The Prince held the glass slipper in one hand and with the other gently supported Cinderella’s foot as it slipped delicately inside. It was a perfect fit.
He looked up adoringly at the golden-haired vision of loveliness seated in the chair in front of him.
“I knew such a divine creature as you was not born to labour all day in rags” he breathed. “From this day forward you shall live in a palace, as is your right.”
Cinderella smiled and nodded gently with satisfaction. Behind her, there was a swirling in the air and her Fairy Godmother appeared.
The Prince hardly noticed, as his gaze was drawn back down to the glass slippers. The perfect crystal of which they were made concealed nothing of the feet inside. An elegant ankle was gently cradled by the rim of the shoe, within which Cinderella’s feet arched delicately down to where her toes lay gently clasped within the transparent material of the shoes. The toes wriggled slightly, and – drawn by an impulse he had never felt before – the Prince’s head slowly inclined forward as he bent down to kiss them.
“What are you doing?” he heard Cinderella enquire, sharply.
He looked up in some confusion.
“I…I’m kissing the dear feet of my bride to be” he replied, awed at the cold beauty of her face.
Cinderella laughed, and kicked him sharply in the chest.
“Bride? I’m not going to marry you, you idiot. Marry a man? Nasty, sweaty hairy things. Never.”
And she gazed affectionately up at her fairy godmother, who reached down and gently stroked her hair. She clasped the outstretched hand in hers, and brought it softly to her lips.
“But…but…don’t you want to live in a palace?” the Prince stammered in confusion.
“Of course I do” she replied, scornfully. “But not by marrying you. That wasn’t the deal at all – was it Fairy G? Not in this fairy tale.”
And the Fairy Godmother shook her head, laughing, then waved her wand thrice around and the room filled with purple light.
When the Prince’s eyes recovered, he was amazed at the transformation that he saw. Above him, in the chair was Cinderella but now dressed as a prince in a suit – his suit! – of jewelled finery. She stood up, admiring her clothing with satisfaction. He looked down at his own clothing in confusion. He was in rags, wearing nothing but a torn and faded dress, with an apron tied around it. A gentle draught blew through the room as a servant opened the door for Cinderella to leave, and he felt the cold running through him as it curled around and under his skirt, chilling the unprotected regions beneath.
Cinderella turned to look at him. “The cleaning materials are all in the cupboard below the stairs” she smiled. “You’ll find it easily enough – it’s where you sleep.”
She turned to one of her servants (his servants!). “I think I want to interview all of those young ladies we’ve been seeing, all over again. Have them brought to my bedchamber. Let’s say…two, no make it three of them each night.”
And with that, she swept out of the room and the Prince was left alone, kneeling on the floor. But he was not alone for long, as the door to the hall was flung open.
“What are you doing loafing around there!? IF WE’RE NOT MARRYING THE PRINCE, THAT AT THE VERY LEAST WE CAN LIVE IN A HOUSE THAT’S PROPERLY CLEANED, CAN’T WE? AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ABOUT OUR DINNER?”
The Prince looked up, to see the two rather statuesque ladies of the house who had earlier tried the slipper, standing before him. He opened his mouth to speak, but he found it had gone dry. He looked from one unsmiling sister to the other. Both were holding whips.
And Cinderella lived happily ever after. And so did the Prince, really, little pervert that he is.