Marseille. Small, shabby houses that looked like they would fall over one single gust of wind. Rats, the size of small felines, roamed freely around the streets. Homeless citizens curled up in the alleys, impoverished and begging for any sort of relief.
Among every inch of "The Ghetto of Mariselle," among every sad building, sat a small and cramped house belonging to the family of Claude De Saint-Pierre.
His wife, Catherine, had gone shopping for groceries one winter evening and had never returned. So that left him with his only child, Delorés.
Delorés was a pretty little thing. Five feet four inches at the age of twelve, dark brown hair falling down her shoulders in waves. Her clothes screamed out destitution and her shoes had many holes inside them. Her dark blue eyes uncovered the obvious secret of her despair and discomfort.
The young girl stepped inside her sad excuse for a house, only to be greeted by her father and a strange man. She felt the corners of her mouth tilt downwards. "Father? What's going on?"
Claude's facial expression was the picture of disgust and iniquitous. "This, my dear, is Mr. Néo Bouchard. He is going to help us."
For the first time since her mother went missing, a smile blossomed on Delorés's face. "Really? How?"
Mr. Bouchard approached her slowly, a ghastly smile on his pale face. "Well, Mon Cheré," The 45 year old man purred with seduction, tilting her dainty head up. "You have to give yourself to me."
Her eyes widened and she started to tremble out of fear. "W-What?"
Claude's smirk grew as the older man took her to his daughter's bedroom, only to violate the preteen. Screams of pain and terror echoed the cramped house.
"Help me, Father! Help me!"
The french man did nothing but gaze into his fire, listening with pleasure. This will make him wealthy. It would indeed.
((Authors note: This is an original rendition I have made on Cinderella, written by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. I hope you enjoy it and leave a like or comment if you want this to be a regular update))