A re-written fairy tale

This post is going to be slightly different from my previous posts. In case you have grown tired of grammar, you may find this post refreshing and, perhaps, inspirational. It is a story written from a viewpoint of Cinderella's half-sister Drizella. I wrote it as a part of an assignment at university so it is of a rather limited length.








                                                 Princess Drizella   

I sit here for at least half an hour and observe the crowd in front of my castle. The same people every fortnight, their ridiculous painted faces and hair full of powder. They all are trying to get the best place in the hall, as near as possible to the Prince. There was a time when I was enchanted by these dances. 

Once upon a time, my mother, Lady Tremaine, and my younger sister, Anastasia, and I came to this shire to live with a widower, now our stepfather, and his daughter. The widower had money which we needed badly after our grandmother, the Countess, lost everything. Our mother, being of a noble descent, was invited to the dances held in the castle. Mother never allowed our half-sister, Cinderella, to come with us. She knew that Cinderella overshadowed us with her emerald eyes and her almond hair. We would always find a way to make her stay at home; once we even cut her hair off when the stepfather was away. What always bothered me is that she never suffered too much for not being able to come with us. Upon our return from the ball I would always find scraps of paper on which she wrote love stories while we were away. This hardly useful inclination for writing she inherited from her father. Neither of them had any real ambitions.

I made sure to get what I deserved. I married the Prince. That was the happiest day of my life. I smile even now as I recall the envy of all of the present guests. Everyone in the hall was in awe of the Prince and the Princess. Cinderella, of course, pretended to be deeply moved by my happiness, she even cried, a little hypocrite, as if she had any reason to be happy that I got to be the Princess. Soon after my wedding, Anastasia got married to Sir John, the Prince’s counsellor. She tries to imitate me in everything I do, as she envies me even today after all these years; no matter how hard she tries to hide it I know she does.

The little goody-goody married an insignificant doctor. They have a small house on the other side of the town. I have not seen her for months now. The last time I saw her, she was with her husband in a little park, their son running around them after some puppy. She had such an irritable happy smile on her face I could not stand looking at. I quickly drew the curtains on my carriage and proceeded to my castle. I heard she writes fairy tales, and that she named one by her own name. I hate to admit but I envy her. Cinderella has one thing I never had: husband’s love.

The music has started. The Prince is already in the hall and waiting for me. My husband despises me and I despise him, but I have to go and once again play the role of the happy Princess. My only comfort today is to see envy in the eyes that are still ignorant of my misery. 


by S.B.

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