Cinderella is insane. I am not just being 'cruel' and 'evil' as everyone believes I am.
SHE IS INSANE. INSANE!
How much do I have to stress that to you, reader of Cinderella? Have you got it? Understood that Cinderella (that wasn't even her real name) is insane?
No? I suppose I better start where the start starts, and begin my tale with that famous line: 'I think, therefore I am.'
Just kidding.
You better believe me though.
Once upon a time, my da died. I don't want to talk about it. So my ma fled the exploding Earth- joking, she just moved and somehow met Penelope's da (that's Cinderella's real name…Look, I told you she was insane, didn't I?) and they had a wedding and lived happily ever after. In theory.
But you know that's not what happened, if you've read that infernal book "Princess Cinderella" has published.
She did get some bits right, I'll credit her that.
It's true, her da wasn't home much. I think she was already depressed and grieving from her ma's death, and when her da just had another wedding, and brought home a second half of a family, she got a little crazy. Then her da leaving her alone most of the time, I supposed she just snapped.
Let me put this as clearly as possible: "Cinderella" is medically insane.
She suddenly - and here, 'suddenly' meant me ma and I were very astonished and surprised-in-a-bad-way – thinks that my ma and I are evil. As if such thing exists! Oh, and I think she needs to see an optometrist or a therapist because she thinks there are two of me. While I wouldn't mind a twin, I do want one that ACTUALLY EXISTS.
She thinks my ma beats her. If you met my ma, you'd know how untrue that statement is. My ma is one of those marshmallow people with an iron core. She would never beat anyone – probably because the hardest hit she can manage is like a pat on the back.
The truth: we tried everything to make her feel like she was a part of the family.
In fact, I think my ma, at some stage, played favourites with Penelope. It was all, 'Penelope dear, do you think these earrings are appropriate for the gala?' and 'Penelope darling, we simply must go to the tailor's this instant, you need to have a new dress for the Anderson Wedding. The royal family will be there!"
I know myself, and I'm not delusional like her. I am tough, capable and strong. I can be stubborn and bossy and disagreeable. I prefer scholarly pursuits to navigating social politics.
I'm too tall, my shoulders too broad, my muscles too thick and my body unattractive to a noble male. My hair is the colour of mud and my eyes are squinty brown.
But woah, Penelope?
Gorgeous blonde ringlets, big blue eyes and petite thin frame. But you already knew that. Everything my ma wanted in a daughter, probably.
And it could have been a content ending for all if Penelope didn't start screaming about how we were evil and she started sleeping in the kitchen and demanding we called her Cinderella, because poor her had to clean out the kitchen grate and –
May I just say that cleaning out the kitchen grate is nothing compared to chopping firewood? The kitchen grate leaves you black and sooty, with red rimmed eyes and running nose. But it's warm, and the soot comes off with a wash (which Penelope refused) but I was the one chopping the firewood in the freezing winters and the hot sun. ME. I had blisters from chopping the wood and a million cuts from handling it. It was a constant job, making sure the firewood was dry, had enough sun, et cetera. Did I ever demand I be called Cuttalina or some absurd name like that? Actually, I quite liked my name, Irene. Did I ever scream or sob about how unfair it was? Maybe once, but never in front of anyone.
And we only ever called her Cinderella because we were favouring her! How was I supposed to know that it was so that she could delude herself into thinking we called her Cinders Girl. That insane woman!
She twisted every single thing my ma and I said and did. We leave behind a nice cup of tea, and she thinks we're too lazy to clean up after ourselves. Which, by the way, was my job, the dishes, but did she ever mention that in her book? No, she did not. She just thought she was a good person so the elves helped her with the dishes. Elves! Hello! They DON'T EXIST.
We keep everything tidy, she thinks we're vain, care about what other people think and that we're depriving her of a job, because we were going to disown her and throw her out on the streets. There's no winning! All we ever wanted was to make her life easier, whatever she chooses.
Then, came that day we had an invitation to The Ball. Aunt Alicia was so kind. Aunt Alicia is step-da's sister. The invitation came, and Penelope thought she wasn't invited. She gave guilty little sobs as she fixed my ma and I to perfection, something I didn't quite understand. I mean, if you hate someone so much, if you think someone is out to get you, then why one earth would you help them? Though she had painted herself as a good and virtuous person, and that was probably why.
It was my idea, okay? The whole fairy god mother scheme. I just didn't want to see her in the kitchen, sobbing her head off again. And it was a big special ball, the young Prince's birthday. I just thought that she deserved one night of happiness before everyone finds out she's insane.
You know what happened, right? Of course, you know the tale. Aunt Alicia turned up to convince Penelope to come to the ball, but Pen doesn't recognise her, thinks she's a fairy god mother. The whole midnight thing though, was just a bit of Alicia humour. Probably.
Aunt Alicia was very fond of The Midnight Scotch, a sweet alcoholic drink. She often told us that that magical things happened at midnight –yeah, alcoholic hallucinations.
I supposed Pen forgot this joke because she was convinced that the carriage just turned back into a pumpkin at midnight. Aunt Alicia just had it driven back to her home.
May I just first point out about how a pumpkin cannot possibly transform into a carriage without breaking half a dozen laws of nature?
But the ball. Oh my. Who would have thought that the Prince would have fallen for the insane girl? I will tell the truth – I'm glad that fool wasn't the crown prince, because all hell would break loose if Pen ever ascended the throne. Kingdoms do not do well under insane rulers.
She was stunning at the Ball, but I already knew that. She became the Pen that Aunt Alicia saw when her ma was still alive. The whole shoe thing though, never happened.
Well. Not exactly as she described it. Not like she said it. She had dropped her shoe, and I had picked it up. The Prince saw me holding the shoe and demanded (quite rudely) who was the owner of the shoe? He didn't even know her name!
What happened next was partly accurate in her tale. I thought it would be better if that fool of a prince came with the shoe himself. He did not, but sent a messenger. She thought the Prince was searching for his true love, and rambled on about how she must be the true love. I joked with her about my true love, but she twisted into how I tried to squeeze my feet in, and how I argued with my twin and chopped a bit of my heel off. As if I want to be a trophy princess that can't walk. And what was the nonsense about glass? It had glass BEADS.
The prince married her because the messenger felt sorry for her and brought her back to the palace, where they promptly fell into a passionate love affair. Then she published that damned book and now I get death threats because I have supposedly been cruel to the 'Good Princess.'
Where is the gratitude? Where is the simple 'thank you'? It'd be nice to feel appreciated! Yet all I get are black stares and face a possible exile for treason. Treason? She wasn't even royal when all this "HAPPENED."
Ma, where are you? Back me up, you know it's true! Step-da, you know how it happened. Aunt Alicia, help me! Please! You can testify to everything!
I don't want to be persecuted for crimes I haven't committed.
I don't want to be grabbed in the dark of a night by an angry mob with flaming torches and pitchforks. I don't want to stay in this dark, damp cell. There are rats. WITH BIG TEETH.
It's so cold.
Please, you've got to believe me! I'm telling the truth! Why would I be lying when I'm facing imminent death? I know that if I renounce my supposed crimes and say it was all my (non-existent) evil twin sister's fault, I'll be free. But I would be living under a lie, and I'm still healthy enough to refuse to.
Please!
I'm so tired.
I don't want to die.
Believe me.
Cinderella read her step-sister's confession.
"Absolute pish-posh," she said to her advisor. "Not a word of it is true. She's obviously not right in the head, poor child."
Poor, poor Irene. What had the people been thinking when abducted the girl? Only through her intervention had a lynching been stopped.
What a good person she was, to have saved the poor girl, the advisor thought.
She tapped a perfectly manicured nail against her smooth and flawless cheek. "Well, it is obvious what I'll have to do. I hear the Wyverly Homes have a vacancy. They have the best reputation for providing help to the mentally unstable."
"Excuse me, milady, but might I say something?" the advisor said.
The Princess nodded gracefully, giving her consent.
"You are a most caring person, but surely this is unorthodox? I know the Prince himself is considering punishment for her crimes."
"Advisor!" Cinderella admonished sharply. "It is most obvious that Irene is not well, but to punish a poor girl for crimes she couldn't help is simply outrageous. She deserves the best care if she is to recover. It will, of course, be paid for by the crown. There is no need to concern her mother."
"Of course, your majesty. Forgive me for my inappropriate suggestion. You truly are the perfect princess."
Cinderella caught sight of herself in the mirror, but she did not stare. Staring at her perfect reflection would be to admire those lovely curls, the flawless skin and beautiful eyes and only the vain did that. The Princess was not vain. So she did not, of course, think about how she was a wonderful, caring person. Cinderella did not think about how her step mother would be so grateful that Irene would be getting the help that she desperately needed. Cinderella did not think about how her prince would admire her for being such a good person and the peasants that would gossip about the many virtues of their favourite princess…
The advisor bowed and backed out of the door.
Moral of the story: there are more than one side to a story. That doesn't have to mean any of them are true.
Moral number two of the story: Rats have big teeth. Avoid them. It also helps to avoid people with flaming torches and a pitchfork.