Everyone thinks of me as evil. More than evil actually, downright vile. They don't know my side of the story, though. They don't know the true personality of my nemesis, dare I say her name? Cinderella. Ugh, I said it. A foul tasting word that rolls off the tongue in a most distasteful way. That spoiled little brat has given me a bad name. All because I made her do some chores. Because I didn't give her the biggest room in the house. Because I love my own daughters more than I love her. Here, I'll tell you my side of the story. Then all of you will finally understand.

It all started when I married her father. A man, wonderful and caring, whom I loved very much. One who seemed to have no idea how to properly raise a child. Around him, she acted like an angel. A quite desirable child who had fine looks and charming personality. Once she alone with me, she turned into a devil. She yelled and screamed until her desires became fulfilled. By me nonetheless! Her mother! Step-mother anyway. So avoided her. And yes, as the owner of this house I expected her to help with chores and other household duties. I did tend to give her the less desirable jobs but I only wanted to teach that horrible girl a lesson. God, did she complain! "You don't respect me!", "You treat me as a slave!", "I will tell my father about this!" she said. A constant stream of complaints never ceased to flow from her mouth. My daughters had fine clothes and beautiful jewelry. They took pride in that and saved up for these things. Cinderella, on the other hand, bought cheese for her pet mice(may we take a moment to appreciate the hilarity of this?) and many unnecessary trinkets. Then, to top it all off, she said I never buy her any clothes. She got the same allowance. Same amount of shopping trips. She would never get enough.

Then came the night of the ball. As a wealthy and respected family in the province, we received an invitation. I planned on taking all three girls to the ball and immediately began preparing outfits and jewelry for them. Cinderella, of course, insisted on buying the most expensive dress on the market. Absurd, really. So for her ignorance, I threatened, not prohibited, threatened her attendance to the ball. She also intended on wooing the price. Now, call me old-fashioned, but shouldn't the oldest daughter get the first shot at the guy? She kept her act together well enough that I didn't prohibit her from going. Until the night of the ball. She became dreadfully sick. Throwing up and coughing constantly. She pleaded her health but I knew she could not go to the ball. So, as her mother, I told her "No, you can not attend the ball because you are very sick and will infect others around you." Well, let's just say I probably should not have said that. She threw a tantrum, called me evil, said her father would hear about his and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her, body trembling.

After that whole ordeal, we set off for the ball. When we got there, beautiful chandeliers hung from the ceiling, plates of scrumptious food lined the walls and in the middle a large dance floor with countless couples swaying to the intoxicating music. The prince, a gorgeous young man in fine clothes, and none other than Cinderella danced on the dance floor. Fuming, I almost screamed at her right their and then but, I did not want to make a scene. I let her have her moment. She seemed less sick after all. They danced all night while we stayed on the other side

of the room eating and flirting with the dukes and knights. Around midnight, she ran out of the ballroom leaving her one of her shoes behind. The price gingerly lifted the glass slipper and said, "I will find this fair maiden!" Clearly, he didn't know Cinderella for her true self. Not as I knew her.

Soon after that we left the ball and rode home in our carriage. When we got home she lay sleeping in her room as of nothing had ever happened. Except for a single glass slipper sitting in the corner. Even though I fumed with anger, I let her sleep until morning.

The next day, while she straightened up her room she found the glass slipper. Then she had a major realization. The men, the slippers, the prince it all finally made sense to her. That idiotic girl actually had a smart thought for once. Of course, as soon as she realized this she blamed me for not sufficiently informing her about the men when they arrived. She immediately rushed to the castle, demanded to be refitted, married the prince and lived happily ever after.

And here I am, taunted, tortured and teased until I really could not take it anymore and I fled the province. Me and my girls. Alone, in some random place but finally away from that horrible, wretched villainous girl you call Cinderella.