Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories Read online

  © 2014 by Rooglewood Press

  Published by Rooglewood Press

  www.RooglewoodPress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9894478-8-1

  This volume contains works of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of each author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Book design by A.E. de Silva

  Cover Illustration by nizhava1956

  Table of Contents

  FOREWORD

  WHAT EYES CAN SEE – Elisabeth Brown

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

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  BROKEN GLASS – Emma Clifton

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  THE WINDY SIDE OF CARE – Rachel Heffington

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  A CINDER’S TALE – Stephanie Ricker

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  THE MOON MASTER’S BALL – Clara Diane Thompson

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Foreword

  Few fairy tales are as beloved as Cinderella. Something about her rags-to-riches adventure touches our hearts, encourages our spirits, and inspires our dreams. Hers is a simple story, but perhaps its very simplicity engenders the heroine’s undeniable appeal. We as readers want to see her triumph again and again, in all the various dramatic retellings of her tale.

  For Cinderella is about so much more than glass slippers. These are only symbols, tools used to achieve the heroine’s goal, and easily exchanged for other tools of equal symbolic importance. Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber—Katniss Everdeen’s hunting bow—James J. Braddock’s boxing gloves. The slippers are interchangeable; the story is universal. I doubt very much that readers will ever grow tired of reading Cinderella’s tale in all its various manifestations.

  With this idea in mind, I decided to host the Five Glass Slippers creative writing contest. There are so many wonderful fairy tales to choose from for a contest of this nature, but none with greater attraction and flexibility than Cinderella. Contestants were challenged to create new versions of the familiar tale, including many of the themes we know and love—the prince’s ball, the evil stepmother and stepsisters, the pumpkin coach, the fairy godmother, and, of course, the glass slippers—while also shaking up the details to create brand new stories.

  The results were astounding. Submissions came flowing in from across the world. Writers of all ages and experience levels crafted original versions of Cinderella. There were mysteries, horror stories, romances, and comedies. There were historicals, fantasies, and modern-day retellings. There were tales of magic, tales of terror, tales of heartrending sadness. There were thoughtful allegories and high-flying adventures. There were steampunk and science fiction—just about every genre was represented in the selection of submissions Rooglewood Press received.

  And the most amazing thing of all: No two stories were alike.

  Oh yes, they were all Cinderella. But the brilliance of the original fairy tale was made all the more evident in that each writer could create something so unique with her or his retelling.

  Narrowing these entries down to five winners was a task beyond anything I had anticipated. But the five stories you now hold in your hand are truly the perfect assortment.

  What Eyes Can See is the romance of this collection. A gentle tale told in an old-fashioned voice perfectly suited to the subject matter. Elisabeth Brown’s delicate writing style abounds in good humor. She writes characters you cannot help but like, even when they all work at cross-purposes to each other. By the time I finished reading this story for the first time, I had no doubt in my mind that it would be not only a winner, but also the perfect story with which to open this collection. Something tender, something sweet . . . and yet such a surprising twist on the original that readers are bound to enjoy it.

  By contrast, Broken Glass is not at all a gentle story. It is a side-splitting comedy that caught my attention from the very first sentence. The characters are larger-than-life and so hilariously bent on their own various plots that I could not wait to turn pages and find out what would happen to each of them. Emma Clifton has a sense of humor that tickles my fancy and is sure to inspire her readers to many a smile. Or snort. Or snicker.

  But it was the heroine of the middle story, The Windy Side of Care, who stole my heart and secured her place as my favorite incarnation of the titular Cinderella. Alisandra Carlisle is not a victim to her difficult circumstances. Indeed, she is a woman on a mission, and neither wicked stepmother, nor appalling stepsisters, not even the kingdom itself will sway her from her goal! Alis herself could not have sprung to such vivid life, however, without the equal vivacity of her creator. Rachel Heffington’s quick wit and snappy narrative are a pure delight.

  The very last story I read for this contest was A Cinder’s Tale. By that time, I thought I must have read every variation possible on the fairy tale . . . and I was completely wrong. Stephanie Ricker introduced me to a world so distinctive and yet so believable that I could not get enough of it. Science fiction can be a tricky genre for retelling a fairy tale; but this talented author wrote with such a strong sense of authenticity, I was totally caught up in the events transpiring in the space station above planet Aschen. But it’s the cast of endearing characters working together to thwart disaster who really make this story. Readers will get the sense that there is more to this world just waiting to be explored.

  Every reader loves a spooky little chill now and then; that is exactly what Clara Diane Thompson delivers in The Moon Ma
ster’s Ball. Within a few paragraphs, I was spellbound. This young author has penned a mysterious story of eerie magic, a story which departs the farthest from the original source material . . . and yet Clara manages to satisfyingly tie in all the most important Cinderella elements. The secrets behind the Moon Master and his ball are sure to intrigue readers, offering plenty of gasps and thrills along the way.

  Each of these five stories is so different from the others, yet their consistent Cinderella themes tie them together beautifully. I could not be better pleased with either these writers or this collection. Cinderella herself will go on to star in many more fantastic retellings of her tale. But I fully expect these particular incarnations—Arella, Evelyn, Alisandra, Elsa, and Tilly—to secure places as favorites in the hearts of Cinderella enthusiasts everywhere.

  So, without further ado, I present to you the winning stories of the Five Glass Slippers contest.

  Anne Elisabeth Stengl

  For Grandma Brubacher

  1

  “Please don’t make me go,” Arella begged, her large eyes pleading.

  Her stepmother sighed. “It’s a matter of etiquette. One simply cannot refuse an invitation to the prince’s royal ball.”

  “But I’m insignificant, Stepmother. No one will even notice I’m missing!” Arella persisted hopefully. “You and the other girls will certainly be good enough representations of our family.”

  “At important functions such as this, child, everyone who attends or does not attend is noted. I assure you, your absence would be taken as a personal affront to the entire royal family. And they would not look kindly on the slight.” The stern lines in Duchess Germaine’s face softened. “Besides, Arella, you are far from insignificant. You are one of the most beautiful girls in the kingdom and will surely be noticed by the prince.”

  Arella’s face filled with worry. “I don’t want him to notice me,” she said quietly.

  Drusilla, Arella’s older stepsister, gave her a sympathetic smile. But Anastasia, the youngest, rolled her eyes. “Goodness, Arella, why not? What more could you possibly ask?”

  Drusilla watched the stepsisters exchange tense glances. The two were as different as light and shadow: Anastasia vivacious, sparkling—Arella quiet, retiring. Anastasia would never understand why Arella hated these functions, and Arella would never understand why Anastasia loved them. Drusilla, her personality falling somewhere between these polar opposites, had always acted as the buffer, doing her best to understand both of her little sisters and keep the peace.

  “I just . . . don’t want to meet him. That’s all,” Arella finally answered, her face revealing her discomfort. “Maybe you could tell them I’m ill? Or travelling to visit relations?”

  “You should know better than to lie,” said the duchess. Her brow furrowed in concern, and she placed a gentle hand on Arella’s forehead. “Are you truly ill, child?”

  “No, I’m feeling well, Stepmother,” Arella admitted. “I just don’t like balls.”

  “You are an aristocrat, and as such you are not always allowed to act according to your likes or dislikes. You are expected to attend, and attend you will. I cannot permit you to behave in a selfish and rude manner, Arella. Such would not be a credit to your father.”

  “Yes, Stepmother,” Arella murmured, her downcast eyes filling with tears. Drusilla, always observant, saw that telltale glimmer and wondered. Did the mention of Arella’s father cause this sudden sorrow? Or was the poor girl simply upset about not getting her own way? There was no way to know for certain. Even Drusilla struggled to interpret Arella’s reticent moods.

  The duchess gazed upon her stepdaughter with a mixture of compassion and exasperation. “There, there, child! It can’t be as bad as that. After all, it will be the grandest occasion in many years. The royal family will spare no expense. Foreign nobles and dignitaries from across the world will be in attendance.”

  Arella didn’t seem in the least cheered by this prospect.

  “We shall all have new dresses! Lovelier dresses than we have ever had.”

  Arella’s forlorn face remained unimpressed.

  “And we shall take a silver coach, with our finest horses.”

  No response.

  “And footmen!”

  Still nothing. What did the child want? The duchess shook her head. “Very well. If it is this distressing to you, I shall allow you to leave at midnight—but no sooner. And then only if you promise me to do your best to be pleasant to the prince and the nobles. Agreed?”

  “Yes, Stepmother,” Arella whispered.

  At least Stepmother had approved the notion of Arella’s making her own dress. This was some consolation. Arella sat on the floor of the dusty attic among boxes and trunks, remembering her conversation with the duchess that morning.

  “You don’t want to go to the dressmaker’s with us?” Duchess Germaine had asked in surprise.

  “I’d rather wear one of my mother’s dresses,” Arella had implored. “I’ll make it over so it won’t look too old-fashioned.”

  The duchess had bowed her head. All these years, and she still didn’t understand this girl. “You can wear your mother’s gowns anytime. This is a special occasion. Don’t you want something new, something that will look like all the other girls?”

  “No,” Arella had replied.

  Duchess Germaine, tired of fighting, had conceded. It had been hard enough to convince the girl to go to the ball in the first place. Arella was so beautiful that it wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t dressed in the latest fashion, and perhaps if she wore one of her mother’s gowns she would feel more comfortable. “Very well. Would you like to accompany us to help your sisters pick out their gowns?”

  “If I’m going to make my own, I should probably start working on it.”

  “Very well,” the Duchess had said again, sighing a little in resignation. “Drusilla, Anastasia, and I are leaving now, dear. We shall return by suppertime.”

  Now Arella was rummaging in the attic, accompanied only by one of her lively kittens. She loved the smell of her mother’s things: lavender from the sachets tucked among the clothing, leather from the ornate trunks, a nearly imperceptible sweetness . . . Was it her mother’s old perfume? She pulled out dress after dress, inhaling deeply with each one. Too much lace. Too bright. Too antiquated . . .

  Ah! This one would do.

  The rose-colored gown she held was simple, elegant enough to blend in with the fine apparel worn at a royal ball, yet not flashy enough to attract undue attention. Scrutinizing it carefully, Arella decided her mother had probably worn it as a breakfast gown. Such had been the fashion back then.

  Arella smiled. “You probably didn’t guess your daughter would wear it to the crown prince’s royal ball,” she whispered. She rubbed the smooth fabric absentmindedly. Was this one of her mother’s favorites? Had her father liked to see her mother wearing it? Arella closed her eyes, trying to conjure an image of her mother in this dress, trying to find a memory.

  None came. The only face she could see was the one from the portrait hanging in her bedroom.

  Arella carefully repacked the long gowns in the old dusty trunk then picked up the selected gown and descended the attic stairs. “A little sash and some lace at the bottom should do to make this appropriate for the ball,” Arella decided. She made her way to the sewing room and set to work. If she had to go, she may as well wear something she liked.

  “What do you think?” Drusilla asked her mother and sister, holding the smooth silk up to her body. She hoped the pale green would lend some of its color to her murky eyes and soften the brightness of her red hair. Surveying herself in the mirror, she ruefully admitted that they were as murky and red, respectively, as ever.

  “I like it,” Anastasia answered. “It brings out the green in your eyes.”

  Drusilla glanced at her doubtfully. “Really? I didn’t think it helped much.”

  “Try the darker green,” her mother suggested. “I think it would suit y
our complexion better.” The duchess handed her eldest daughter a different length of silk.

  She nodded approvingly as Drusilla held up the new piece. “Very becoming. I think you should choose this one.”

  Anastasia and the dressmaker echoed the duchess’s commendation. Drusilla wrinkled her nose at the reflection; nothing seemed to be particularly becoming. But if her mother and sister liked it . . . “All right then.” Drusilla shrugged. “Dark green it is.”

  “Very well, my lady,” said the dressmaker, taking the silk and placing it with the lavender Anastasia had already selected. “And how would you want them made?”

  “Ball gowns for the prince’s ball,” Duchess Germaine responded. “Make them according to the latest fashions—full skirt, bustle, plenty of lace. After all, this is the event of the year. Perhaps of the decade!” She smiled brightly at her girls. New dresses never ceased to be exciting.

  Except to Arella.

  The Duchess’s smile faded somewhat as she thought of her stepdaughter. Of course, it was understandable that the girl would like to wear her mother’s things. Though Duchess Germaine had tried to take a mother’s place in the girl’s heart, Arella always maintained a quiet shell, especially after the duke passed away—scarcely a year after he and Germaine were married, when Arella was still so young.

  Drusilla noticed when her mother’s smile slipped and knew she was worrying about Arella again. That girl! She could have come to the dressmaker’s with them today and found a bright blue to match her clear eyes. She could have at least come and helped them to select their silks.

  Instead, she was by herself in a dusty attic and would probably pick the simplest dress she could find. It didn’t matter too much—she was a beautiful girl, and a plain dress would not conceal that fact from the prince. Still, it would be nice if she could try to be involved with her family for a change.

  Drusilla smiled at her mother, hoping to ease her worry. “And what about you, Mother? Shan’t you have a new dress for the ball? It is the event of the decade, after all.”