My name is Cynthia McFarland, from the reputable family in the Cavendish Moors. I am better known as Cinderella, the heroine of a well-known fairytale. Some elements of the tale are true – the horrible stepmother and the envious nasty stepsisters. But I did not talk to pigeons and I never rode in an oversized pumpkin.
Even the glass slipper is pure embroidery. Perhaps someone came up with that idea because of the performance at the ball that night, where a boy artist walked across a five foot line of champagne flutes without falling off or breaking any of them. Something else that also happened was that my stepsister Metallia got so drunk that she asked for more champagne to be poured in the slipper she had removed from her not so dainty foot. With the result that some high-price bubbles were wasted as it all drained to the floor through the openings in the slipper. Upon which she made an un-lady-like remark and put the wet slipper back on, narrowly avoiding a collision with the floor as she was doing so.
Anyway, there were no bloody toes due to one of my sisters trying out a slipper that did not fit.
It is true, though, that my slippers were involved in the story, because I left them under the curtains in the ballroom.
“How can I find you, my unknown angel?” the prince said as I told him I had to leave after our last dance.
“If you look, you will find something of mine hidden under heavy brocade, and this will tell you.”
Two days later, a carriage bearing the royal insignia arrived in front of our manor; a uniformed servant and the prince stepped out. The servant proclaimed that His Majesty Prince Dilip requested to see the lady of the house. Who, of course, was enchanted by the visit, thinking of an impending alliance of her offspring with the royal house.
“Dear Lady McFarland, there is something I have to return to your daughter.”
“Oh my dear – what could it be? – Shall I call for Metallia or Auralia?”
“It is for your daughter Cynthia.”
The look on her face when she heard this must have been priceless.
I was called eventually, even though I had on my sports clothes, having practiced martial arts as I always did in the morning.
“My dear Cynthia, you have a princely visitor who wishes to return something to you. Even though I wonder what it could possibly be.”
On a sign by the prince, the servant stepped up to me and presented a box covered in golden cloth.
“I believe these belong to you, Countess,” the prince said, “and am returning them to renew our acquaintance.”
I had left a little note with my name in the slippers when I left them in the ballroom.
The rest is history – he asked for my hand, we had a wonderful wedding in the royal palace and lived happily ever after, as is the end of all fairytales. Even though it could be added that three semi-relatives of mine were a bit less than happy.
– Leonard Blumfeld writing from the perspective of Cynthia McFarland (© 2026)
Notes
This story was inspired by and written for Friday Writings #244: If the Glass Slipper Fits.
