30 Day Writing Challenge

Day 1: Re-write a classic fairy-tale

Once upon a time in a kingdom far away there lived a young girl who was the most beautiful in all the land. Her hair was golden like the morning sunshine and her eyes were blue as forget-me-nots. This girl’s name was Cinderella, named so by her wicked and tyrannical older stepsisters. Her birth name Ella was smudged like the rest of her in the ashes of the hearth fires she clean out every morning. Her stepsisters were cruel, piling chores and tasks on Cinderella’s plate high as the ceiling.

“Oh Cinder!” they would call, sitting upon their chaise lounges, fat with the airs of splendor. Cinderella would come running, dropping everything in the process of attending to her sisters.

“Oh Cinder, my laundry is not yet finished. I wish to wear my blue frilled frock tomorrow to sit in the garden,” stepsister Angela said.

“Yes sister, I will see to it right away,” Cinderella bowed respectfully.

“Cinderella!” Megan spat, “You have not re-soled my shoes. I expected them to be completed this morning before tea!”

“I am deeply sorry sister,” Cinderella curtsied genteelly.

“Darn my stockings!”

“Polish my bangles!”

“Where are the crumpets for the tea?!” the sisters yelled as she backed out of the room.

However horrid the step sisters acted towards Cinderella, their wicked witch-like mother was far more demanding and cruel.

“Where is my breakfast?” she sniffed in a nasal tone. “My teacup is dirty, my saucer cracked. Feed the barn animals and get the cow ready to sell to the merchant today. Clean the sitting room and wax the marble floors in the downstairs foyer.”

“Yes stepmother,” Cinderella said sweetly.

One might wonder what spell had been cast on Cinderella to make her so meek and kind, for no one living could be so calm in the face of such persecution. In fact, a spell had been cast by a kindly fairy when the girl’s father had passed away.

This fairy, being friends with Cinderella’s mother Catherine, had vowed to Catherine on her deathbed that she would take care of Ella if her father ever died.

When Cinderella’s father took his last breath, the fairy had appeared over Cinderella’s head, and knowing the ugly power of her stepmother, gave Cinderella the only gift she could think of that would not be taken away. She gave Ella the gift of kindness, patience, and meekness.

As Ella grew, so did her stepsisters and their wants grew expensive. The stepmother had to let the servants go one by one. Ella bade them each farewell with love and a small pouch of money from her own allowance. Seeing this selfless act, her stepmother began to withhold money and privileges from Ella. Ella bore this with meek acceptance.

Soon Ella was tasked with the chores of the household. Her sisters, with jealous gleams in their eyes suggested she sleep in the servant’s quarters to better help the family out. They took away Ella’s fine things, for they told her she would not need them any longer. Ella did so without a complaint. When the sisters realized they now had a servant who did not require pay, they began to ask Ella for small “favours” here and there. These favours grew larger in number and the tasks became increasingly menial, slowly regressing Ella to a station lower than a servant. Ella knew what the sisters were up to, being sharp minded, but being mild of spirit, she did not cause a fuss.

The three girls progressed into womanhood uneventfully. On the eve of Megan’s eighteenth birthday, a letter from the King came to the door delivered by a young page boy. The letter addressed to the family of the late John Vanderveen, invited the ladies of the household to an elegant tea party for his daughter on the second Sunday of the upcoming month.

Joyously Angela and Megan ruthlessly ordered Cinderella around, each fighting over her for they both needed her assistance. Tirelessly, Cinderella trekked back and forth between the sister’s rooms and up and down stair to bring them bolts of fabric for the new dresses they were sewing for themselves.

“Make sure you wash your dirty hands before touching anything!” Megan cried out each time Cinderella left the room to fetch fabric or thread or sequins.

Stepmother Theresa would check on the progress occasionally but mostly rang the bell for Cinderella to bring her tea, or brush her hair, or to bring a cold compress for her head, or a foot rub.

One night as Cinderella brushed step mother Theresa’s hair, Theresa said absently, “Once you have finished helping the girls, you will alter one of their old frocks to go to the party.”

Cinderella froze, unable to breathe. “Stepmother, are you saying--.”

“Yes yes child,” Theresa interrupted, “Milord the King is aware of his knight’s only daughter. You of course must be there. Tomorrow you will go to the tailor’s to fetch ribbon for the girls. You may use the scraps to add to your dress if you wish.”

“Yes stepmother,” Cinderella curtsied and dashed from the room. She could hardly sleep that night, rising before the sun to feed the animals and prepare breakfast for her mother and sisters. As Cinderella happily mixed the waffle batter, she heard a ping behind her. Turning, she found herself staring into the perfect face of a tiny blue fairy.

She dropped the whisk on the floor.

“Fear not child,’ the tiny crystalline voice tinkled.

“What do you want from me?” Cinderella exclaimed.

“I am here to take back a gift I blessed you with many years ago.”

“What gift?”

“I blessed you with the gift of kindness and meekness. It was a promise to your mother I made ages ago when we were young. Now you are sixteen, I am taking it away from you.”

Cinderella coughed. “Why are you taking it away?”

The fairy paused, considering her reply.

“It takes power to cast spells and keep them alive. I am old now and can no longer keep the spells cast.”

“What about the promise you made to my mother?”

The fairy sighed, “I plan to keep it.” As she said this, she morphed into a human. Her blue sparkle encrusted wings disappeared behind wrinkled skin. The young fair face grew bigger, crags folding into crow’s feet and laugh lines. A naked old lady stood before Cinderella in the morning sunlight streaming through the kitchen door.

Cinderella shut her eyes quickly and handed the fairy her apron.

The fairy clucked and chuckled, “It is quite alright now dear.” Cinderella opened her eyes obediently, and the fairy stood dressed in a drab grey dress and her hair pulled sharply back under its starched white covering.

“I am here to remove the spell but also to keep my promise. I am what is known as a fairy godmother.”

Cinderella gaped.

The fairy chuckled again, “I am not the destructive fey as you may wish to believe.  I am here to protect you and help you.” She sat down on a kitchen chair, her plump body making the chair creak.

“What shall I call you?” Cinderella asked.

“The fairy thought about this for a moment.

“Grandmother… Grandmother Martha.”

Fin