Cindarella (the rewrite)

There once was a young girl who lived with her father in a beautiful castle.  Her mother, the queen, had died when she was just born, and her father couldn't bare to take another wife.  He had such an intense love for Cindarella's mother, a love that no one else in the world could replace.  1

Every night, before Cindarella would go to sleep, her father would share with her a story of his time with her mother.  Though Cindarella had never met the lady, she felt as though her mother had never left.  2

One day, her father came into her room to tell her that he would be gone for a few days.  It was a diplomatic thing, he explained to Cindarella, and he needed to travel to a town about fifty miles away.  He would take his daughter (because he usually did), but this time, he felt it would be best to leave her at home in the care of her governess.  Something inside him told him that this was not the business trip where he should bring his daughter.  Cindarella wrapped her arms tightly around her father and kissed his cheek.  She tried so hard not to cry and asked her father that upon his return, could he please tell her all about it?  He smiled and said yes.  Then he gathered some supplies and rode away on his beautiful white stallion.3

A week had passed with no news of her father, and Cindarella was scared.  She asked her governess if she could send one of the townspeople after her father to bring back news.  The governess agreed, and the two waited, anxious to hear why her father had not returned as he had said.  Another week passed before they would find out.  The sad news was brought to Cindarella by way of her father's stallion.  Upon the horse's back lay her father.  It appeared he had been killed by human hands, not another animal as the horse was unharmed.  And, the horse, being as loyal as he was, remained by his owner's side until the end.  The farmer who had found him explained he didn't know what had happened.  He had found the girl's father in a wooded area near an opening to a large field.  There were no houses around, and the town he was to visit was still miles away.4

Cindarella sobbed and sobbed.  Her hero was gone.  Her storyteller had died.  The one who had said he would never leave her had done just that and left.  And now, she had no one.  At twelve years old, she was in no position to take over her father's affairs.  And both he and her mother were only children.  There were no aunts or uncles to take the child in.  5

The governess immediately took charge and offered Cindarella a place to stay.  Of course the governess had her own children to care for -- fourteen year old, Marybeth, and sixteen year-old, Eleanor -- but she couldn't abandon this little girl that, truly, she had raised as her own since her birth.6

Cindarella moved in the next day.  She had met the other children before.  It wasn't rare for her governess to bring her two daughters over to play with the twelve year-old.  In fact, many times, the two girls were the only friends Cindarella had.  But things would change.  Sure, they were nice to her when she first moved in.  The governess had made sure of that.  She told her daughters that something very sad had happened to Cindarella, and they must all be very kind to her.  But, after a week of politeness, the girls decided it wasn't worth it.  Cindarella was no longer a princess.  She was an orphan, and what's more, the girls' family had offered to take her in.  Cindarella had not once shown any sign of gratefulness yet.  And of course, she had never ever had to do a chore in her life.7

The first thing the girls' decided to do was ask Cindarella to help them clean their room.  It was a simple request, but they didn't tell Cindarella that they were going to leave her after she had started to help.  About five minutes after Cindarella had started picking up some of the toys, the two girls vanished.  Cindarella didn't know what to do, so she thought she would just finish up.  She didn't want the girls to get in trouble with their mother.  The sisters continued with these tactics until finally, they had Cindarella as their slave.  The girls didn't have to do anything, and their mother never knew.  She always assumed that her girls must be angels with the way they helped around the house.  And Cindarella had become despondent.  She missed her father every day, but there was no one she could talk to.  The truth was, she didn't mind all of these new tasks.  As she worked, she would try so hard to remember the stories her father had told her.  She tried so desperately to remember the way her father smiled as he kissed her good night and good morning every day.8

Three years passed, and Cindarella had become a very quiet young woman.  She rarely smiled, and she almost never left the house except to go the market when asked by Eleanor or Marybeth.  One day, the girls received an invitation to attend a party.  It was to be a glamorous party for a prince who lived in the next town, about fifty miles away.  He was of marrying age, but could not find the one he wanted to marry.  9

Though the distance between the two towns was great, the neighboring villagepeople often intermingled with the selling of goods, friends and relatives.  Cindarella remembered one time when she had just moved in with the governess.  She had been sent to the market there, heard a rumor, saw a smile, and then voices dropped as she appeared.  Could they be talking of her father?  Their words indicted the royalty of the village as her father's murderers, and the only reason these people could talk without fear of treason would be if the rumors were true.  Cindarella kept this information to herself.  Perhaps, someday, it could be of use.10

Cindarella's one-time governess insisted that all three girls attend the gala.  Who knows if the prince might find one of them to his liking?  Each girl was taken to the seamstress to design the most beautiful gown that could be afforded.  Eleanor and Marybeth, of course, insisted that their dress be nicer than Cindarella's.  11

Afterall, they explained to their mother, "Shouldn't we have a better chance of marriage than Cindarella?  We are older than Cindarella, and the prince would probably choose one of us anyway."12

Their mother disregarded their statements, saying, "Any of you could be the next princess of our neighboring town.  I'll not have any disagreements between the three of you."  Then, she gave the money for all three girls to Eleanor and sent her to pay the seamstress.  13

Eleanor, of course, continued with her thoughts of who was better than the next.  She told the seamstress that her mother wished that all three have evening gowns but that the youngest girl's dress ought not to be as fancy.  "My mother wants all three of us to go to this party," she explained, "even though Cindarella's really too young.  She wants to make sure that everyone knows that Cindarella's not of marrying age."14

The seamstress did as she was told, and the girls readied themselves for the party.  Little did the older girls realize that it wasn't the dress that made the girl, but the girl who made the dress.  Cindarella always did have a perfect pale complexion.  Her slim waist and long strawberry blonde hair gave her a beauty that Eleanor and Marybeth would never have.  And the prince would surely notice.  The oblivious governess certainly did not see the difference in the three dresses.  She hurried the three girls out the door and wished them well.15

None of the girls spoke during the ride to the next town.  They were to attend the party and then stay a couple of nights with a family friend before returning home.  Eleanor and Marybeth found themselves growing giddy as the ride continued.  Perhaps the prince had already seen them during his many visits to their village.  What if he had already chosen one of them to be his bride?  Cindarella remained quiet, pensive of the night's festivities.  Cindarella was the first to step down out of the carriage.  The other two, after leaving the carriage, walked in front of her and continued a few steps ahead into the castle.  16

The prince was to dance with every girl in attendance.  It was his hope that with each dance, a conversation could be had, and he would have ample opportunity to decide which of the many girls would be best suited for his wife.  As Cindarella suspected, the prince was immediately enamored with her.  He chose her for his first dance and whispered in her ear that he wished to have his last dance with her as well.  Cindarella simply giggled as she supposed she should do and finished the dance by walking to the far side of the room.  She would take this time to examine where everyone was.  Eleanor and Marybeth had taken immediately to introducing themselves to other girls in attendance.  She knew it wouldn't be long before they found their way to the queen and attempted to win themselves in her graces.  There were probably close to one hundred young ladies in attendance, each hoping that she would be the next princess.17

Cindarella didn't want to be the princess, and if everything worked out right, none of the other girls would either.  She fingered the small knife, hidden underneath the pleats in her dress.  She had stolen it from the kitchen the other day in anticipation of this event, and now all she had to do was wait for the perfect opportunity.  She watched the prince move from girl to girl, smiling his sweet fake smile and talking about nothing of significance.18

As the evening drew to a close, the prince kept his promise and returned to Cindarella.  She smiled sweetly as before and waited for the prince's proposal.  He told her he would like for them to dance and after, he would like for her to meet his mother and father.  He wanted this last dance to be special, so he took her hand and walked her to the far side of the room, far away from the loud conversations of everyone in attendance.  19

Perfect, Cindarella thought.  No one will see.  No one will suspect a thing.  She wasn't really paying attention to the prince's words.  Instead, she was going over her plan in her mind.  He paused for a moment, and she realized he had asked her a question.  It was time, she decided.  20

"Prince," she started, "My name is Cindarella Marie Erickson.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die."21