Maybe Cinderella

I stood in the cold forest, melancholy, tinged with fear colored my heart.
It started with the ball. I got the invitation to the party last year. The prince sent them out, and all I wanted was a taste of that life. Drugs, parties, designer gowns, adventure, glamour and alcohol all looked so desirable through my eyes that had seen nothing but monotony and mediocraty.
The night of the ball, I had gotten ready, black eyeliner and a short red dress, black heels and all. (With a bit of help from my 'fairy godmother.') I just wanted to escape the abuse and turmoil of my stepmother. Of course she wasn't pleasant, but I was difficult and overly dramatic. But at the time I thought that I was a prisoner in my own life.
This is where my story starts.
The carriage bounced up the hill as I critically examined my face in a compact. I had a pretty face. Not beautiful, certainly not ugly. Far from ugly. Mahogany hair, pretty blue eyes, full lips that I had painted crimson, high cheekbones, and soft lilly skin was what I saw when I looked into the mirror. Pretty, but lost. Lights and blaring sound caught my attention, and I threw the mirror into my bag. "Thanks for the ride. Pick me up at twelve?" The coachmen nodded and smiled as someone opened the door for me. I stepped out of the carriage, feeling like a movie star, but looking like just another pretty young thing with a short red dress and too much make up.
I walked along the stretched red carpet and up the stair of the mansion to the open doors, getting pulse of confidence from the music playing inside. Breathing in, I walked into the party, heading to the bar.
I found a stool and waited for someone to buy me a drink. It only took five minutes for a devastatingly handsome youth to come up to me.
"Hey. Having fun?" he asked, smiling. I batted my eyelahes and said, "Yes."
"I bet you'd have more fun if you danced with me."
I got up and walked to the dancefloor, taking in the sensation of being followed. He pulled me close, and led me around the dancefloor as people watched us dance. I knew it was the prince and loved the envy that radiated from all the girls that looked just like that.
Lines of light and color flashed around me as I danced and drank and drank some more. I loved the attention of being the prince's new arm candy.
So I went home at midnight (losing a black pump), but every night since the ball, I went out every night, and eventually, married the prince.
But as the newest toy of Prince James, I turned into an alcoholic, did drugs, and popped painkillers. Of course I was still young and pretty, so none of this mattered at akll. But I was losing myself. Oh well, I got what I wanted, didn't I?