PROLOGUE : CINDERELLA OFF SCRIPT

“Ugh! Look at this floor—filthy, as always. Do you even know how to clean, or are you just pretending to work, Cinderella?”

The wooden floor glistened faintly under the strokes of Cinderella’s worn-out brush. Her knees throbbed. Her fingers, shriveled and red from hours of scrubbing in cold water, moved in silence. The sharp scent of soap mixed with soot lingered in the air.

She didn’t lift her head. Her voice trembled.

“B-Big Sister… I—I just finished cleaning. But if there’s still dirt anywhere, I’d be grateful if you could show me…”

Cinderella’s step-sister Lucinda froze, her painted lips curled in disgust, “How dare you speak to me like we’re equals?” she hissed. “You are just a house servant. I don’t even want others to hear you calling me your sister.”

“Yes, mistress. I-I’ll clean it again. I promise.” Cinderella whispered, bowing her head lower.

Lucinda’s heeled boots clicked sharply against the wood as she marched closer, arms crossed. “A lazy rat like you always needs to be taught a lesson. I don’t even understand why Mother keeps you here. She breaks her back every day to feed this household, and all you do is lounge around and stuff your face like a pig. I want this room spotless—before you even think about food.”

Cinderella picked up her brush once more, about to resume scrubbing the same spotless patch of floor—when a high-pitched, mocking sigh cut through the silence.

Drusilla, the younger of the two stepsisters, sauntered in, tossing her curls. “Oh, look.” She sneered, eyes glinting with amusement. “The dirty little rat’s still on all fours. How fitting.”

Drusilla’s gaze fell to the bucket beside Cinderella.

Without hesitation, she silently walked towards it and kicked it.

The bucket tipped violently, water splashing across the newly cleaned floor. Puddles formed, soaking into Cinderella’s skirt and the rag beneath her fingers.

“Oops,” Drusilla said, her eyes glinting with malice.

Cinderella jerked back in shock. “Why would you—? It was clean! I—” She stopped herself, her voice faltering as fear crept in—haunted by the thought of what they might do if she dared speak against them.

“What is this noise?” came the cold voice of Lady Ravelle.

The stepmother stood at the doorway now, her presence as sharp as her corset. She looked down at the scene with a frown.

Lucinda immediately pointed at Cinderella. “She spilled the bucket, Mother. Right after we told her to clean the floor.”

“She also raised her voice,” Drusilla added, sounding mock-hurt as she ran into her mother’s arms. “Cinderella was being so mean, Mother. What if I had slipped on the water and gotten hurt? I could’ve broken my neck!”

“I didn’t mean to—” Cinderella started, but her voice faltered under Lady Ravelle’s gaze.

“After everything we do for you, this is how you repay us? You’re nothing but ungrateful.” The stepmother stroked her daughter’s hair like a saint—while glaring at Cinderella like filth.

“No, Mother… it’s not like that,” Cinderella said softly, clutching her hands to her chest.

“Don’t act innocent, Cinderella,” Lucinda stepped forward with cold fury. “I’ve seen the way you look at us—spiteful, jealous. You wanted to make us suffer because you couldn’t bear us meeting the prince at the ball!”

The stepmother gasped, one hand flying dramatically to her forehead. “Is that true, Cinderella? Oh, my…” she moaned as if in great distress. “Do you want to ruin your sisters’ chances of marrying into royalty? A single mishap could disgrace this entire household! Now apologize. Ask your sisters for their forgiveness.”

“But Mother… I would never,” Cinderella whispered. “Why should I apologize for something I didn’t—”

Before she could finish, Lucinda leaned in, her face hovering inches from Cinderella’s. Her eyes burned with disdain — staring at the one face she despised more than any other.

—Slap.

The sound echoed through the room.

Cinderella hit the floor hard, her palm slamming against the wet wood as she gasped. Pain exploded across her cheek. Her vision blurred, and tears welled in her eyes.

“How dare you talk back to Mother, after all she’s done for you—letting you live here, feeding you, clothing you! You’ll do as you’re told, without question. This house doesn’t run on your whims!” Lucinda shouted at Cinderella.

Cinderella bent low—so low her forehead touched the wet floor at her stepmother’s feet.

“I’m sorry, Mother… and Lady Lucinda, and Lady Drusilla,” she whispered, her lips quivering as a faint trace of blood peeked from the small cut left by Lucinda’s slap.

“Alright, I forgive you,” the stepmother declared, her voice cold and final.

Knock. Knock.

“Who’s at the door, Mother?” Drusilla asked, already rising.

“Could it be…” Lucinda began, her eyes lighting up with sly anticipation.

The stepmother swept her daughters into a dramatic embrace, then smiled proudly. “My lovely girls, I’ve invited the finest seamstress in town. She’s going to make you the most exquisite dresses for tonight’s royal ball at the castle.”

She then clasped her hands with exaggerated pride. “You must appear radiant and dazzling enough to capture the prince’s heart. After all, one of you is destined to become the most beautiful princess in the entire world.”

“You’re the best mother ever!” Drusilla beamed.

“You’ll see, Mother,” Lucinda said proudly, tossing her brown hair over her shoulder. “The prince won’t be able to resist my charm. I’ll be the next princess—just you wait.”

Lady Ravelle now looked at Cinderella without a shred of sympathy. “Cinderella, you’re not leaving this house tonight,” she said coldly. “You’ll scrub this entire hall again—and don’t even think of sleeping until this whole place shines like the palace floors. The ball is no place for a servant, anyway.”

Drusilla stepped closer, her voice syrupy sweet. “We’ll bring you back stories, dear sister,” she whispered. “The music, the lights, the delicious feast… and the handsome prince. Oh, I’ll make sure to tell him all about you and your cleaning skills. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

Lucinda laughed. “Yes—maybe he’ll hire you to scrub the palace floors once he sees how talented you are. Hahaha!”

The three turned and swept out of the room, their laughter echoing in the corridor.

Cinderella remained on the floor, her hands trembling, lips parted—but no words came. Her reflection in the pool of spilled water shimmered faintly: a ghostly image of herself in a ragged dress, thin and frail—distorted, silent… broken.

Then the light shifted.

The spotlights dimmed momentarily, then focused once more at the center of the stage.

The stepmother, Lucinda, and Drusilla returned to the spotlight and bowed deeply.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming to see us. The next part of Cinderella’s story will be performed next week. We hope to see you again.”

They bowed once more to enthusiastic applause.

Clap… clap… clap.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

A roar of applause filled the hall as the stage curtains slowly closed.

“Wow, what an incredible performance!”

“That was awesome!”

“Right? She looked so beautiful—and her expressions were so natural!”

“And that slap! I swear I heard it echo across the hall.”

“Did you see her cry? It all felt so real, I almost teared up.”

“Yeah, man! Totally on point. She nailed it.”

“And the way the stepmother and stepsisters acted—so cruel and vicious! I kinda liked it.”

“Dude… should we be worried that you enjoyed that part a little too much?”

“I’m definitely coming back next week.”

“Same here. Front row, if I can get it!”

But while the audience buzzed with excitement, no one noticed the girl left in the dark—the one who never got her moment in the spotlight.

Quietly, Cinderella rose from her place in the shadows and slipped away to the back of the stage.

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