Cinderella is Dead

1. A minimum of one pristine copy of Cinderella will be kept in every household.

2. The annual ball is a mandatory event. Three trips are permitted, after which attendees are considered forfeit.

3. Participants in unlawful, unsanctioned unions will be considered forfeit.

4. All members of households in Mersailles are required to designate one male, of legal age, to be head of household, and his name will be registered with the palace. All activities undertaken by any member of the household must be sanctioned by head of household.

5. For their protection, women and children must be in their permanent place of residence by the stroke of eight each night.

6. A copy of all applicable laws and decrees along with an approved portrait of His Majesty will be displayed in every household, at all times.

These are the hard and steadfast rules set forth by our king […].

“You know the story as well as anyone. If we are diligent, if we know the passages, if we honor our fathers, we might be granted the things Cinderella was.”

“And if we do all those things and nothing happens no fairy godmother appears, no dress, no shoes, no carriage then what? Do we still believe it?”

“Don’t question the story, Sophia.” Liv steps closer to me. “Not in public. Not anywhere.”

“Why?” I ask.

“You know why,” Erin says in a low tone. “You must put your faith in the story. You must take it for what it is. […] The truth.”

Different.

That’s how she sees me, and every time she uses that word, a distinct air of disapproval accompanies it. Lille has left its stain on her, too.

[…]

I was twelve when I told my parents that I would much rather find a princess than a prince. They had gone into a state of panic, from which they emerged with a renewed sense of determination. They told me that in order to survive I would have to hide how I felt. I was never very good at it, and the weight of that mask grows heavier with each passing year. I want nothing more than to cast it aside.

“You don’t have to resist every little thing. It will do you no good, and I will not lose you,” says my mother […].

“Why do you have to question everything? Why do you have to make this so hard?” Anger invades her voice, but it isn’t loud enough to drown out the sadness. […] “I don't want to fight for us, Sophia. I don’t want to fight for something that will only bring us pain. This is wrong. Everyone says so, and they’re right.”

“It’s not wrong,” I say. “I choose you, Erin. I want you, and I’m willing to risk everything for that.”

Tears slide down her face […]. “I can’t do this.”

A portrait of Cinderella hangs over a set of enormous double doors overlaid with gold lilies and the royal family crest. In the painting, she is seated with her hands delicately clasped in her lap. She looks serene, smiling gently. Her golden hair falls around her shoulders in tight ringlets. Wearing her iconic blue dress, she gazes at us, her shining hazel eyes reflecting the candlelight. She is watching us.

“I can’t leave,” she says through gritted teeth and a fake smile. “My parents have invested so much, and so have yours.”

“They can’t keep us safe. Look around you, Erin. Who are our parents to do anything? They won’t defy the king. And I don’t care what they’ve invested.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone leaving without the king’s consent.”

“Neither have I, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. We’ve also rarely heard about people like us and here we are. Just because they deny us doesn’t mean we cease to exist.”

“All fairy tales have some grain of truth. Picking apart that truth from the lies can be tricky, though.”

“Questioning the story is against the law.”

She stiffens.

“I’m sorry. I’m not threatening you,” I say quickly. “It’s just that I’ve rarely heard anyone say that even parts of the story are fiction. Most people believe every word.”

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

My father stands firm, and I watch him. This man who I adore so very much has turned into someone I don't want to know. His words crush me. […]

“Wait,” my mother says […]. “Please, we can hide her. We can make her apologize to the king. […] This is our child. She needs us to––”

“To what?” my father snaps. “To continue to break the law? To continue to defy the king? Her best chance is escape.” He flings the back door open wide. […] “I can’t protect you here,” he says. “Neither can your mother. You have to go, or we will all be dead.”

I understand why she’s so confident in this disguise. Anybody passing me on the street might think I am just another young man.

“I may need your help getting my hair in order,” she says. I stand and gather her hair […]. It’s soft and thick, smelling of rose water, and I let my hands linger in the tangle of curls. I’m drawn to her, and I keep waiting for her to tell me the same things Erin had that I am longing for something impossible––but she doesn’t, and I’m dizzy with the excitement of it and torn by the guilt I feel.

“I wish I knew more about her,” says Constance, placing down the bouquet.

“Why do you think she was left out of the story?” I ask.

“Because she was determined? Smart? Willing to die for her family? Take your pick. Any of those reasons are good enough to warrant suppression.”

[…]

A strong gust makes me pull my coat in around my neck. My fingers brush against the necklace my father had given me […]. I take it off and place it on the headstone. If remembering Cinderella’s mother is considered an act of defiance, I’m happy to do it.

“What do you think needs to happen in Lille?” I ask.

She stares at me, her brown eyes glinting, a deadly serious look on her face. “I think we need to burn the whole thing to the ground and start over. The entire system, the ideals that have been woven into this society. It all has to go.”

“That feels like an impossible thing to do,” I say.

“If I had told you a week ago that you would flee the ball on foot and discover Cinderella’s tomb, what would you have said?”

“I would have said it was impossible.” I turn to her. “But a week ago I didn’t know you.”

“I was just wondering if you think I’m some fool,” I say with a twinge of embarrassment. “I grew up in Lille, and I’ve never known any other way of living except by the king’s rules. And then here you are, with all these revelations and all your skills, and I feel like I’ve been living in the dark.”

[…]

“I don’t think you’re a fool,” she says. “We come from different places. I grew up knowing all of this. You’re just starting to understand it. But it’s okay. […] Because I value your perspective. You grew up in town, right in the center of the cruelty and chaos. That could be important when we’re figuring out a way to stop Manford. […] Give yourself a little more credit. You’re beautiful, brave, and you knew something was wrong in Lille before anyone confirmed it for you.”

“Do you know what it’s like in Lille?” Constance asks. “Do you understand the damage the Cinderella fairy tale has caused to the women and girls who live in town?”

[…]

“People make their own decisions,” says the woman. “You can’t blame the king for all your problems.”

I step closer. […] “When the leader of this kingdom treats women as property, it sets an awful precedent. People think it’s okay to do the same.”

“I’ve never understood why people follow along so blindly,” she mumbles. “Even when they know something is wrong, they do it anyway. Maybe you all should start thinking for yourselves.”

“I feel sorry for them. My parents, that is. They only know how to follow the king. They’ve lost their way when it comes to knowing how to help me.”

“And you’re not lost?”

I think for a moment. “Maybe I am. But the difference is that I want to be found. I’m not happy pretending everything is fine when I know it’s not.”

“And just who is it that you suppose will find you?” Amina asks.

“It’ll be me,” I say. “I will find myself.”

“We have time to plan, but do they? The women of Lille, I mean,” I say. I stare in the direction of the palace. “How many girls will he hurt before we have a chance to stop him? How many women are being hurt right now in Mersailles because of the rules he made?” I look back. “And what about the young boys who will never have a chance to be decent people because they are taught from the cradle to be despicable? And we’re going to hide? I want him dead. Right now.” I say those words and wonder if it’s too much, if I’ve gone too far. No. That is exactly what it will take to stop him. Nothing short of death will do.

“With Erin, it’s mostly me chasing after her, trying to force her to understand that…” I trail off. It’s not fair to say anything bad about Erin. I know what living in Lille has done to her, and it’s not her fault.

[…]

“To understand that I’m worth it? That she is worth it. I don’t know.” I struggle to find the right words. “For a time, I’d convinced myself that we could make things work […] I realize now that she wasn’t ready to risk everything to be with me and that I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

“[…] I would have done the same thing for you.” She glances up at me […].

I lean in […]. There is an urgency in her kiss, like she’s trying to prove to me how much she cares, and I yield to her, unconditionally.

Amina has taken several more trips into town and heard a rumor that the king has increased security at the border because of an uptick in disruptive incidents. […] Amina thought they might be people who were still trapped under the king’s thumb, resisting because of my escape. I can’t imagine how angry that must have made him.

In addition to making the cotillion mandatory, King Manford has made it clear that anyone who willfully disobeys his orders will be considered a forfeit, their property seized and their family members executed. They are the words of a desperate man.

“Why do you have to go? What has she ever done besides hurt you?”

“It’s not that simple,” I say. “You don’t understand how things are for us. The king pushes us into these roles that we don’t want.”

“You think I don’t understand what it’s like? […] I was born in exile, lived my whole life that way. […]”

“And do you know who’s responsible for that?” I ask, gripping her hands and pressing them to my lips. “It’s not you or me or Lille. It’s Manford. He’s the reason Erin is in the situation she’s in, and I left her there.”

“I’ve accepted my fate. Something you could never do because you’re too busy daydreaming. […]”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I say after a moment. I’m desperate to give her an out. “I’ve found another way.”

“I won’t risk being disowned by my parents all because you have some new plan that will get you executed like that poor woman in the marketplace, like your own grandmother.”

My stomach turns over. “I don’t care.”

“Of course you don’t,” she snaps. “Your parents have already disowned you. And you have no husband, nothing to lose. […] Not even you, with all your wishful thinking, can change things. You’re not special, Sophia. You’re just a silly girl like the rest of us.”

“It is a reaping,” Émile says. “A way for him to feast on them like the monster he is. […] He’s taken so much from me. I’m changed in the very deepest parts of me.”

“When you get out of here, you will have yourself and your freedom, and that will be enough. I promise you.”

I think I hear her laugh, but it could have been a sob. “I want to believe you. Really, I do.”

I step down and take a deep breath. She’s lost all hope. She sounds so much like Erin, like my parents. But I refuse to accept that fate. I need to get out, and I need to find Cinderella's journal.

“You killed my friend,” I say.

He looks off to the side. “Which one was that now? There have been so many.”

I didn’t expect him to be sad or sorry for what he’s done, but he seems completely lifeless, like a walking shell that only serves as a vessel for his hatred.

“Her name was Liv, and she had a family that loved her. I loved her.”

The cells are empty now, and my heart races as I move to the end of the hallway and open the door. […]

I can run. I can find Constance and get the hell out of here, but that’s not what I came to do. If I run now, I’ll be running forever. Amina is dead, and I hope that means that the spell she cast on Manford is broken. If there’s any chance he’ll be vulnerable now, I have to end him.

I close the door and turn to face Manford.

I raise my hand to stab him with the dagger, but he grasps my wrist, folding my arm and the dagger between us. […]

He releases me for a moment to run his hand over the side of my face. I slap it away as hard as I can. A piece of his index finger splinters off like a twig and lands on the floor.

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” I say.

“The spell is broken,” he says. “But make no mistake. I am taking you with me.”

“The king is dead!” I shout back […]. A hush falls over the crowd […]. “He is dead, and his disgusting laws and rules will die with him. This ends now.”

Everyone stares at me in confusion. The parents of many of the girls descend on the scene and find their daughters in the crowd. The flames crackle and snap behind me.

Much more than beams and timber are burning to the ground.

Determination swells inside me. I watch as the young woman in front of me pulls her arm from the man’s grip, scowling at him. He leans over her, and several of the other girls rush to stand in front of her. A murmur of voices ripples through the crowd.

“Cinderella’s story is a lie,” I say. “It was used to manipulate you. […] The words written here are in Cinderella’s own hand. It's all right here.”