Cinderella Revisited

The slipper slides onto her wedged lump of a foot, easy as silk. A smug grin rounds her chin and points her lips. Her eyes grope Sinsa’s face.

Sinsa is stunned. The slipper, pulsed with Caterina’s doughy foot, danced on her own not half an hour ago. She doesn’t speak.

Caterina rises and faces the prince. He hesitates, then rubs his temple and takes her by the shoulders. “I have loved you from the minute I danced with you,” he says. “When you left it was…so abrupt; I thought I’d done something wrong. I found your slipper on the stairs. I knew it was yours because I’d stared at it all night when I was too shy to look you in the eyes. Your eyes are lovely.”

Caterina smiles. How fortunate that she and Sinsa have the same sharp brown eyes.

Silence hovers in the room. The prince smooths Caterina’s arms. Indignance churns in Sinsa’s stomach.

Next to her, Anastasia stands perfectly still, her head cast down. A tear glides gracefully down her cheek.

“Better it was one of you,” Stepmother whispers.

Sinsa feels no sympathy, not for Anastasia, cheated by time; not for the prince, cheated by trickery; not for Stepmother, cheated by her fading beauty. They are all pawns.

The prince breathes deeply, and takes Caterina’s crafted hand in his own square one. Sinsa imagines the feel of his hands, encased on the small of her back, splayed out like spiderwebs on her shoulders, circled around her fingers.

“Adele,” the prince begins.

Stepmother’s head snaps up. Sinsa sees the cogs rotating in her head: Adele was Sinsa’s mother’s name.

“Adele, I hoped against hope that slipper would fit you. A prince isn’t supposed to fall, but I have. I fell in love the moment I saw you.”

Caterina lays her palm on his cheek. Sinsa burns.

“Adele,” he whispers, “will you be my queen?”

Caterina nods. “I would be honored.” Sinsa wants to snap the graceful arch of her neck.

Anastasia chokes back a sob.

“Oh, the happy couple!” Stepmother cries joyously. She strides to Caterina and the prince and wetly kisses her daughter and her monarch on their cheeks.

The prince responds by kissing Caterina full on the mouth. Sinsa’s indignance crumples, replaced with limp despair.

Caterina leads the prince out to the garden. The door beats shut behind them, a finality.

Anastasia sobs and runs upstairs, her pounding feet a finality.

Stepmother follows slowly. “The kitchen, Sinsa,” she says, her voice heavy.

Sinsa walks slowly to the kitchen. She is aware of the thin cloth on her body and the glass slipper in her pocket. She breaks it against the kitchen table, picks up the most dagger-like shard, and clenches it in her fist, waiting until Caterina sleeps to take her revenge.