Glass Slipper
Run.
She runs.
Away from the ball.
Away from the crowd.
Away from him.
Charming?
Sure.
If you've never met him.
But she is not the first to run, and she will not be the last.
She trips.
Hard marble floor coming toward her face.
She pushes herself back to her feet and ignores the footsteps behind her.
Footsteps.
Louder and louder and louder.
He's coming.
So she runs.
She doesn't notice the glass left on the steps.
The slipper she thought would save her life.
It might just end it.
Into the forest she flees, as the entire kingdom chases her.
The girl of his dreams is running.
Why would she run? She can't leave.
Her breath is heavy.
Her chest is pounding.
The girl of his dreams runs from the prince of her nightmares.
Through the forest, into the town, back to the house.
The house.
She thought she'd escape it tonight.
Now it was her only chance at life.
She bursts through the door. Lungs filled with air that weighs her down like lead.
The prince is chasing her.
She is going to die.
Her stepsisters arrive later. They don't understand.
Who wouldn't want to marry the prince?
But she knows the truth.
Eleven wives have come and gone.
Eleven graves have been dug.
Eleven innocents in the palace convicted.
Eleven nooses hung from the gallows.
The prince marries and kills, the girls run and are caught, and the servants take the blame.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.
She will not be the twelfth.
She locks herself in her room, with a word of warning to her stepsisters.
I am not here.
They listen. Her stepsisters are more than she could ask for.
She fears for their safety as well.
Her stepmother has not returned yet.
Good.
She is going to find a way out of here, to find her and her stepsisters a new life.
Her stepmother will ruin all of that.
A knock on the door sounds.
The window was left open.
He can see.
There is no hiding from him, so her stepsisters open the door.
Creak. Creak.
A man enters.
Barely old enough to have one wife.
But eleven?
Soon to be twelve.
"The only thing we could recover was this shoe."
A chill runs down her spine.
She has the matching slipper.
But she is safe for now.
She is hidden.
"Oh, that's mine!" says a voice.
Her stepsister.
No.
"Try it on, then."
It won't work.
It won't fit.
An accident when she was five, separating her foot from three of her toes.
The slippers are made to fit perfectly.
Her stepsister knows that.
She peers through the crack in her door.
Downstairs is the prince, her stepsisters, and a glimmer.
The glimmer of sunlight on a blade.
"Give me a moment; you know how cumbersome women's shoes can be. I'll need one of my maids to help me take it off."
Footsteps. Four feet.
Both stepsisters leave.
Outside the door they stand, the blade gripped tight in a hand.
Knuckles white, she takes off the shoe.
"If this doesn't work, I'll try," says another voice.
Slowly, she understands.
NO.
She wants to cry out but knows both her sisters will die if her hiding place is found.
So she waits.
Watches.
As the blade is lowered.
And off comes a toe.
Another.
Another.
One
by
One
by
One.
Blood.
A stifled scream.
And the blade is passed to another hand.
Off they go.
Chop.
Chop.
Chop.
One,
Two,
Three.
Dark.
Red.
Hot.
Blood.
No, no, NO!
A sob escapes this time. A whisper of pain.
"Oh, God in heaven!"
"It's fine. Let me clean it up."
"Okay."
The blood spills onto the floor and under the crack in the door.
Seeps through the floorboards.
She prays that a drop will not spill on the prince's head.
And then the girls have returned.
One stepsister sits and beckons for the prince.
The other stands in wait.
Long skirt hiding the fact that she, too, has removed her shoe.
And waits for the inevitable failure.
The prince, charming as ever, leans down.
Heaven forbid the lady put on the shoe herself.
Slips it onto her foot.
The room holds its breath.
It doesn't fit.
She apologises.
Her sister shoves her to the side, ever the jealous relative.
Such good actors, they are.
The prince smiles, knowing the charade is almost over.
He leans down.
Slips the shoe on her foot.
It doesn't fit.
Her sisters are panicking now.
She is panicking.
"Are there any other women in this household?"
"No. None at all."
"You mentioned a maid."
"I was mistaken; she had already left for the market," her stepsister lies. "Before I got there. My sister helped me instead."
"Of course."
She holds her breath.
She is almost safe.
"Well, I guess we'll have to leave this house. Thank you for your time."
Her stepsisters smile.
It is almost over.
Then the door opens.
She thinks the prince is leaving.
Breaths a sigh of relief.
But through the door steps another woman.
"Mother," her stepsister says, trying to hide her dismay.
No.
"Oh! What is the prince doing here?"
Nothing. Nothing at all. Leave.
"Do you happen to know who this shoe belongs to?"
She peers through the crack in the door again.
Her stepmother is grinning.
She knows who the shoe belongs to.
Knows perfectly well.
Is dreaming of the riches she'll acquire when her stepdaughter weds the prince.
No. Please, no!
"My other daughter is upstairs in her room," says her stepmother.
"I'm sorry, Mother, but she hasn't returned from the ball yet," lies her stepsister.
"Nonsense! You might not have seen her, but the ball was over the moment the prince left. We must answer his request."
She searches for a place to hide but is too late.
Her stepmother grins in the doorway.
"Come, daughter," she says, with the kindest voice she can muster.
Not very kind.
She tries to resist but her stepmother grabs her arm and drags her forward, so that the prince can see.
He knows who she is.
She cannot escape.
Her stepmother drops her onto the stool, where the slipper that will seal her fate is there.
She looks up at her stepsisters.
Her stepmother sees her and walks over to her daughters, making sure they know what the consequences will be if a single word escapes their mouths.
"Try it on, dear."
The prince watches her intently.
Slips the glass onto her foot.
It fits.
Perfectly.
No.
The prince grins.
Her stepmother giggles like a child and claps her hands.
Her stepsisters go pale.
And the prince leans in closer.
He grabs her and pulls her to him.
His lips touch hers.
She tries to pull away and fails.
He lets go, still grinning.
"I love your slippers. Perhaps you could wear them for our wedding."
She wants to scream but can't.
He has her.
And he won't let go.
He looks at her, the picture of a man hopelessly in love.
Whispers in her ear.
"You didn't think you could run, did you?"
Grins like a wolf staring down its prey.
"Cinderella."