Living with Cin

A long time ago a queen of a small little kingdom gave birth to a fucked up firstborn named Cinder - or Cin, for short. The queen felt so proud of her little one she whisked her away from her father - who didn’t apparently care or notice - and placed her upon a pedestal encased in glass to prevent the outside world from ever possibly damaging her mint condition. Cinder stayed trapped inside four walls, able to see the grander world beyond yet never able to touch it.

Then one day a lowly little goblin thief happened by and greedily spied the shiny box. He always loved a challenge, and after some quick thinking he managed to knock said box from its pedestal and onto the ground. When it shattered into a thousand pieces he gently reached in and pulled Cinder up. “Hey - what were you doing trapped inside a box?”

She blinked. “I was trapped inside a box? I didn’t see one. Did no one hear me screaming?”

The little goblin thief - also a fucked up firstborn, except sadly his father had stayed - shook his head. There had been too much screaming for both of them growing up, so he whisked his little collectible away to his den where they built a Fortress of Friendship. For many happy years they reclaimed their childhoods playing games, rolling dice, singing songs, and living happily without ever needing to shout (except maybe over differences in strategy).

One day a letter came from Cinder’s stepbrother - a wayward bard with an eye for the ladies. Cinder loved her stepbrother, and he had apparently caught the eye of a princess in the neighboring kingdom. They had given birth to a beautiful little girl who was the gem of the court, always dressed up and smiling. Cinder had thought they were doing well.

Her stepbrother’s letter, however, was not well.

The royal family had forced her stepbrother to work for them in their palace, cooking meals, cleaning, doing home repairs, all while constantly trying to work and support his child. He spent several sleepless nights working late unto the dawn in taverns for tips, coming home nearly passed out to try and spend moments with his precious little one. Yet the royal family snubbed him, for he was but a lowly bard and his eye would still travel to the ladies every now and then. They complained he had not brought a true prince’s fortunes with him, and made him feel a failure for having to stay inside the royal castle with the princess. Whenever he tried to complain he could not keep up or afford his own castle, the princess would scream at him about how she had kept up ruling a kingdom and raising a child - obviously he should have been able to live up to her expectations as well as her standards.

At the end of the letter her stepbrother also admitted that he had never actually wanted a child; the princess had decided for them. He had only wanted to be a good father to his little one - not like Cinder’s father - so he stayed for many years to try and work things out.

Cinder showed his letter to her goblin thief and they grew very, very angry. People did not like them when they were angry. Firstborns have a tendency to demand their way.

They rode to the princess’ tower together, and before Cinder could explode (as Cinder admittedly had a tendency to do) the goblin thief piped up, “Excuse me, princess, but I would like to make a bargain.”

The princess eyed the goblin thief suspiciously (as she should - goblin thieves are very devious) before asking, “And what bargain would you like to make?”

“In exchange for your firstborn, I will take that lowly husband off your hands and find you a better one.”

She sniffed. She had worked hard to catch her husband, and she rather liked how he took care of things around the house. “Why would I give you my own child?”

“Well, you used her to catch a man once already - why not hold out for what you really want?” The goblin’s grin grew twisted. “You don’t want some sloppy, middle-child bard do you? I mean, he’s cute and funny but I bet what you really want are one of those strapping firstborn knights that go around rescuing poor princesses like you from lonely lives of luxury.”

Considering, the princess asked, “How would you guarantee me my own knight in exchange?”

“Simple,” the goblin offered, “No knight wants a woman with a child, children are an inconvience and they like to make their own.” He opened his hands wide. “Therefore if you give us your child you needn’t worry about that anymore. And your silly bard of a husband will likely leave you to follow her, easy as pie.”

His plan made logical sense - as goblin plans often do - and the princess thought for a few more moments before clearing her throat, “Very well. But I am a good mother, and I will demand visitation rights to my child.”

“Absolutely! As you should, all good mothers put their children first.” Cinder’s fists twitched but the goblin thief held her back. “Now - we’ll just collect your darling parcel and your foppish man and spread the word that a poor princess appears to have been trapped inside a lonely tower here.”

Nodding in excitement, the princess began brushing her hair in preparation. “Excellent! I shall wait for him here, then. All knights know it’s polite to make the first move.”

The goblin thief’s eyes glowed. “Oh yes. So polite.” He motioned for Cinder to fetch her stepbrother and niece. “It’s been lovely doing business with you, princess!”

“Likewise, little green one. I had thought your kind quite stupid but you can actually make sense.”

Cinder nearly exploded but her stepbrother and niece quickly distracted her into the carriage. The party rode back to the Fortress of Friendship, where they continued to play, sing, laugh, and support each other as true families do. And there was never any shouting - except over differences in strategy.