Cinderella - European

My days were once measured by the sweep of a broom and the warmth of the cinders by the hearth, a world away from the gleaming castle on the hill. My name is Ella, but after my stepmother and her daughters arrived, they gave me a name meant to mock my dusty clothes, a name I would one day make my own. This is the story of Cinderella, a tale passed down through generations in Europe about kindness in the face of cruelty, and how a little bit of magic can illuminate the goodness that is already there.

My story begins in a comfortable home, where I lived happily with my loving parents. But after my dear mother passed away, a shadow fell over our lives when my father remarried a proud woman with two daughters who were as cruel as they were vain. The true darkness descended when my father also died, leaving me alone with them. My stepmother’s true nature was revealed, and my own home became my prison. I was forced to become a servant, sleeping on a straw pallet in the dusty attic and wearing old rags while my stepsisters preened in their fine rooms and beautiful dresses. Despite my sorrow and the exhausting work, I never let their bitterness corrupt my heart. I found friendship with the tiny mice who shared my attic and the little birds in the garden. Their quiet company was a balm to my spirit, which, though constantly tested, was never broken. I held onto the memory of my mother’s last words to me: 'Have courage and be kind.'

One day, a royal messenger arrived with an invitation that sent a tremor of excitement through the entire kingdom. The King was holding a three-day festival and a grand ball so the Prince could choose a bride, and every young woman was invited. My stepsisters were beside themselves, chattering endlessly about new gowns and jewels, and ordering me around more than ever. A tiny flicker of hope ignited in my chest. 'Stepmother,' I asked meekly, 'may I also attend the ball?'. She just sneered. 'You?'. Then she gave me a task she knew was impossible: she threw a bowl of lentils into the hearth and commanded me to sort them from the ashes in under an hour. My little bird friends, hearing my quiet sobs, flew to my aid and completed the task in minutes. But it didn't matter. 'You have no proper dress,' my stepmother declared coldly. Refusing to give up, I mended a simple gown that had belonged to my mother. But when my stepsisters saw me, they shrieked with cruel laughter and tore it to shreds, leaving me weeping in the garden as their carriage rolled away toward the palace.

As I cried amongst the cinders, my tears blurring the twilight, a gentle light began to glow before me. A magical woman with kind eyes appeared. 'Do not cry, my child,' she said with a warm smile. 'I am your Fairy Godmother.' With a graceful wave of her wand, she began to perform the most astonishing magic I had ever seen. A plump pumpkin from the garden swelled into a magnificent golden coach. The mice who scurried at my feet became four majestic white horses, and a pair of lizards turned into smartly dressed footmen. Finally, she touched my torn rags, and they dissolved into a breathtaking ball gown of starlight and silver, and on my feet appeared a pair of the most delicate glass slippers. 'Be warned,' my Godmother cautioned. 'The magic will only last until the stroke of midnight. You must be home by then.' At the ball, I felt like I was in a dream. Everyone stared, and the Prince himself approached me, his eyes full of wonder. We danced every dance, and as he held my hand, he asked, 'Who are you, my lady? I feel as if I have known you forever.' I was so lost in the joy of the moment that I forgot all about the time, until the great clock began to chime. Panic seized me, and I fled the ballroom, losing one of my glass slippers on the palace steps in my haste.

The Prince, though heartbroken by my sudden departure, was determined to find me. He held up the glass slipper I had lost and declared he would marry the woman whose foot it fit perfectly. His royal party searched every house in the kingdom. When they arrived at my home, my stepsisters tried desperately to force their feet into the delicate shoe, but it was no use. My stepmother tried to hide me away, but the Prince’s attendant insisted that every woman in the house must try on the slipper. I was brought out from the kitchen, and as I sat down, the slipper slid onto my foot as if it were made for me. At that moment, the Prince knew he had found his true love. We were married, and true to the kindness my mother had taught me, I forgave my stepmother and stepsisters. My story became a timeless legend, written down by authors like Charles Perrault in the 17th century and the Brothers Grimm on December 20th, 1812. It teaches that true worth comes from within, and that kindness is a form of magic all its own, reminding everyone that no matter how difficult life seems, hope and courage can always lead to a new beginning.