CINDERELLA PART 4

She crashed into a clearing where Cinderella’s now-pumpkin carriage sat abandoned, looking sulky and deflated. Its magical transformation timer had apparently expired mid-journey. Rhea picked straw out of her hair and limped toward a figure sitting peacefully by a small, giggling stream.

            ‘Cinderella!’ Rhea called out, bracing herself for fury. ‘Listen, I’m so sorry, I completely ruined everything, the loo was a silly trick—’

            ‘Oh, hello there,’ Cinderella said calmly, looking up from where she was dangling her feet in the water. ‘You’re fine.’

Rhea stopped short. ‘You’re… not angry?’

            ‘Angry?’ Cinderella laughed, a sound like silver bells. ‘Why would I be angry? You’ve just given me the most extraordinary gift.’

            ‘I have?’

Cinderella gestured to the moonlit forest. ‘Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this? Just… silence. No stepsisters shrieking, no stepmother listing my failures, no endless parade of ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘Right away, ma’am.’ She wiggled her toes in the stream, and Rhea noticed she still wore one golden slipper.

            ‘For years,’ Cinderella continued, her voice softer, ‘I told myself I just wanted someone to rescue me. But tonight, dancing with him—lovely boy, though he has the conversational depth of pudding—I realised I don’t want to be rescued. I want to walk away on my own.’

            ‘But the happy ending,’ Rhea protested weakly. ‘The marriage, the palace…’

            ‘Whose happy ending?’ Cinderella asked gently. ‘I’ve spent so long cleaning other people’s messes, following other people’s rules. When you caused all that chaos—’ She grinned suddenly, looking younger and more mischievous. ‘—it was the first time I felt truly alive in years.’

            ‘FEAR NOT, MY BELOVED!’ A distant shout echoed through the trees. ‘I SHALL FIND YOU!’

Both women winced.

            ‘Oh dear,’ Cinderella sighed. ‘He’s very persistent, isn’t he?’

            ‘Like a romantic fungus,’ Rhea agreed grimly. ‘I don’t suppose you have any ideas for getting rid of him? I could turn him into a chair.’

            ‘On the count of three,’ Gus’s voice piped up from Rhea’s shoulder, ‘our contestants will attempt the ‘Total Incompetence defence.’

            ‘It is a bold strategy,’ Tavo added. ‘Let us see if it pays off.’

The hoofbeats grew closer. Cinderella stood up, a wicked twinkle in her eye. ‘I have an idea,’ she whispered. ‘Play along.’

As the prince burst into the clearing, sword drawn, Cinderella stepped forward with an exaggeratedly regal air.

            ‘Your Highness! You’ve found me! I was just… practising my royal duties!’

            ‘My darling!’ The prince dismounted. ‘I knew I’d find you! But what duties are you practising in a stream?’

            ‘The Royal Curtsy, of course!’ Cinderella declared. She then performed a curtsy so elaborate and clumsy that she tumbled backwards, landing with a loud splash. She sat up, dripping. ‘A tad slippery,’ she said with a perfectly straight face.

Rhea jumped in. ‘She’s also been working on her Royal Singing Voice! A true talent! Go on, Cindy, give him a sample!’

Cinderella cleared her throat and let out a squawk so loud and tuneless that a nearby owl fell out of its tree, looking personally offended.

The prince looked horrified. ‘That… wasn’t the voice I remember.’

            ‘Oh, the palace acoustics are much better,’ Cinderella said brightly. ‘And my true passion is economic policy! We should immediately tax the nobility to fund a public library system and provide subsidised, sensible footwear for the working class.’

            ‘Subsidised… footwear?’ the prince echoed, utterly bewildered. ‘I am a prince, trained to marry princesses and kill dragons.’

            ‘She’s a visionary!’ Rhea added.

The prince stared at the mud-stained, squawking, tax-reforming woman. This couldn’t be the graceful mystery he had danced with. He looked at her bare, muddy feet, then at the golden slipper in his hand, as if trying to solve a complicated math problem.

            ‘An interesting tactic!’ Gus announced from Rhea’s hat. ‘He appears to be recalculating his entire future!’

            ‘I… I think I’ve made a terrible mistake,’ the prince stammered, backing away. ‘You’re… clearly not her.’ He glanced at Rhea. ‘And neither are you.’

            ‘Ah,’ Rhea exclaimed, finally relieved, ‘better late than never.’

He scrambled back onto his horse with none of his earlier flair and galloped away, desperate to escape the most un-magical woman he had ever met.

Cinderella watched him go, then collapsed onto the grass, laughing. ‘Did you see his face? ‘Subsidised footwear’—I think that’s what broke him!’

            ‘You’re terrifying,’ Rhea said admiringly. ‘And a brilliant actress.’

            ‘Years of pretending I liked my stepsisters’ new bonnets,’ Cinderella wiped her eyes. ‘You pick up a few tricks.’

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

            ‘So what now?’ Rhea asked.

Cinderella looked up at the stars, her expression peaceful. ‘Now I walk. Maybe I’ll find a cottage, or learn a trade that doesn’t involve scrubbing floors. Maybe I’ll travel. For the first time, the choice is mine.’ She stood and pulled off her remaining golden slipper. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it to Rhea. ‘A souvenir. And thank you—for the chaos, for the freedom, for proving that stories don’t have to end the way people expect.’

            ‘Are you sure you’ll be alright?’ Rhea asked, feeling protective of this brave girl who’d chosen independence over a crown.

            ‘More than alright.’ Cinderella’s smile, for the first time, reached her eyes completely. ‘I’m free.’ She turned to Rhea. ‘Will you keep my secret?’

            ‘Like it was already written,’ Rhea promised. ‘You vanished without a trace.’

And with that, Cinderella walked barefoot into the forest, disappearing between the trees as if she’d never been part of a fairy tale at all.

Rhea sat a moment longer. The air shimmered, and she felt the tug begin. Her braid, the magical anchor, began to loosen. She watched as the first knot slipped free, releasing a faint echo of Cinderella’s laughter. The next strand unwound with the phantom warmth of the ballroom. Another, and she saw the Prince’s bewildered face morphing into a quail and back again. The braid wasn’t just a key; it was the story’s memory, releasing its hold. With the final knot undone, her hair spilt free, and a doorway of silver light opened. She tilted her hat and stepped through.

She landed with a soft thump on the saggy cushions of her own throne. The air smelled of old books and chamomile, not desperate perfume. A loud, accusatory snore came from the corner. Gorbaclaventichun cracked open one eye, saw it was only her, and went back to sleep, his tail twitching in annoyance.

Rhea looked down at her hands. The lingering hum of the moon-magic was still there, a quiet, confident thrum beneath her skin. She wasn’t the same witch who had left. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the souvenir: one perfect, impossible golden shoe. It gleamed in the moonlight.

With a smirk, she placed it on the floor next to Gorbaclaventichun. Gus and Tavo, who had hitched a ride back, scampered down and began inspecting it with the air of professional surveyors.

            ‘A little cleaning, some straw,’ Gus squeaked, ‘and it will make a magnificent new home.’

            ‘I thought you couldn’t leave the bedtime tale,’ Rhea said.

            ‘We are surprised too,’ one cockroach said.

            ‘But who cares,’ the other finished.

Rhea leaned back, listening to the cockroaches planning their renovations and the cat snoring his disapproval: the next full moon, another braid, another broken story. A month ago, the thought would have filled her with dread. Now, she felt a flicker of something else. She looked at the door. Now, anything could come.