Cinderella

Once upon a time, there was a hard-working and extremely successful merchant married to a beautiful and clever woman. They were with child and both hoped for a precious daughter. The father wanted to name her for the moon. The mother wanted to name her for the stars—there are so many more stars and stars grant wishes! When a daughter was born, her mother suggested a compromise. They named her Lunastella. Her name was the last thing that her mother would give to her.

I’m sorry. You probably thought this story was starting very nicely, but it’s very sad. Lunastella’s mother died on giving birth. But a grain of hope washing back and forth in the dark sea of sadness was that Lunastella’s mother foresaw her own death and tried to prepare the best she could. She could do just a bit of magic: star-and-wish magic. The stars told her that she would die after giving birth. Since her mother didn’t have anyone suitable to be a godmother to Lunastella, by the stars she conjured a fairy godmother. She told the fairy godmother to not interfere however Lunastella was raised. Only when Lunastella cried from the deepest despair should the fairy godmother intervene. In this way she charged Lunastella to her celestial godmother’s care on the night before she entered this world. The dear young mother gave birth as the last stars faded into morning, she gave Lunastella her sweet name, and passed away before the sun was high enough to shine on the baby’s face.

Lunastella’s father did what he could for raising a girl. But he was a working man. He was a busy business man. When he talked, he talked politics. He talked trade routes and worker attitudes. He never talked fashion or gossip. So, Lunastella learned from him. She talked politics. She talked trade routes and worker attitudes. She never talked fashion or gossip. Her father educated her like a boy. He didn’t mean to. It just happened. And when another little girl came to visit, and Lunastella did not know how to speak to her or play with her, he was very ashamed. He resolved immediately to find a mother for Lunastella. He took a month off work and did nothing, but try to find the perfect woman. (That’s a very long time to find a mate in olden days. Now, it would be crazy quick.) And then he found her—beautiful, charming, so ladylike. And. She had two daughters by her late husband. He had found not one, but three ladies to teach Lunastella properly the mysteries of being a woman. Of course, you probably know the legend, right? She would be an evil stepmother. If only Lunastella’s father knew how to talk to the stars, he never would have made such a terrible mistake. But he did make the mistake and married this new woman the next day. (It was crazy in olden times.)

Lunastella’s father died soon after the wedding. Very soon after the wedding. Hmm.
  

But legally, it was all settled and Lunastella’s new family was forever, and her stepmother owned everything. Her stepmom and sisters wanted more money for dresses and jewelry so they fired half the servants. Then, they complained that there weren’t enough servants and said that Lunastella had to work because she was the youngest. They gave her the dirtiest and hardest jobs in the house even though she was too little for many of them. They were more mean to Lunastella because she looked so darling and—eww—perfect. The stepsisters did not look perfect. They had greasy skin and toes like sausages. They had hair like wires and teeth like … well they were missing most of their teeth and that’s probably for the best because the colors of the ones they had left were disgusting. And they were jealous of everything possible. Lunastella looked amazing. Her face really did glow like the moon. And the energy in her arms and legs sparkled like stars. She really fit her name. So they kept her face dirty and they worked her until she had no energy in her limbs to sparkle. And even then they weren’t happy. She almost looked pretty even when she was dirty, with her bright eyes and sincere expression. So they made her clean the fireplaces. Every day. It’s not a job anyone does every day. But they made her do it because it covered her glowing face in thick ashes. Then, in petty, jealous, hatefulness they stole the most beautiful thing about her. They stole her name and the spirit that went with it. They named her Cinderella. Not just when her face was freshly black from sweeping the cinders from the fireplace, but always. Always Cinderella. Cinderella cried at the name. She cried every day. But she didn’t cry in deepest despair. She adjusted. She got patient from the bullying. She got stronger from working. Her energy came back. She would dance with the broom as she swept. And she learned to sing from the other servants. No one sings like servants. And they would talk to her a little. Not very much because the stepsisters would see it and scream, but just sometimes they could talk to her. Cinderella learned jokes and country gossip this way. She almost got all her spirit back. She almost glowed like the moon and stars even under her mask of ashes. But it was a sad glow, of someone who lost a mother and a father and had no one to really care for her.  

The stepsisters had to avoid looking at Cinderella. They sat out at tea all day long. Never so much as carrying a teacup. They ate cakes all day and tea with too much sugar, and coughed up crumbs on their sloppy faces. They talked and talked about the fashions in Paris and gossiped about who was getting married and such. And they always said mean, jealous things about everyone. Except they couldn’t mention Cinderella. If they even saw Cinderella pass outside to throw out some mop water, they would fall into fits of contempt for her, and all the servants, and the tea and cakes, and the whole world. They were just that crazy with hate. Have you ever known someone crazy with hate?
 
But then it happened. The opportunity happened. The crown prince became old enough to marry. And his king father told him that he would host a dance, and invite all the finest people, and the prince would choose his wife that night. (I told you olden times were crazy.) But the prince insisted that it not only be “the finest people” but it should be everyone. This was unheard of in those times. It could only happen—in fairy tales. The news spread like a raging wildfire in a drought. The prince had hardly time to walk away from the king when the stepsisters were already hysterical with the news, fighting over what to wear. And the servants passed the gossip to Cinderella. She danced like she was floating. Her feet never scuffed the floor. It almost sounded like silk rustling in a breeze rather than dancing.
Soon, Cinderella was busy helping the other servants help the stepsisters. The stepmother marched around like a general and a tyrant to be sure that her daughters were pretty enough (cough! impossible!) Soon, they were getting in a carriage while the servants hurried off to put on their church clothes and visit the ball too. Everyone was invited after all, even if they didn’t have really a chance to marry a prince. At this, the stepsisters remembered Cinderella and they screamed out, taking turns:
“Not Cinderella!”
“Lock her up in the pantry!”
“And if one of you lets her out …”

“We’ll throw you down the well!”

The servants were mortified. They knew it was wrong. They knew it wasn’t fair and in fact it was cruel. But they were afraid of really being thrown down the well. With heavy hearts, they locked Cinderella up, but they swore they wouldn’t leave her alone. They would forgo the ball to at least not abandon her in the pantry. However, Cinderella wouldn’t let them stay. She made them go to the ball. She yelled at them until they went. And when they left … she cried. She cried in deepest despair.

She could live with the hard work. In fact, she almost liked it now. She could stand to be poor and dirty. But now she knew that she would be alone forever. Her stepsisters would never get nicer. She would never be allowed to meet anyone, to connect deeply. They wouldn’t even let her marry one of the servants. She would have been alright with marrying a servant. She knew now that she would be kept alone forever and she would die alone, in a world with three people who hated her and a handful more who weren’t allowed to speak to her. She cried the cries of someone who is broken to the soul, empty, and in endless pain for needing love.
 

Finally, the fairy godmother could come and fulfill her vows. It took a while to get Cinderella to stop crying enough to listen. (You know how you guys are when you cry hard. You can’t listen to a thing. And that’s not even crying from the depths of despair.) So, when Cinderella slowed down enough to take breaths and not suffocate at least, the fairy godmother did what makes most girls happy; she put a new dress on Cinderella. This dress was dark with deep shimmers and sparkles, you know, like the moon and stars. Why, taken as a whole, it was like looking into outer space with a telescope. (Cinderella used to do that with her dad long ago.) Now, Cinderella didn’t love dresses the same as her shallow stepsisters. She didn’t love them like most normal girls even, but she began, just an inkling, to understand that the future she imagined might not be true. That maybe it could be changed. If only her mother had taught her how to talk to the stars, Cinderella might discover so many secrets about her future. Well, she didn’t know secrets from the stars and she didn’t jump for joy at her new dress, but she did become quiet while her fairy godmother magically did her hair to look like a supernova exploding in outer space. And magically cleaned her face and magically gave her shoes. No, not normal shoes. No, not glass slippers. Silver slippers. Trust me. I know the story. I promise I’m getting this right.

She gave Cinderella a carriage and fine horses and coachmen and made her to look like a princess of princesses herself. But she warned Cinderella. Magic has limits. Magic always has limits. At midnight, everything magical about Cinderella would disappear and people would see her just as she was. Attentively warned, Cinderella went to the ball.

Cinderella had the most stunning effect on the people there. Many opened their mouths to ooh and aah like they were seeing fireworks. Some people opened their mouths, but they forgot to say ooh or aah or anything; they just stood there with open mouths looking quite foolish as the moon-and-star princess walked past. Even her stepsisters didn’t recognize her, but they were jealous anyway of course. They were jealous of everyone there, let alone the prettiest, glowingest, most amazingest girl at the ball.
 
The prince had to resist going straight to her. See, he had made a promise to himself to talk to every eligible woman who came. He went methodically and to be fair and honest he couldn’t disrespect the other women to race to this one. But he wanted to. Finally, he got to her. She was very strange to talk to. The other women talked court and about how fine the prince was. The stepsisters only talked about the fashions in Paris. Even when the prince tried to change the subject, they were too stupid to understand and they brought up dresses and shoes again. Cinderella didn’t talk about any of that. She was a little nervous and she told jokes and talked country gossip. But the prince liked it. And when it was time to dance …! The stepsisters had never carried their own teacups. They walked about as well as a three-legged elephant so you can imagine their dancing. But Cinderella. Cinderella’s only problem was that she was used to leading the broom and the prince was used to leading the ladies. But as soon as she felt the prince’s subtle pushes and pulls and understood dance as a way of talking, why, not only did she dance, but something very interesting happened with her shoes. Any normal person dancing in silver shoes would scrape and bang and sound like spilled silverware. And Cinderella did a little at first. But then the slippers didn’t scrape and clang. Cinderella danced so lightly that the slippers made the sound of silver bells. Or maybe even … the sound of silver stars sparkling in the summer night sky. Does that have a sound? If that has a sound, then this was that sound.
 
But the prince was honest and fair and kept his promise to visit every eligible lady at the ball. The idiot. Right? Honest and fair?! Hmph, love is love, fool. Cinderella disappeared before midnight. When it came time for the prince to declare who he would marry, he couldn’t see her. He had no choice but to say that he wasn’t ready to choose that night. The king was displeased, but the ball was good for the morale of the kingdom. He ordered another ball.
 

Cinderella was locked away for the second ball as well, her stepmom and sisters fully believing that it had worked the first time. Her fairy godmother cheated a little bit and didn’t wait for Cinderella to cry from the depths of despair. She hurried in and gave Cinderella a dress which was like waves in the ocean. You’ve been to the beach? You go to sleep that night and when you try to sleep, you’re confused because you feel the waves push you and pull you? You’re dry. You’re flat on your firm bed in the plain air, but you feel waves washing you every which way. That’s what Cinderella’s dress looked like. And to dance with her … The prince tried to dance like a ship with a strong wind behind it, but it was more like a kite in a storm only somehow they kept time with the music, twirling this way and that at a whirlwind speed. And Cinderella’s crystal, yes crystal, slippers rang like crystal bells … or sounded like sun hitting the waves. Does that have a sound?  

When the prince tried to talk to Cinderella, she reverted to her childhood. She talked politics. She talked trade routes and worker attitudes. Some men in those times would be offended to hear a woman talk about that stuff. But the prince loved it. He thought a smart woman would make a wonderful queen someday. But he kept his pledge true still. He went to every woman. Yes, again! The idiot. The stepsisters only talked about dresses. Again! When the ball ended and the prince had to announce his selection, he had no choice but to declare that he wasn’t ready again. The fool. The king whispered to the prince on the side. “These balls are good for morale, but they’re bad for the treasury. If you don’t choose next time, I’ll choose for you or you won’t have a kingdom to inherit.” And the king announced another ball, the third and final ball.

Now … Cinderella came in glass slippers. I told you I know the story. This is very special; you don’t know. Silver slippers makes noise, but are strong. Crystal slippers make noise and are a little fragile. But glass slippers make noise and are extremely fragile. No normal person could walk in glass slippers without cracking them and bloodying their feet with the shards. All the hard work Cinderella did, all of the sneaking around so that she wouldn’t anger her stepmom, gave Cinderella almost superpower skills. Only Cinderella could fit the slippers, but more importantly, only Cinderella could wear glass slippers without breaking them. Underneath a dress that looked like two very different things at once. It looked like nature, like a field of flowers, and trees hanging with green vines and heavy with fruit, but at the same time all those colors also looked like gems, piles and piles of precious gems hidden in a great king’s treasury or a pirate’s cove. When you looked at her, you wanted to feast on fruit and honey, and breathe air perfumed with clusters of flowers. But you also wanted to go on a treasure hunt and find fistfuls of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires to fill your pockets with. But the real treasure was Cinderella. The prince didn’t promise himself this night. Or rather, he promised himself to stay by Cinderella all night. And he did. The stepsisters got so jealous, they got so angry, that their hate almost made the connection to see that it was their own Cinderella. Almost. Then, it was nearly midnight! Cinderella asked to be excused, but the prince insisted that his servants would bring her anything she wanted or take her anywhere she wished to go. She couldn’t go with his servants. The clock struck once. She tried to make an excuse. He took her wrist. The clock was reaching nine strikes. She broke his grip. She was very strong from all that work. In three more strikes of the clock she was out of the ballroom, out of the castle, and into the night. The guardsmen saw some filthy slave girl running along, but the princess of princesses was gone. Only. Only a single glass slipper remained. The prince … the prince announced that he would marry the slipper. I mean, he would marry the girl who fit the slipper.
 

Now, any kid with a brain is asking “Why?” Why wouldn’t he use her name to find her instead of a slipper? The prince did ask for Cinderella’s name. But see, she couldn’t remember it. She could remember Cinderella. Cinderella wasn’t her real name. She knew that. It was a clown name, like introducing yourself as Ash Fool. But it had been so many years. No one called her real name. Even the kindest servants were afraid to use her real name. And her fairy godmother, while exceedingly wise, was too full of other thoughts to realize how important it was to give the girl her name back. So, she wasn’t sure of it. She thought she knew. Maybe her godmother had said it, but she was afraid to get it wrong and look beyond stupid. So she didn’t answer. And the prince liked her too much to get mad at her. Can you remember her real name? …

So, why not her face? Why didn’t the prince try to find her by her face? Have you seen women in fancy dresses and hair and makeup? They hardly look like their true selves. Why, Cinderella looked like a different person every night almost. The only thing the same about her was that she was the most beautiful person every time. She had that glow and sparkle that no one else in the kingdom had. The prince couldn’t tell the royal guard to just go out and bring in the most beautiful girl they find. He might end with any beautiful girl and he didn’t want any beautiful girl. He wanted his Cinderella. Only Cinderella.

And a glass slipper is not like a tennis shoe. Your foot doesn’t fit just by being small enough. A glass slipper is rigid. And this one was magically fitted to every contour of Cinderella’s foot. Feet are always slightly different shapes, like faces and fingerprints. Only one person would fit this glass slipper. And that person he would marry.

But he was in a race against time. The prince had two weeks to find his own wife or his father the king would choose for him. The prince and a consort of guards raced down a new road every day. He sent his men to stop at every mansion, house, and shack. He made them find the girl for the glass slipper. But people are greedy. People are selfish and jealous, not just Cinderella’s sisters. Many women couldn’t stand to think of another woman getting to marry the prince because of fitting a silly shoe. (Not just women, but fathers and brothers too!) And every petty, jealous family across seven kingdoms wasted the prince’s ticking time by trying on the slipper. Minutes to hours, hours to days, and now almost two weeks. None of these people thought of letting the rightful girl take it. Too jealous. Too hungry for treasure and popularity. It wasn’t luck, but fierce persistence that enabled the prince to even get to Cinderella’s house before the time was up. Two of the royal guards went in to fit the women while the prince waited on the road, looked for the next house to visit, and devoured his fingernails. He was in the right place. He didn’t know it yet, but he was. But now he had an obstacle worse than distance, worse than locked chains and gates and walls. He was blocked by the greediest, selfishist, deceitfulist family in the seven kingdoms.

Cinderella’s stepmom started her lies right away. She pretended they had lost the slipper and melted down the other one when they couldn’t find the match. But everyone told lies like these. It was nothing. The guards didn’t care and they weren’t interested in the fancy glass she showed them to prove her story. They knew by the same old lies that this was not the right house, but they let the sisters try the slipper out of sworn duty to the prince. The first daughter tried it on. Her foot couldn’t begin to fit into the slipper. The stepsister was so crazy to believe their lie that she got angry that it wasn’t working. Have you ever known someone who starts to believe their own lie and goes crazy when it doesn’t work? She started getting red and foaming at the mouth with furious stupidity. But Cinderella’s stepmother was better at self-control. She was also more devious and relentless than the other families. She didn’t give up so easily. She was the sort to do whatever necessary. Whatever necessary. This is what made her different. She made the excuse that her daughter needed her silk stockings to slide into the slipper properly. She pulled her daughter back to the bedroom, but she stopped off at the kitchen for the knife. She began whetting the knife. She looked carefully at her daughter’s foot. Do you know why she looked at her daughter’s foot? Her daughter knew: “You mean to cut me?” “Yes.” In those times accidents were common. Things weren’t safe. So many people lost whole limbs and if they didn’t die from disease, they went on living well enough. Losing a couple toes would be nothing. To inherit a kingdom? To be a true princess? To live in court and have everyone talking about you instead of you talking about them? Would you? Would you cut yourself? I think the stepsister felt the same as you. She wanted to be a princess. But she was afraid to bleed for it. Afraid to lose pieces of herself. Their life in the mansion wasn’t so bad. But the mom could read her mind: “We’re losing money. We can’t stay in this mansion with expensive dresses and cakes much longer. You better sacrifice for the family.” Her voice got angrier, but she was careful to whisper-yell, “After everything I’ve sacrificed …” The first daughter shook her head stubbornly. She started to make tantrum face. The second daughter came into the room to see what was going on. The mom smiled; the first daughter was hard-headed, but the second daughter was more obedient. The stepmom commanded her second daughter to stick out her foot and be cut to fit the slipper. “Quickly!” The second daughter came forward slowly, obedient, but full of fear. She was sweating and shaking. Her mom whetted the knife a couple more times. She squinted her eyes to imagine the foot in the shape of the shoe. She put the knife against her daughter’s foot to line up the cut. But she was a sloppy surgeon and she cut a tiny little nick into her daughter’s foot before she was ready to make the big slice. At just the sight of blood, at the first little bit of pain from a tiny cut, her second daughter screamed and fainted. The first daughter started shrieking hysterically. The prince ran in with the guardsmen. He seized the knife from the old mother.  He made sure everyone was okay. The guards revived the second daughter. The prince asked who was singing.

What?

The prince had come in before the screaming even started because he had heard singing, beautiful singing. The stepsisters had heard it, but they hadn’t noticed because their mom was whetting a knife to cut off pieces of their feet and that’s very distracting. Cinderella. Cinderella felt so in love with the prince after three magical dances that she forgot she was afraid to sing near her family and had started singing in the back house … while she swept the fireplace.  

The first daughter stammered in a kind of stupid enlightenment, “It’s Cinderella. You want Cinderella.” She barely realized that she was answering two questions. She was answering who was singing, but something in her heart realized the truth. The mystery girl that the prince was looking for was good and beautiful Cinderella, Cinderella who glowed through the dirt and the sweat and the tears. The prince ran out the back door. He realized he was carrying a large kitchen knife, dripping with blood, while leaving a house of screaming women. He’ll give his new bride the terrors if she sees him like this. He got rid of the knife. He made sure there was no blood on him. He fixed his hair, straightened his clothes, looked sharp. He opened the door.

There she was. Absolutely ragged. Face caked with dirt like a bad child. Her head was about as pretty as a burnt log. And she smelled of mop water and chimney smoke. His eyes knew it wasn’t her. He could taste her filth in the air and knew it wasn’t her. She started to apologize and stuff, and his ears knew it wasn’t her. He kindly put his hand on her shoulder to calm her, but his touch knew it wasn’t her. In fact every inch of him knew it wasn’t her … except. Except a spot in his chest about five inches long. And three and a half inches wide. And two and a half inches deep. That spot alone knew it was her. So, he asked, “Was it you? Were you the one at the ball?”

Cinderella is a very nice girl. Cinderella always tries hard and does good and—well, blah, blah, blah. Cinderella lied. The pure innocent perfect girl lied and said, “No.” She was too ashamed of her current condition. She couldn’t be an ugly, stinking, stupid servant in front of the prince. She’d rather he forget her. She’d rather to lie, than to have the princess know that she is “Cinderella.” The prince could not call her a liar. He bid her good bye. He ordered the guards to finish fitting everyone so they could leave and he waited on the road again.
 
The stepsisters were out of the question. They asked for the servants. The other servant girls quietly let the guards try the slipper on them. But the servants were starting to wonder also if Cinderella was the one. They waited in suspense. Cinderella was the only one left. She thought of running away. She looked for the exits. But the look in the guards faces was so stern. She was sure they would chase her if she ran and then she would seem like a criminal as well as a filthy servant. She held still. The slipper fit so well that it’s almost like her foot pulled it on. Now here the two guards had a disagreement. They had found the girl. After almost two weeks and just in time! But one guard was irritated. Indeed, they had found a filthy servant girl that it happens to fit. But it was a girl that the prince had just talked to. It couldn’t really be her. And on the prince’s honor, he would be obliged to marry this stinking filthy girl because he swore to do it. This guard believed they had a duty to keep the fit a secret so the prince could marry a good woman without muddying his honor. The other guard believed it was their duty to report the fit as instructed. So, it was a matter of honor and duty for each guard to report or not report it. They were ready to fight over it and indeed they began to fight. When Cinderella saw this, she couldn’t stand it. She got up and ran to them to make them stop. And when she ran, that slipper didn’t crack. It didn’t “ding” or “scrape.” It rang a half a melody. Like clouds changing shapes in the sky. Does that have a sound?
 
Then, the resisting guard knew. He knew from his heart to his ears to his eyes to his toenails, that this was who the prince loved. It was almost who he loved; he’d better watch out. So, he ordered the stepsisters to clean her face and ordered the stepmom to get her a dress. But the fairy godmother appeared and pushed them all aside and said, “Out of the way, good people.” Then, just to Cinderella, she said, “One last dress. No more. I already got you a prince after all.” And she gave her a dress. Just a plain thing. A boring one. It only looked … perfect. And she gave her another slipper so that she wouldn’t look like an idiot running about in one shoe. And for good bye she said, “Your name is Lunastella. And your mother and father told me to tell you that they love you very much and feel very proud of you and are watching always.”  
 
So … Lunastella ran to the prince. She introduced herself properly  The prince ordered the stepmom arrested for conspiracy, but Lunastella couldn’t bear it and refused to let her be kept in a dungeon. The stepmom couldn’t survive her own jealousy and bitterness, though. A week later she died of misery. It was beyond hard for the stepsisters. It was true that their money was out. In fact, they were in debt. They lost the mansion and all of their dresses and jewelry. They could not marry gentlemen. They were poor and not very nice. But they found some servant men who didn’t mind their poor looks and their idle chatter. They learned to work. They had to. They carried so much more than teacups. And they were lucky to taste cake once or twice a year for a holiday. Lunastella invited them to stay in the castle every year, but they wouldn’t go. They were ashamed. They knew what they had done was wrong. But slowly by slowly, they improved. They got healthier and wiser and kinder. They learned to sing well like servants do. They learned jokes and country gossip. They learned how to glow through the dirt the same as Lunastella. And one day, when they could forgive themselves and look Lunastella in the eye, they accepted the invitation. Lunastella hadn’t changed except that sometimes she talked about the Paris fashions too much. The stepsisters visited and then moved into the castle. And there they all lived as a family, happily ever after.

Cinderella

Once upon a time, there was a hard-working and extremely successful merchant married to a beautiful and clever woman. They were with child and both hoped for a precious daughter. The father wanted to name her for the moon. The mother wanted to name her for the stars—there are so many more stars and stars grant wishes! When a daughter was born, her mother suggested a compromise. They named her Lunastella. Her name was the last thing that her mother would give to her.

I’m sorry. You probably thought this story was starting very nicely, but it’s very sad. Lunastella’s mother died on giving birth. But a grain of hope washing back and forth in the dark sea of sadness was that Lunastella’s mother foresaw her own death and tried to prepare the best she could. She could do just a bit of magic: star-and-wish magic. The stars told her that she would die after giving birth. Since her mother didn’t have anyone suitable to be a godmother to Lunastella, by the stars she conjured a fairy godmother. She told the fairy godmother to not interfere however Lunastella was raised. Only when Lunastella cried from the deepest despair should the fairy godmother intervene. In this way she charged Lunastella to her celestial godmother’s care on the night before she entered this world. The dear young mother gave birth as the last stars faded into morning, she gave Lunastella her sweet name, and passed away before the sun was high enough to shine on the baby’s face.

Lunastella’s father did what he could for raising a girl. But he was a working man. He was a busy business man. When he talked, he talked politics. He talked trade routes and worker attitudes. He never talked fashion or gossip. So, Lunastella learned from him. She talked politics. She talked trade routes and worker attitudes. She never talked fashion or gossip. Her father educated her like a boy. He didn’t mean to. It just happened. And when another little girl came to visit, and Lunastella did not know how to speak to her or play with her, he was very ashamed. He resolved immediately to find a mother for Lunastella. He took a month off work and did nothing, but try to find the perfect woman. (That’s a very long time to find a mate in olden days. Now, it would be crazy quick.) And then he found her—beautiful, charming, so ladylike. And. She had two daughters by her late husband. He had found not one, but three ladies to teach Lunastella properly the mysteries of being a woman. Of course, you probably know the legend, right? She would be an evil stepmother. If only Lunastella’s father knew how to talk to the stars, he never would have made such a terrible mistake. But he did make the mistake and married this new woman the next day. (It was crazy in olden times.)

Lunastella’s father died soon after the wedding. Very soon after the wedding. Hmm.
  

But legally, it was all settled and Lunastella’s new family was forever, and her stepmother owned everything. Her stepmom and sisters wanted more money for dresses and jewelry so they fired half the servants. Then, they complained that there weren’t enough servants and said that Lunastella had to work because she was the youngest. They gave her the dirtiest and hardest jobs in the house even though she was too little for many of them. They were more mean to Lunastella because she looked so darling and—eww—perfect. The stepsisters did not look perfect. They had greasy skin and toes like sausages. They had hair like wires and teeth like … well they were missing most of their teeth and that’s probably for the best because the colors of the ones they had left were disgusting. And they were jealous of everything possible. Lunastella looked amazing. Her face really did glow like the moon. And the energy in her arms and legs sparkled like stars. She really fit her name. So they kept her face dirty and they worked her until she had no energy in her limbs to sparkle. And even then they weren’t happy. She almost looked pretty even when she was dirty, with her bright eyes and sincere expression. So they made her clean the fireplaces. Every day. It’s not a job anyone does every day. But they made her do it because it covered her glowing face in thick ashes. Then, in petty, jealous, hatefulness they stole the most beautiful thing about her. They stole her name and the spirit that went with it. They named her Cinderella. Not just when her face was freshly black from sweeping the cinders from the fireplace, but always. Always Cinderella. Cinderella cried at the name. She cried every day. But she didn’t cry in deepest despair. She adjusted. She got patient from the bullying. She got stronger from working. Her energy came back. She would dance with the broom as she swept. And she learned to sing from the other servants. No one sings like servants. And they would talk to her a little. Not very much because the stepsisters would see it and scream, but just sometimes they could talk to her. Cinderella learned jokes and country gossip this way. She almost got all her spirit back. She almost glowed like the moon and stars even under her mask of ashes. But it was a sad glow, of someone who lost a mother and a father and had no one to really care for her.  

The stepsisters had to avoid looking at Cinderella. They sat out at tea all day long. Never so much as carrying a teacup. They ate cakes all day and tea with too much sugar, and coughed up crumbs on their sloppy faces. They talked and talked about the fashions in Paris and gossiped about who was getting married and such. And they always said mean, jealous things about everyone. Except they couldn’t mention Cinderella. If they even saw Cinderella pass outside to throw out some mop water, they would fall into fits of contempt for her, and all the servants, and the tea and cakes, and the whole world. They were just that crazy with hate. Have you ever known someone crazy with hate?
 
But then it happened. The opportunity happened. The crown prince became old enough to marry. And his king father told him that he would host a dance, and invite all the finest people, and the prince would choose his wife that night. (I told you olden times were crazy.) But the prince insisted that it not only be “the finest people” but it should be everyone. This was unheard of in those times. It could only happen—in fairy tales. The news spread like a raging wildfire in a drought. The prince had hardly time to walk away from the king when the stepsisters were already hysterical with the news, fighting over what to wear. And the servants passed the gossip to Cinderella. She danced like she was floating. Her feet never scuffed the floor. It almost sounded like silk rustling in a breeze rather than dancing.
Soon, Cinderella was busy helping the other servants help the stepsisters. The stepmother marched around like a general and a tyrant to be sure that her daughters were pretty enough (cough! impossible!) Soon, they were getting in a carriage while the servants hurried off to put on their church clothes and visit the ball too. Everyone was invited after all, even if they didn’t have really a chance to marry a prince. At this, the stepsisters remembered Cinderella and they screamed out, taking turns:
“Not Cinderella!”
“Lock her up in the pantry!”
“And if one of you lets her out …”

“We’ll throw you down the well!”

The servants were mortified. They knew it was wrong. They knew it wasn’t fair and in fact it was cruel. But they were afraid of really being thrown down the well. With heavy hearts, they locked Cinderella up, but they swore they wouldn’t leave her alone. They would forgo the ball to at least not abandon her in the pantry. However, Cinderella wouldn’t let them stay. She made them go to the ball. She yelled at them until they went. And when they left … she cried. She cried in deepest despair.

She could live with the hard work. In fact, she almost liked it now. She could stand to be poor and dirty. But now she knew that she would be alone forever. Her stepsisters would never get nicer. She would never be allowed to meet anyone, to connect deeply. They wouldn’t even let her marry one of the servants. She would have been alright with marrying a servant. She knew now that she would be kept alone forever and she would die alone, in a world with three people who hated her and a handful more who weren’t allowed to speak to her. She cried the cries of someone who is broken to the soul, empty, and in endless pain for needing love.
 

Finally, the fairy godmother could come and fulfill her vows. It took a while to get Cinderella to stop crying enough to listen. (You know how you guys are when you cry hard. You can’t listen to a thing. And that’s not even crying from the depths of despair.) So, when Cinderella slowed down enough to take breaths and not suffocate at least, the fairy godmother did what makes most girls happy; she put a new dress on Cinderella. This dress was dark with deep shimmers and sparkles, you know, like the moon and stars. Why, taken as a whole, it was like looking into outer space with a telescope. (Cinderella used to do that with her dad long ago.) Now, Cinderella didn’t love dresses the same as her shallow stepsisters. She didn’t love them like most normal girls even, but she began, just an inkling, to understand that the future she imagined might not be true. That maybe it could be changed. If only her mother had taught her how to talk to the stars, Cinderella might discover so many secrets about her future. Well, she didn’t know secrets from the stars and she didn’t jump for joy at her new dress, but she did become quiet while her fairy godmother magically did her hair to look like a supernova exploding in outer space. And magically cleaned her face and magically gave her shoes. No, not normal shoes. No, not glass slippers. Silver slippers. Trust me. I know the story. I promise I’m getting this right.

She gave Cinderella a carriage and fine horses and coachmen and made her to look like a princess of princesses herself. But she warned Cinderella. Magic has limits. Magic always has limits. At midnight, everything magical about Cinderella would disappear and people would see her just as she was. Attentively warned, Cinderella went to the ball.

Cinderella had the most stunning effect on the people there. Many opened their mouths to ooh and aah like they were seeing fireworks. Some people opened their mouths, but they forgot to say ooh or aah or anything; they just stood there with open mouths looking quite foolish as the moon-and-star princess walked past. Even her stepsisters didn’t recognize her, but they were jealous anyway of course. They were jealous of everyone there, let alone the prettiest, glowingest, most amazingest girl at the ball.
 
The prince had to resist going straight to her. See, he had made a promise to himself to talk to every eligible woman who came. He went methodically and to be fair and honest he couldn’t disrespect the other women to race to this one. But he wanted to. Finally, he got to her. She was very strange to talk to. The other women talked court and about how fine the prince was. The stepsisters only talked about the fashions in Paris. Even when the prince tried to change the subject, they were too stupid to understand and they brought up dresses and shoes again. Cinderella didn’t talk about any of that. She was a little nervous and she told jokes and talked country gossip. But the prince liked it. And when it was time to dance …! The stepsisters had never carried their own teacups. They walked about as well as a three-legged elephant so you can imagine their dancing. But Cinderella. Cinderella’s only problem was that she was used to leading the broom and the prince was used to leading the ladies. But as soon as she felt the prince’s subtle pushes and pulls and understood dance as a way of talking, why, not only did she dance, but something very interesting happened with her shoes. Any normal person dancing in silver shoes would scrape and bang and sound like spilled silverware. And Cinderella did a little at first. But then the slippers didn’t scrape and clang. Cinderella danced so lightly that the slippers made the sound of silver bells. Or maybe even … the sound of silver stars sparkling in the summer night sky. Does that have a sound? If that has a sound, then this was that sound.
 
But the prince was honest and fair and kept his promise to visit every eligible lady at the ball. The idiot. Right? Honest and fair?! Hmph, love is love, fool. Cinderella disappeared before midnight. When it came time for the prince to declare who he would marry, he couldn’t see her. He had no choice but to say that he wasn’t ready to choose that night. The king was displeased, but the ball was good for the morale of the kingdom. He ordered another ball.
 

Cinderella was locked away for the second ball as well, her stepmom and sisters fully believing that it had worked the first time. Her fairy godmother cheated a little bit and didn’t wait for Cinderella to cry from the depths of despair. She hurried in and gave Cinderella a dress which was like waves in the ocean. You’ve been to the beach? You go to sleep that night and when you try to sleep, you’re confused because you feel the waves push you and pull you? You’re dry. You’re flat on your firm bed in the plain air, but you feel waves washing you every which way. That’s what Cinderella’s dress looked like. And to dance with her … The prince tried to dance like a ship with a strong wind behind it, but it was more like a kite in a storm only somehow they kept time with the music, twirling this way and that at a whirlwind speed. And Cinderella’s crystal, yes crystal, slippers rang like crystal bells … or sounded like sun hitting the waves. Does that have a sound?  

When the prince tried to talk to Cinderella, she reverted to her childhood. She talked politics. She talked trade routes and worker attitudes. Some men in those times would be offended to hear a woman talk about that stuff. But the prince loved it. He thought a smart woman would make a wonderful queen someday. But he kept his pledge true still. He went to every woman. Yes, again! The idiot. The stepsisters only talked about dresses. Again! When the ball ended and the prince had to announce his selection, he had no choice but to declare that he wasn’t ready again. The fool. The king whispered to the prince on the side. “These balls are good for morale, but they’re bad for the treasury. If you don’t choose next time, I’ll choose for you or you won’t have a kingdom to inherit.” And the king announced another ball, the third and final ball.

Now … Cinderella came in glass slippers. I told you I know the story. This is very special; you don’t know. Silver slippers makes noise, but are strong. Crystal slippers make noise and are a little fragile. But glass slippers make noise and are extremely fragile. No normal person could walk in glass slippers without cracking them and bloodying their feet with the shards. All the hard work Cinderella did, all of the sneaking around so that she wouldn’t anger her stepmom, gave Cinderella almost superpower skills. Only Cinderella could fit the slippers, but more importantly, only Cinderella could wear glass slippers without breaking them. Underneath a dress that looked like two very different things at once. It looked like nature, like a field of flowers, and trees hanging with green vines and heavy with fruit, but at the same time all those colors also looked like gems, piles and piles of precious gems hidden in a great king’s treasury or a pirate’s cove. When you looked at her, you wanted to feast on fruit and honey, and breathe air perfumed with clusters of flowers. But you also wanted to go on a treasure hunt and find fistfuls of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires to fill your pockets with. But the real treasure was Cinderella. The prince didn’t promise himself this night. Or rather, he promised himself to stay by Cinderella all night. And he did. The stepsisters got so jealous, they got so angry, that their hate almost made the connection to see that it was their own Cinderella. Almost. Then, it was nearly midnight! Cinderella asked to be excused, but the prince insisted that his servants would bring her anything she wanted or take her anywhere she wished to go. She couldn’t go with his servants. The clock struck once. She tried to make an excuse. He took her wrist. The clock was reaching nine strikes. She broke his grip. She was very strong from all that work. In three more strikes of the clock she was out of the ballroom, out of the castle, and into the night. The guardsmen saw some filthy slave girl running along, but the princess of princesses was gone. Only. Only a single glass slipper remained. The prince … the prince announced that he would marry the slipper. I mean, he would marry the girl who fit the slipper.
 

Now, any kid with a brain is asking “Why?” Why wouldn’t he use her name to find her instead of a slipper? The prince did ask for Cinderella’s name. But see, she couldn’t remember it. She could remember Cinderella. Cinderella wasn’t her real name. She knew that. It was a clown name, like introducing yourself as Ash Fool. But it had been so many years. No one called her real name. Even the kindest servants were afraid to use her real name. And her fairy godmother, while exceedingly wise, was too full of other thoughts to realize how important it was to give the girl her name back. So, she wasn’t sure of it. She thought she knew. Maybe her godmother had said it, but she was afraid to get it wrong and look beyond stupid. So she didn’t answer. And the prince liked her too much to get mad at her. Can you remember her real name? …

So, why not her face? Why didn’t the prince try to find her by her face? Have you seen women in fancy dresses and hair and makeup? They hardly look like their true selves. Why, Cinderella looked like a different person every night almost. The only thing the same about her was that she was the most beautiful person every time. She had that glow and sparkle that no one else in the kingdom had. The prince couldn’t tell the royal guard to just go out and bring in the most beautiful girl they find. He might end with any beautiful girl and he didn’t want any beautiful girl. He wanted his Cinderella. Only Cinderella.

And a glass slipper is not like a tennis shoe. Your foot doesn’t fit just by being small enough. A glass slipper is rigid. And this one was magically fitted to every contour of Cinderella’s foot. Feet are always slightly different shapes, like faces and fingerprints. Only one person would fit this glass slipper. And that person he would marry.

But he was in a race against time. The prince had two weeks to find his own wife or his father the king would choose for him. The prince and a consort of guards raced down a new road every day. He sent his men to stop at every mansion, house, and shack. He made them find the girl for the glass slipper. But people are greedy. People are selfish and jealous, not just Cinderella’s sisters. Many women couldn’t stand to think of another woman getting to marry the prince because of fitting a silly shoe. (Not just women, but fathers and brothers too!) And every petty, jealous family across seven kingdoms wasted the prince’s ticking time by trying on the slipper. Minutes to hours, hours to days, and now almost two weeks. None of these people thought of letting the rightful girl take it. Too jealous. Too hungry for treasure and popularity. It wasn’t luck, but fierce persistence that enabled the prince to even get to Cinderella’s house before the time was up. Two of the royal guards went in to fit the women while the prince waited on the road, looked for the next house to visit, and devoured his fingernails. He was in the right place. He didn’t know it yet, but he was. But now he had an obstacle worse than distance, worse than locked chains and gates and walls. He was blocked by the greediest, selfishist, deceitfulist family in the seven kingdoms.

Cinderella’s stepmom started her lies right away. She pretended they had lost the slipper and melted down the other one when they couldn’t find the match. But everyone told lies like these. It was nothing. The guards didn’t care and they weren’t interested in the fancy glass she showed them to prove her story. They knew by the same old lies that this was not the right house, but they let the sisters try the slipper out of sworn duty to the prince. The first daughter tried it on. Her foot couldn’t begin to fit into the slipper. The stepsister was so crazy to believe their lie that she got angry that it wasn’t working. Have you ever known someone who starts to believe their own lie and goes crazy when it doesn’t work? She started getting red and foaming at the mouth with furious stupidity. But Cinderella’s stepmother was better at self-control. She was also more devious and relentless than the other families. She didn’t give up so easily. She was the sort to do whatever necessary. Whatever necessary. This is what made her different. She made the excuse that her daughter needed her silk stockings to slide into the slipper properly. She pulled her daughter back to the bedroom, but she stopped off at the kitchen for the knife. She began whetting the knife. She looked carefully at her daughter’s foot. Do you know why she looked at her daughter’s foot? Her daughter knew: “You mean to cut me?” “Yes.” In those times accidents were common. Things weren’t safe. So many people lost whole limbs and if they didn’t die from disease, they went on living well enough. Losing a couple toes would be nothing. To inherit a kingdom? To be a true princess? To live in court and have everyone talking about you instead of you talking about them? Would you? Would you cut yourself? I think the stepsister felt the same as you. She wanted to be a princess. But she was afraid to bleed for it. Afraid to lose pieces of herself. Their life in the mansion wasn’t so bad. But the mom could read her mind: “We’re losing money. We can’t stay in this mansion with expensive dresses and cakes much longer. You better sacrifice for the family.” Her voice got angrier, but she was careful to whisper-yell, “After everything I’ve sacrificed …” The first daughter shook her head stubbornly. She started to make tantrum face. The second daughter came into the room to see what was going on. The mom smiled; the first daughter was hard-headed, but the second daughter was more obedient. The stepmom commanded her second daughter to stick out her foot and be cut to fit the slipper. “Quickly!” The second daughter came forward slowly, obedient, but full of fear. She was sweating and shaking. Her mom whetted the knife a couple more times. She squinted her eyes to imagine the foot in the shape of the shoe. She put the knife against her daughter’s foot to line up the cut. But she was a sloppy surgeon and she cut a tiny little nick into her daughter’s foot before she was ready to make the big slice. At just the sight of blood, at the first little bit of pain from a tiny cut, her second daughter screamed and fainted. The first daughter started shrieking hysterically. The prince ran in with the guardsmen. He seized the knife from the old mother.  He made sure everyone was okay. The guards revived the second daughter. The prince asked who was singing.

What?

The prince had come in before the screaming even started because he had heard singing, beautiful singing. The stepsisters had heard it, but they hadn’t noticed because their mom was whetting a knife to cut off pieces of their feet and that’s very distracting. Cinderella. Cinderella felt so in love with the prince after three magical dances that she forgot she was afraid to sing near her family and had started singing in the back house … while she swept the fireplace.  

The first daughter stammered in a kind of stupid enlightenment, “It’s Cinderella. You want Cinderella.” She barely realized that she was answering two questions. She was answering who was singing, but something in her heart realized the truth. The mystery girl that the prince was looking for was good and beautiful Cinderella, Cinderella who glowed through the dirt and the sweat and the tears. The prince ran out the back door. He realized he was carrying a large kitchen knife, dripping with blood, while leaving a house of screaming women. He’ll give his new bride the terrors if she sees him like this. He got rid of the knife. He made sure there was no blood on him. He fixed his hair, straightened his clothes, looked sharp. He opened the door.
 
There she was. Absolutely ragged. Face caked with dirt like a bad child. Her head was about as pretty as a burnt log. And she smelled of mop water and chimney smoke. His eyes knew it wasn’t her. He could taste her filth in the air and knew it wasn’t her. She started to apologize and stuff, and his ears knew it wasn’t her. He kindly put his hand on her shoulder to calm her, but his touch knew it wasn’t her. In fact every inch of him knew it wasn’t her … except. Except a spot in his chest about five inches long. And three and a half inches wide. And two and a half inches deep. That spot alone knew it was her. So, he asked, “Was it you? Were you the one at the ball?”
 
Cinderella is a very nice girl. Cinderella always tries hard and does good and—well, blah, blah, blah. Cinderella lied. The pure innocent perfect girl lied and said, “No.” She was too ashamed of her current condition. She couldn’t be an ugly, stinking, stupid servant in front of the prince. She’d rather he forget her. She’d rather to lie, than to have the princess know that she is “Cinderella.” The prince could not call her a liar. He bid her good bye. He ordered the guards to finish fitting everyone so they could leave and he waited on the road again.
 
The stepsisters were out of the question. They asked for the servants. The other servant girls quietly let the guards try the slipper on them. But the servants were starting to wonder also if Cinderella was the one. They waited in suspense. Cinderella was the only one left. She thought of running away. She looked for the exits. But the look in the guards faces was so stern. She was sure they would chase her if she ran and then she would seem like a criminal as well as a filthy servant. She held still. The slipper fit so well that it’s almost like her foot pulled it on. Now here the two guards had a disagreement. They had found the girl. After almost two weeks and just in time! But one guard was irritated. Indeed, they had found a filthy servant girl that it happens to fit. But it was a girl that the prince had just talked to. It couldn’t really be her. And on the prince’s honor, he would be obliged to marry this stinking filthy girl because he swore to do it. This guard believed they had a duty to keep the fit a secret so the prince could marry a good woman without muddying his honor. The other guard believed it was their duty to report the fit as instructed. So, it was a matter of honor and duty for each guard to report or not report it. They were ready to fight over it and indeed they began to fight. When Cinderella saw this, she couldn’t stand it. She got up and ran to them to make them stop. And when she ran, that slipper didn’t crack. It didn’t “ding” or “scrape.” It rang a half a melody. Like clouds changing shapes in the sky. Does that have a sound?
 
Then, the resisting guard knew. He knew from his heart to his ears to his eyes to his toenails, that this was who the prince loved. It was almost who he loved; he’d better watch out. So, he ordered the stepsisters to clean her face and ordered the stepmom to get her a dress. But the fairy godmother appeared and pushed them all aside and said, “Out of the way, good people.” Then, just to Cinderella, she said, “One last dress. No more. I already got you a prince after all.” And she gave her a dress. Just a plain thing. A boring one. It only looked … perfect. And she gave her another slipper so that she wouldn’t look like an idiot running about in one shoe. And for good bye she said, “Your name is Lunastella. And your mother and father told me to tell you that they love you very much and feel very proud of you and are watching always.”  
 
So … Lunastella ran to the prince. She introduced herself properly  The prince ordered the stepmom arrested for conspiracy, but Lunastella couldn’t bear it and refused to let her be kept in a dungeon. The stepmom couldn’t survive her own jealousy and bitterness, though. A week later she died of misery. It was beyond hard for the stepsisters. It was true that their money was out. In fact, they were in debt. They lost the mansion and all of their dresses and jewelry. They could not marry gentlemen. They were poor and not very nice. But they found some servant men who didn’t mind their poor looks and their idle chatter. They learned to work. They had to. They carried so much more than teacups. And they were lucky to taste cake once or twice a year for a holiday. Lunastella invited them to stay in the castle every year, but they wouldn’t go. They were ashamed. They knew what they had done was wrong. But slowly by slowly, they improved. They got healthier and wiser and kinder. They learned to sing well like servants do. They learned jokes and country gossip. They learned how to glow through the dirt the same as Lunastella. And one day, when they could forgive themselves and look Lunastella in the eye, they accepted the invitation. Lunastella hadn’t changed except that sometimes she talked about the Paris fashions too much. The stepsisters visited and then moved into the castle. And there they all lived as a family, happily ever after.
October Thirty-One
Wischowski, Wardan Stanlo and Kungsavarangkul, Takdanai and Katk, Kithnithi