Cinderelly Cinderelly Caged in gold and crowned a princess Bare the children! Chase the mistress! Wear a crown And always listen!

All the gala’s and the balls Drive the princess up the walls!

She goes from from town to town and smiles, till she’s very very tired

Still they holler!

Keep an obedient-Cinderelly!

But hey what can she do?
She’s a princess with no power
And the prince controls her hours
Yes I know!
She can run away at midnight to liberty!
Now I see!

So she’ll dance inside the ball
And excuse herself to stall
Then she’ll run right out the door
Where us mice will escort her home
For Cinderelly!

Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry Got to help out Cinderelly Got no time to dilly dally We gotta run away this hour!

Cinderelly!

I jolt awake, shrieking, sweat dripping down my forehead, sheets raveled on the floor after being forced off of the bed. This is the third time this week. I don’t know what is happening to me. I try to slow my breathing and gulp down a glass of water. I view outside my window and see that it is still dusk. Wonderful.

It has been eight years since the “incident”, yet i’m still dreaming, no, re-living that nightmare. I was only a child when it occurred. Well, technically I am only fifteen, but I have far evolved from my younger self. Seeing those sorts of things at a younger age isn’t so peculiar, in fact I had much enjoyed them at the time. But seeing them replay in my head day after day, i’ve realized it certainly isn’t ordinary.

Maybe it was all a dream, all in my silly little seven-year-olds imagination. Oh, but it couldn’t be, it felt so real. I could see all of wonderland with my own eyes, all the amazing and terrifying things. I could hear all those sounds, from things like Mad Hatters disturbing cackle, to the repetitive ticking of the White Rabbit’s watch. I could feel the presence of all the creatures, staring at me, the lost little girl. The long shadowy figure of the Queen of Hearts, the one that I mistake for a chair or a coat in the night. The evil laugh, that continues to haunt my dreams to this day. The petrifying, gut-wrenching feeling everyone would get when she screamed “OFF WITH THEIR HEAD”, one too many times. No, I couldn’t have imagined that. No seven-year-old could imagine such a thing.

My sister enters the room, looking worried. “Are you alright? I heard you yelling again.” she said, with a concerned tone. “Oh, I’m fine. Just another one of those silly dreams again.” I said, trying to lighten the mood. My sister worries about me, I know she does. I’ve heard her crying while talking to mum, who never knows what to do. She doesn’t really care for me, definitely not as much as my sister does. “I was just checking in. Try to get some rest alright?” she said. “Okay, I’ll try. Goodnight” I said as she slowly closes the door.

I sigh, I guess loudly because Dinah hops up onto the bed next to me. She curls into a perfect little ball, purring as I stroked her soft head. Oh, how easy your life is Dinah. I wish I were a cat, with not a worry in the world. I should probably get some rest. I lie down, closing my eyes, trying to think of anything other than the laugh I am hearing from underneath my bed.

“And they all lived happily ever after.” Well that was all fine and good for the prince and princess, but not ol Willy. Someone still had to clean up the castle grounds after all. Now before you think I’m complaining friend, I promise you I’m not. For I’ve seen some amazing sites in my time; I’ve seen princes rescue princesses on a dozen occasions (heck, even a few princesses pulled some princes feet out of the fire), I’ve seen knights slay monsters and even more occasions, I’ve even seen the occasional magic wish or two be granted over by the gardens. No sir I’m not complaining, I wouldn’t trade this job for the world. I may be a lowly janitorial ambassador of the cleaning arts, but I also pride myself on being an unofficial historian to the kingdom. One day I’ll make my way down to the college and have one of the mages transcribe my memoirs. But until that day there are grounds to repair, burns to scrub off the stone walls, and gates to mend. Life is grand in the kingdom!

I sit myself at the edge of my bed, my maids washing my legs and feet with soap and water. I gaze at the wardrobe, a thin blanket covering my body, picturing my outfits for today. “Girls what colour would suit me best?” “His majesty loves red!” “Green makes you look formal, wear that!” “How about blue to show wittiness?” At least some things stay the same.

After a while of scrubbing and prepping I gaze at the wardrobe again, almost entranced in it’s possession. “Mariam?” I asked, breaking out of my trance. “Yes your highness.” “Fetch me Bernard, please.” Mariam nodded trailing her aproned dress behind her. “Is her majesty troubled?” Said one of the eldest of maids. “No no” I pause smiling at her “Petal I am quite fine” Petal had lived in the castle all her life, she was abandoned here as a baby, the housekeeper at the time had took her in as her own, she was never given a proper name so everyone called her Petal. She told me this while getting fitted for another ballroom. It’s odd all these ladies have such interesting and saddened lives and I, the princess of two kingdoms are doing nothing.

A knock on the door persisted suddenly. “Would her Majesty want us to leave?” “It’s only Bernard, stay” I said smiling almost jumping on the bed. “Your majesty, ladies” Bernard looked at us, smiling and basking in compliments from the maids. They waved at Bernard braiding their hair on the cold wooden floor. “What might I be requested for?” “What events do I have today?” “Breakfast with your ladies in the downstairs dinner hall, lunch in the gardens with the Prince in the afternoon, dinner with your ladies again and some evening celebrations an hour after sunset with the King” “No Maddison then?” I said teasingly “You may see her in the evening but other than that, no” Bernard gave a swift bow almost chuckling to himself. “Well then, blue or pink?” “Blue your majesty” he said smiling, leaving one of the maids smiling cheekily. “If you would excuse me your majesty.” “Of course” I smiled waving to Bernard like a small child. With that he left bowing before his departure. “I told you” said one of the girls to another “Told what?” I was eavesdropping “That Bernard likes blue.” “Well that’s obvious” another girl butted in. “Yet he does wear a lot of pink.” “Noble type” said Petal jokingly “Tell that to Maddison” I laughed

Downstairs was busy. Princesses did not often dine with her husband, well in this universe anyways. “Where’s Maddison?” “I heard she was having breakfast with the Prince.” “Which one” a maid laughed before looking at me sheepishly. “It’s okay I understand” I smiled because, although frustrating these girls only had stories left to keep them going, they’re like my second, well, third family. “Well that is Maddison for you” I jeered before spitting out my wine into my goblet as I saw her enter the dining hall. “Good evening your highness” she curtsied. “Like wise” I said chugging my wine as fast as I could. “Careful” said Maddison taking the goblet from me and wiping my face like I were a toddler. I plastered on a smile as the banquet hall went silent. “Apologies we were not expecting company” I chewed my bread bitterly “Well may I sit?” I nodded eating more bread. “Look Briar, I understand you are upset with me but, me and Phillip have an agr-“ “Agreement, I understand” “You understand I am not being spiteful” “Likewise” I lied, I was being spiteful. “I’m glad we can agree” she smiled, condescendingly sitting down beside me. I couldn’t tell if I was mad, bored or tired. Either way I wanted breakfast to end- fast. “So how are you girls” asked Maddison “Good” they all said in union, their eyes glued to their plates like statutes. “Splendid” said Maddison digging into her morning breakfast.

The afternoon was dull, I had lunch with Phillip but I was turning stale. The girls were busy with chores, I never learnt how to read and I dread the idea of hunting. I was bored. Honey, a Nobel staying in the castle approached me in the gardens “Afternoon your highness” I smiled looking at the meadow. “I am worried for your well-being” “I will be fine” I smiled. “Well I shall be in my quarters should you find me” she left promptly. I sighed heading…

She stared out the 8 foot window. The sun was just rising and already people were milling about. They went about their day, filing in and out of their shops and homes. Children played in the mud with each other, waving sticks covered in moss and bugs at their mothers.

It was a beautiful day, overall.

“Mildred, please tell my husband that I shall be going to the gardens.”

“Of course, my lady. Do you require an escort?”

“No need. I shall be going alone.”

Mildred nodded and went to tell the king, and the roses on her body grew tighter.

Aurora walked through the barren halls. There was occasionally a servant or knight passing through. They all bowed and said the same plain sentences they always do: “Hello, your highness”, “Do you need anything, your highness”, and so on.

Aurora walked into the garden and a wave of relief washed over her. Some freedom at last.

Many trees grew in the garden, along with many native flowers. Almost similar to the forest she grew up in, though the garden was fare more controlled and had many more animals.

Aurora sat on the bench. There was a slight breeze that tossed her hair. It was refreshing. Nothing unnatural here. Only the forest that she grew up in.

Foot steps sounds out on the cobble stone walkway, interrupting everything.

Mildred appeared.

“His highness the king has decided to join you.”

The roses started to draw blood.

Workless nights Hunger bites Stuck in war time strikes Merciless bonds Ripped through timeless bonds

I was in the spare room of the police precinct, enjoying a loaf of bread with a side of milk when the Shire entered. It felt as though a fortnight had passed, but I’d heard of Shire Reeve’s perilous journey and decided to put my best foot forward.

Reeve pulled the door open and entered. He looked haggard, defeated as if the ride into town had consumed all his energy. His hair was wild, beard unkempt, his eyes bloodshot and on the fritz. He rubbed his face and barely gave me a whiff of acknowledgment before walking up to the table at which I sat.

"Rough ride back into town sir?" I asked.

He started with a shake of his head and a stifled grunt, rubbing his nose as if satisfying an itch. "The worst. The weather from the North to here was vicious and unforgiving and I pray that it's years before I endure such debauchery."

I lifted my mug of milk. "Best of wishes your grace."

Reeve ignored my wishes and took the seat across from me. He pointed to the loaf of bread before me.

"I insist," I responded pushing the plate in his direction.

Reeve reached out with hands coated in grime, he grabbed the loaf, tore off a piece, and shoved it into his mouth. "Enlighten me, Higgins. What do we have today?"

I cleared my throat and folded my hands before me. "Well your grace. We have Jack Trott."

Reeve removed another piece of bread and devoured it. "Trott...Trott. That name sounds familiar. Why is that so?"

"We've been after Trott for several years, I'd say since his youth," I waited for a reaction from Reeve, but he brandished no such thing. "You may have heard of him when he was a boy. He brandished the name GiantSlayer."

Reeve's face contorted as though his brain had been struck by lightning. "Jack Trott. The one with the lunatic mother?"

"She was a drunk," I corrected.

"Well I do recall the whole town buying into his shenanigans and she played into them like a fiddle,"

There was spite in his voice and he had every right to possess that venom. The whole town despised the Trotts. There never was a giant, just a troubled youth who consumed the bizarre plants from his mother's garden. The “giant” was Pete O' Maly, the local blacksmith, the “clouds” was the roof of his house and the “beanstalk” was his ladder. O' Maly spent a month in the infirmary due to Jack's shenanigans.

"What did you get him for?" Reeve questioned, consuming the remains of the bread. I felt the sting of disappointment as my belly murmured with hunger.

"The Fool caught him trying to steal his harp. In the wee hour's of the morning, breaking into his living quarters wearing nothing but a sheath to conceal his genitals. Went straight for the harp he did, The Fool woke up and fought him off, clonked him over the head with his candle holder."

"Serves the imbecile right," Reeve spat, leaning back in his chair. "You say you've been after him for a while. How so?"

"He’s always been a thief, but we've recently been getting reports of missing eggs," I started.

"Eggs? What the devil does the boy want with eggs??"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I haven't the faintest idea your grace."

"Why not steal gold or other valuables, why eggs?"

I gave another shrug and continued. "The townsfolk had been reporting the thievery of eggs for a few months, many reporting seeing a man wearing nothing but a cloth around his genitals as he fled into the night."

Reeve nodded his head, pressing four fingers from each hand onto the plate to gather bread crumbs, he then ran his tongue across his grimy fingertips. A low moan of satisfaction escaped his lips.

What a repulsive individual I thought to myself. He paid no attention to my confusion as he went for a second helping.

"What say you of his punishment?" Reeve questioned.

"The majority is clamoring for a stoning. Of not only him but his mother as well. Others are saying a hanging," I paused, and waited for our eyes to meet. "What's your verdict, Shire Reeve?

Reeve shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet, picking the plate up from off the table. "Stone them. The fewer lunatics in this town the better."

“Are you sure this is gonna work?”

“It has to, Babe,” Wilbur reassured. “Or do I have to remind you what happened to our brother?”

Months earlier, the blood feud between the families of the three little pigs and wolf pack reached a dangerous level.

After huffing and puffing, the big, bad wolf successfully destroyed two of the pig’s houses; one made of straw, the other of sticks. When he came upon Wilbur’s home, however, the wolf failed to knock the structure over. It was made with bricks. His inability to blow the house down infuriated the wolf. He scampered onto the roof dressed as Santa Claus and slid down the chimney in a surprise attack. Instead of finding stockings hung by the chimney with care, the wolf plopped into a cauldron of boiling water and died.

That’s when the idea first popped into Wilbur’s head.

Even though his siblings hadn’t listened to his advice about constructing their homes out of durable materials, at least each insured his property. Rather than rebuild, they decided to use the proceeds from the insurance claims to go on vacation. They needed to get out of the enchanted forest til the animus settled down.

A few days before leaving, the wolf pack cornered Babe and Wilbur’s brother. They ate all of him; even the hairs on his chinny, chin, chin.

The two remaining piglets scampered away quick, taking residence at a distant farm. It was there that Wilbur’s plan was put into action. The genius of his idea was in its simplicity.

Pigs were categorized dependent upon whether they were wild or domesticated. Hunters pursued the former, which lived in the forest; the latter helped out on a farm. All Babe and Wilbur had to do was blend in with their surroundings, as if taking part in the witness protection program.

Although Babe was hesitant, she went along with the plan. Every now and again she needed a nudge of reassurance.

She complained, “I feel ridiculous wearing this costume.”

“I told you. We both can’t stay pigs. You know what happens if there’s too many of us. One of us gets turned into bacon.”

Babe looked her brother in the eyes and nodded with slow acceptance. Anything was better than risking the loss of another sibling. If that meant she had to dress like a turkey for a couple of months, then so be it. The outfit itched a bit but she figured the fabric would stretch after wearing it awhile.

“Do you remember your line?” Wilbur asked. “Lemme hear it.”

“Gobble. Gobble.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that. Think of it like you’re acting in a play. Become the character. Believe in yourself and squeal that line out!”

Babe took a few steps to mimic the way a turkey walked. As she trotted around, the red fleshy wattle under her throat swung free like Santa’s beard on a windy day. The longer she moved around, a greater degree of confidence filled her. She stretched out her tail feathers a few times before cackling the only sentence spoken in her one person play.

“Gobble, gobble! Gobble, gobble!”

Wilbur watched as his sister wandered off to take residence with the other turkeys. Her plump physique allowed her to blend in with the others without question. It was a charade that would only be necessary for a short while.

With Thanksgiving only a few weeks away, Wilbur knew it was only a matter of time before he could collect on the life insurance policy he had purchased in his sister’s name. Afterwards, he’d be able to wee, wee, wee, all the way home.

“Where did it come from?” I say contemptuously, pursing my lips as I glance at the battered old mirror. I’ve never liked antiques, and I don’t want it. “Your stepmother sent it as a wedding gift,” my husband sighs, rubbing his temples. “I know, honey, just ignore it, I suppose. She said she didn’t want it anyway.” “How… generous of her,” I return, fighting a smile at my own cleverness. What a jealous old bat— likely a plot to spoil the rest of my life, which had been going MAGNIFICENTLY since she left it. I stared into the mirror and observed my own reflection— yes, yes; skin as fair as ivory, hair as dark as ebony. My beauty was to kill for; perhaps to die for. I smirked. “Mirror, mirror, on the dirt, just insult me… doesn’t hurt,” came a snide little voice from somewhere I couldn’t identify. I screamed theatrically, hoping my husband would come running. “Whoa, there, horsey! Keep your panties on. I’m down here, where you so nicely dumped me.” Instead of my reflection staring back at me, a young boy in sapphire robes leaned casually on its rim, as unamused and sour as a child that age can look.” “How dare— ERIC!” I screech, repulsed by his sudden appearance and repugnant attitude. “Cursed mirror, standard stuff, could go into the details but they’re boring,” the mirror-boy muses, inspecting his fingernails absently. “Lemme guess. If you’re anything like your stepmom— yeah yeah, she leaves the mirror on while you’re in the background, you’re gonna ask me who’s the fairest of ‘em all or something.” I quiet down, curious. Glaring at him, I inquire, “No relation, but who IS the fairest?” He laughs and tosses a long lock of platinum hair over his shoulder. “Now that the old cow isn’t around to bully me? ME, obviously. I’m so hot, I’m practically smoking. You’re pretty and all, but I was under the impression you had good in your heart— which I do not— therefore ranking you above Stepmommy Dearest. Pretty face, ugly soul, girl. Your husband ain’t half bad from what I’ve seen, though.” “Eric!” I howl as he comes back around the corner. “What’s wrong, love?” He panics, running to my side. “THE MIRROR IS BACKTALKING TO ME,” I yell, pointing at it hysterically. I turn to see the snide silver-haired boy has entirely disappeared, revealing only my reflection. “Are you okay, Snow? You might be coming down with a fever,” Eric frets, putting a hand to my forehead. “I’m fine!” I snap, swatting him away. Then I let him carry me up to my bedroom anyway, because I don’t particularly want to climb another flight of stairs. No sooner do I shut my eyes than I hear a resounding “Howdy.” Depicted life-size in my vanity mirror is the same insolent boy, satin robes and all. “HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!” I bark, scrambling back against the covers. “I followed you. Name’s Orion, by the way.” He winks at me flirtatiously with one black-and-gold eye. “Let’s cut the crap, Snowy Girl. You stop being a brat, and I can make myself a very useful ally. You keep whining, and I’ll get extremely annoying extremely fast.” Eric bursts through the door, sword in hand. “WHO ARE YOU AND HOW DID YOU GET IN MY MANSION?!” Orion looks mildly surprised. Eric slowly lowers his sword as he realizes he’s talking to a mirror. “Well, he’s pretty,” my husband comments, staring at the image in the mirror. “I know, right?” Orion brags, putting his hands on his hips. “Don’t encourage it,” I hiss, glaring at Eric. “Please, encourage me. It’s been 300 years and I require gratification.” Orion stretches like a cat, yawning. “Some happily ever after,” I mutter. “Orion, did you say you’d be a ‘useful ally’ if we agreed with you?” “Almost word for word,” he affirms. I smirk grimly. “Eric. I think we’ve graduated from Prince and Princess to King and Queen… so how does a little evil sound to you?” “Kinda what I’m made for,” Orion adds. “Spilling, killing, and thrilling.” “I could roll with it,” Eric replies nervously. “Fun!” I chirp. “Why don’t we check in on my old stepmom first?”

(This doesn't really meet the prompt but I've been wanting to write something like this for a while so who cares)

Everyone loves a good villain. In fact most people need one. So when you get branded as being out there, macabre and overly dramatic, it follows that you will find yourself filling that role. I neverminded taking on the role; Mistress of All Evil fitted me. And although it's true I'm not completely evil, I do have a streak of it running through my veins. But some people believe everyone has good in them, that there isn't a set role one must fulfil. I have found that some people taint my legacy, the one I meticulously created, by suggesting I am simply misunderstood. They aren't entirely wrong but they miss the point. I might have been misunderstood but I am still evil, I am still the villain society needs me to be. So let me lay down the facts and spin you a tale, the true tale of Maleficent, Mistress of All Evil

As I have said I never fitted in. Despite being a fairy I couldn't pull of the rainbow and glitter look, so by the age of 10 I stopped trying. While my other 12 classmates wore fairy-floss dresses and dew drop necklaces, I wore shadows and storm clouds. After I graduated the Fairy Academy I pursued work in the kingdom. But after a year I left, no-one would hire a fairy like me. So I set up my own castle in the forests and swamps and soon came to rule over all that crawled and slithered. The other fairies got jobs in the kingdom and came to prominent positions of power. So when the king and queen hosted a christening for their baby girl they were all invited. I did not really care that I was not. I never could make small talk. But as I gazed into my crystal ball, studying the future my mind must have strayed for I ended up seeing the Princess as she grew. And I saw myself. Naturally I did the only reasonable thing and dressed myself in my robes and teleported to the palace in a blaze of fire. I planned to bless the baby with a prophecy of her childhood. But my flare for dramatics got in the way: "The Princess will indeed grow in grace and beauty....but on her sixteenth birthday, she will prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel AND I...!" I was cut of at that point by all the yelling and the sound of guards rushing at me. You see I meant to say what I had seen, that she would prick her finger and I would give her a band-aid. Of course when you start ramping up dramatically and then yell "AND I!" people get the wrong idea. Try it yourself. In the confusing I vanished but I heard later that one of the fairies had cursed the princess to sleep for a hundred years or something. Stupid little glitter twit, if she hadn't done anything the future would have remained the same. I suppose I am partly to blame, I shouldn't have flown off so quickly, if I'd waited I would have seen the princess falling a sleep and known something was wrong. I'm sure you know the rest of the story. I fulfilled my part and had the princess prick her finger (yes I did give her a band-aid, the future can't be changed.) Thankfully the repulsive flutter and squeak put in some little thing about a prince coming to rescue her. Anyway as you can see I was misunderstood. People literally misunderstood what I said. But I am not misunderstood, I am evil. It is my role. And I filled it well. So if you would all kindly stop making me some anti hero. I am a villain. I wear the cloths, I do the actions, it can't all be for nothing.... I Maleficent, Mistress of All Evil, am a Villain.