The Other Sister

Originally Written 4/13/2019

Once upon a time, there lived a maiden as beautiful as the stars. She had perfect skin the color of snow, lips like rubies, rosy cheeks, a slight frame, she smelled of rose water, and her hair was golden. Above all these things she was also gentle and kind, and everyone loved her. Then there was me.

When I was young and my father died, my mother became a governess to a merchant’s daughter around my age. The girl so loved my mother that she begged her widowed father to marry her. After many tears, the girl got her wish. 

The first few years were wonderful. My mother was good to Cinderella and treated us equally. We played and were happy children, both pleased to have the other. But as we grew my mother noticed how fair Cinderella was and how plain I was. 

I was not as beautiful as the stars. My skin was splotchy-beige and freckled with acne. My face was oblong and gave the impression of a malnourished horse. My hair was a fiery red color that people often scoffed at in court. My figure was only managed by corsets my cruel mother made me wear. It was only through cosmetics that I ever had the rosy cheeks or apple red lips of my stepsister. Nothing, however, could compete with her gentle nature. She was graceful and small of step, I was clumsy with large feet that thudded through halls announcing my arrival. This was all to my mother’s chagrin.

After my stepfather passed, my mother began to be cruel to my stepsister. She made her wear dirty rags as clothes and never permitted her to clean her skin. This made her filthy to look at and terrible to smell. Mother also made her do all the housework, which often left her smelling acrid and sour. She did this all in hopes of dampening her beauty. Cinderella’s sunny disposition and fairness, however, could not be contained. She took it all without complaint and did as she was told.

“She is a wretch, who is out to destroy you! Do not be kind to the snake, Gwendolyn.” My mother's voice hissed to me one day, glaring at the fair Cinderella as she peacefully did her chores.

I never believed my mother, but I did fear her enough to obey. For the most part, I tried to avoid any interaction with Cinderella. Which I’m sure she thought was cold.

She was very naive, though, and believed in fairy tales. I’d hear her every night, sitting outside, by the hazelnut tree on her mother’s grave, praying. 

“Oh godmother, sweet godmother,

Hear my prayer, set me free,

I wish to be a princess like no other,

All I’ve ever wished to be.”

Cinderella would sing and cry till she fell asleep outside by the tree. She often smelled of earth from it. I felt sorry for her but was also powerless.

While she endured abuse, I was blessed. My mother lavished me with fine gems, stunning gowns, and the gaudiest headpieces she could find. In the pursuit to marry me off to some wealthy lord.

One afternoon, there arrived a letter sent from the king. It called for all young ladies in the kingdom to attend a royal festival, in hopes that his son would find a bride. My mother was delighted and immediately set to work. She had hopes that he would choose me. It all made me sick, but I put on a brave face as she rattled off the list of things that needed to be done.

“We must get you a headpiece, one of gold! A deep golden gown and a pair of golden shoes. He shall see none but you!” My mother boasted. She had her plans and I had mine.

When the night of the ball arrived, my stepsister saw me off. I knew she wished to go, for I had heard her praying all week at her tree. I told my mother I had forgotten something and made haste back to the manor on my steed.

Creeping behind the forest, I moved around to the tree where Cinderella lay crying. I made my voice high pitched as a bird’s;

“Cinderella, close your eyes,

Say your prayer three times now,

Godmother will spy,

Your prayers will be allowed!”

Cinderella looked confused, but she quickly closed her eyes and chanted her nightly prayer three times. As she did this I slipped around and moved the chest I’d hidden in the moss scented forest to the front of the tree. I moved out of sight and when she opened her eyes she quickly opened the chest to reveal a gown of the deepest emerald green, made of velvet and matching shoes with glass buckles. 

I chirped out again “Be quick! A horse awaits out front! Return at midnight!” before I dashed back to the festival.

My mother was furious upon seeing the unknown maid in emerald at the festival. Her hopes dashed as the prince danced with only Cinderella. Mother had no clue who she was and that gave me immense satisfaction.

At midnight, Cinderella dashed from the prince's arms. Quick to reach home before we did. On the way, she dropped one of her velvet, glass-buckled slippers. The prince picked it up and we left shortly after.

The next day it was announced that all maidens in the land were to try on the velvet slipper and whomever it fits perfectly, the prince would marry. My mother grew excited saying;

“If you can cram your foot into that shoe, then we might make something of this.” 

“Mother,” I responded, “I was not the maiden he danced with.” 

“That does not matter! He said whomever the shoe fits!” She said in a commanding tone that said it was final.

When the prince arrived, he and his entourage were led inside. Upon seeing the dainty slipper my mother’s eyes grew wide and she took me in one hand and the slipper in the other and led me into the parlor. There she produced a knife.

“Cut off your heel and your toe. You will not need your feet when you are queen.” She commanded. I stared at her in shock, but as I made a move to leave she threatened to do it herself. 

So I took the knife and with two quick chops, I sliced off my heel and my toe, replaced my stockings, and slipped my bleeding, aching foot into the tiny shoe. I felt weak from blood loss but my mother held me and took me out to the sunroom to announce that the slipper fit. Her joy was quickly squashed. 

“But that is not the maiden I danced with.” The prince demanded, he stared at blood pooling under me. “She is an imposter!” he said, much to my own delight. I fell back into a chair and threw off the shoe. I cringed at the iron scent of my own blood and wrapped it tightly with my ruined stockings. Soon thereafter Cinderella entered. 

Her voice was soft and sweet as she stated simply “That is my shoe.” holding out a dainty foot. The prince slipped it on her, took her in his arms, and they rode off into the sunset. I left my mother’s house soon after and married a blacksmith who didn’t mind a girl with a limp. So, in the end, we all lived happily ever after.