Look at her, smiling away, singing as she scrubs the floor with her dainty hands. Her hair tied back, not a hair out of place.

She disgusts me.

I once looked like that, before the years came for me, before age rotted my skin, cursed me with wrinkles and crow's eyes, and all manner of wicked things.

Ever since I gave birth to her I’ve felt sick, this putrid bundle of perfection was born from me? How can that be?

I will never claim her as my daughter!

Cinderella belongs to that wench I gave her too.

I thought she’d grow up depressed, lonely, isn’t that how the poor are supposed to live?

They have no wealth, they have no joy, they’re pathetic and subhuman.

But she did find happiness with that cow! So she had to go. It was my duty as the Lady of the house to do away with insolent servants.

And then my husband returned from war. And he became a threat!

He never knew her, wasn't there for her birth. He was overjoyed to finally see his beloved Elizabeth, his pretty little Ellie, his Lizzie, his Ella.

To Hell With Him!!!!

Where was he whilst I was suffering? Fighting for our pathetic King!

Well; that just wouldn’t do. So I did away with him too.

And I’d do away with Cinders, I would, I will.

But not yet. Not until she has suffered the way I have for the past fifteen years of her lording it over us, me and my beloved daughters.

They’re not perfect, they are pockmarked and sickly. The perfect daughters, they rely on me, they listen to me, they obey me as children should.

The worm thinks I’m her stepmother, she calls me mother. It disgusts me, sickens me. I may have carried her in my womb for nine months, but she’s not my daughter. She’s nothing to me, and as soon as my eldest daughter becomes Queen. I’ll call the shots in this kingdom, yes, I’ll rid this land of all the vermin that plague it. And I dream of the day their pretty bodies line the streets of my kingdom.