Disclaimer: The only character in this that's mine is Mary Simmons, but I'm sure you knew that anyway
Well this was just great. Served her right for listening to a fairy godmother. For God's sake, the woman must have been, what? 80? 90? She certainly looked it. What did she know about snaring a guy? Cinderella knew she should have stayed. Even if her dress had turned back right in the middle of the dance floor, even if it had disappeared right there in front of him (actually especially if it had disappeared right there in front of him… she was quite willing to use any and all of her assets if they did the trick), she still should have stayed. But no, a little voice in her head had reminded her of the fairy godmother's instructions, and, like an idiot, she'd left, even though every other instinct in her body was screaming at her to stay. Stupid little voice. She hoped it was happy.
But it had all seemed so sensible, and clever, out in the garden last night, as the fairy godmother gaily explained a foolproof plan. If only it had been that simple. Leave at the stroke of midnight, she'd said. Make sure you drop one of your slippers on the way out, she'd said. I'll make sure the prince will find it, she'd said. The next day, he'll come round all the houses with the slipper, and yours will be the only foot it fits, she'd said. And he'll recognise your beauty and take you to be his queen, and you'll never clean pots again, she'd said. Hah. The prince had found the foot which the slipper fitted, all right, about three houses into his search. And Mary Simmons was a bright girl, certainly clever enough to spot a good thing when she saw it, and to keep her mouth shut. And she was fairly pretty. So now the prince was to wed the inn-keep's daughter, his mysterious lady of beauty. And Cinderella was still stuck here doing the cleaning, and the sweeping, and the washing, and the cooking, while someone else married her prince.
Next time she saw that fairy godmother, she was going to have a word with her. Preferably with an axe.