The Next Cinderella

Chapter 1--The "Other" Far, Far Away

Far from the Enchanted Kingdom's latest dance-a-thon tribute, and through a dense forest that stretched on for miles, a clearing gave way to a dirt-road path. On the corner was a wooden sign that was written in the finest calligraphy. It was difficult to make out the actual words with the amount of crusted pigeon poop splattered across the letters, but it read:

WELCOME TO THE ENRAPTURED KINGDOM

Home of the finest lemon cakes; bet you can't eat just seven!

Beyond the sign was the kingdom's main square, or more accurately, the place where dreams and potentially starving peasants went to die.

The former hub of commerce was ramshackle chic, with boarded up shops, litter, and scraggly beat-down citizens in every size and color. It was hard to remember a more prosperous time, when spirits had been high and 'rat rump' not considered as a primary protein option; surely it hadn't been a hazy dream? Maybe it had and maybe it hadn't, but in times like these the people were distrustful, and in search of whatever would get them through the day.

A muddy-faced wandering 'Tiny Tim' lit up when he spotted something shiny on the pavement up ahead.

"A coin! A coin!" He leapt for the treasure but was immediately targeted by a trio of older ruffians. As soon as he was in their clutches, the vintage wedgie began.

An audience of observers soon formed around the boy, but no one intervened to dislodge the bunching culottes from his crack. It was simply too harsh a world out there, even for a helpless child.

Things were tough at the bakery too, as a sign out front said that lemon cakes were out of stock until further notice.

A young woman named Myrielle wandered towards the sign and groaned. "Why don't you take away the breath from our lungs while you're at it?!" Myrielle had once been an inspired young woman, with the rare distinction of a full education and ambitious goals to match. But now? All she could think about was who she had to screw to get a lemon cake.

If screwing was Myrielle's primary currency she would need a little help, because despite having the goods to aspire to 'post-medieval hot,' it would take a team of stylists and a rib-crushing corset to get 'er done. The current reality was a tattered dress, greasy dark hair, and a nose that could use a little chiseling.

Her disenchanted gaze landed on two young lovers enjoying the art of seduction. The citizens may have been gloomy and generally distrustful, but it was all the more reason to snuggle up to someone special. The man wooed his 'bae' with a bundle of dead flowers he'd likely ripped from the gardens that the kingdom had long abandoned.

As soon as the girl took the flowers in her hands, half of the bundle crumbled to the ground; she pretended not to notice. "That is so sweet!" She lifted her skirt to reward him with a view of her provocative lower calf.

Myrielle shook her head in bitter disgust, pretending she was somehow above these cheesy displays. Deep down inside though she felt something different; loneliness.

She left them behind and carried on, drawn to the kingdom's bookshop where a fantasy-inducing title was on display:

"CINDERELLA: From Filthy Rags to Glass Slippers"

For a moment the title convinced Myrielle she could truly have a better life. And why not? She'd heard rumors about this book, and everything Cinderella had endured was far less trouble than Myrielle had ever dealt with; so why couldn't she achieve the same? Then again she was almost twenty years old and therefore practically middle-aged. And how had Cinderella even done it? There must have been something special about her to garner the assistance of a fairy. Perhaps there was some wisdom in those pages she could use to her advantage.