Sinful Cinderella

The first thing I did was turn my rats white. Then I fixed my crooked teeth. Then, just for kicks, I turned a pair of my shoes into gold. But Loony got jealous and stole them away and Stepmother didn’t make her give them back. I started shrinking my feet so my shoes wouldn’t fit her.

Then one day, I heard Stepmother remark to a neighbor that I was “somewhat pretty but nothing special.” And that burnt a hole right through my heart. Papa had always called me beautiful, his little queen. I decided I would make myself so stunning, I really could be queen. The fairest in the land. The idea rooted into my heart, sprouted and flourished and bloomed. I didn’t know how I would meet and marry the prince, but I waited for an opportunity.

And now it’s here.

Godnutter crosses the yard and dumps the ashes of her pipe into the pumpkin patch. “All right, brat, why am I here? What do you want?”

“I want to go to the ball.”

“What ball?”

“Oh gracious, what goes on in fairyland? The prince’s ball!”

Godnutter digs in the pocket of her dress and pulls out a little pouch that holds the stuff she smokes. “Hmm, sounds dreary. Why don’t you stay home and play cards? We could have a nice game of cribbage.”

“Do fairies play cards?”

“All the time, and cheat like thieves.”

“Um, no thanks. I really want to go to the ball.”

“Why?”

“Well, the prince is looking for a new bride and I thought it would be... nice... if he chose me. It could happen. And it would get me away from Stepmother and Loony and Moody.”

“Who?”

“Lunilla and Melodie.”

“That’s what you call them? Ha!” Godnutter cackles, a loud, smoky rattle. She snaps her fingers over the pipe and it lights again. “So have you met this prince?” she mumbles, mouth around the pipe.

“No, not yet.”

“But you want to marry him. Ooh, real smart.”

I sigh heavily. Can’t I have one nice relative? Just one? Is that too much to ask? “I want to be queen, that’s all. I don’t care about the prince.”

Godnutter simply puffs and stares.

“So will you help me?”

“Hmm....” Godnutter blows out a cloud of smoke and watches it sift into the air. “No.”

I clench my teeth. The white magic is gone, I don’t have to be patient. But if I blow up she might disappear and then I’m stuck.

I try a softer tone. “I think Papa wants me to go. He came to me in a dream tonight.”

“A dream is a wish your heart makes. It wasn’t really him.”

“Why won’t you help me!” I whine. “You’re my fairy godmother, that’s what you’re for!”

“I’m not your genie, honeybun. I’m here to look out for you. You know, fairies can’t see the future. Only shadows and suggestions. And something tells me this ball is bad news.”

“I still want to go.”

“Then give me a reason.”

“What?”

“Give me a reason to let you go.”

I think about this. A reason. Something I can offer in exchange, like a bargain or deal. What does she want from me? What would be hard for me to give up?

My eyes fall to the crystal decanter standing on the flagstones and I curse inwardly.

“If you let me go to this ball,” I say slowly, “and if I fail to win the prince’s hand, I will give you back the white magic. And I’ll be good. Just for goodness’ sake.”

Godnutter lifts her frizzled eyebrows. “And,” she says, “if you fail, I will reverse the changes the white magic has wrought. You’ll be ordinary Cinderella again.”

Ordinary Cinderella. The crooked teeth. The slopey nose. The straw-colored hair. And who knows how big my feet will be? My stomach turns inside out just thinking about it.

“That or nothing, dumpling,” Godnutter says.

I grit my teeth - “Deal.” - then turn and drop my face in my hands. Oh Papa, what have I done?

Godnutter slaps my bottom and laughs. “Let’s get you to this ball, brat!”