a/n: This was a story I wrote back in eleventh grade and got a C on because it wasn't finished. She also found a million problems with.
It was like, a take on cinderella. The question, what if the aspect of Cinderella, and the story with the fairy-godmother, wasn't what you expected it to be.
(I'm also doing a male-little mermaid story, and possibly little red riding hood).

You'll also find that each character was named after someone in Cinderella in some way, shape or form. The mother's name is Cindy but I can't find the part where I mentioned it sad
And another woman was named after one of the step-sisters in the older versions.





Cinderella…That was the only story I ever heard about when I was a child, growing up in the west of the city. Even down here, people heard the horror stories of souls who dared entered her world.

I never understood how the world worked as a child. I felt everything was built and created in a certain way, and in that way destiny would come. But no, it wasn't like that. I remember these stories, because it started in the house I grew up in. Where I made my one and only friend. Where I built and created my world.

When I was seven, I remember being afraid of ghosts and monsters. It was because I ran in on my Auntie watching a horror movie. It didn't explain my irrational fears of closets and the dark. Or even what was lurking under my bed (yet when I found out, I was more than thrilled).

A usual conversation with my mother and me would be as the follow:

"Ellena, finish your food." She was rather strict, but her tone was always loving.

"But mother, I'm-"

"But nothing, starving children would do anything to live like you." She would pat her lips with a napkin. "Now finish your meal."

"Yes mother…"

But when my fears began to associate with bedtime stories, our conversations would turn into this:

"Ellena, there are no such things as monsters."

"But I've seen them!"

"In your dreams maybe."

"No. In the woods, and down by the lake. I swear I could hear their footsteps while I slept. Ones that lingered under my bed."

"Ellena Rose, that's preposterous! There is not, and will never be any such things as monsters. Don't even speak of their presence in this house."

A mother like mine probably didn't even know of the folklore around the world. Stories such as La Llorona, or The Tooth Fairy; even The Three Heads of the Well. Yet, what was under my bed was no myth.


---
When I grew up, I took on the world of History. I loved learning about the folklore I knew as a child, and at sixteen what was under my bed came back to haunt me, because for a time, I left it untended.

I was able to categorize, and speak about my so-called myth without fear it would come to haunt me. I had a fairy on my hands, like Tinkerbelle you might say. This was a Fairy Godmother though, like in bedtime stories such as Cinderella. Yet this Fairy Godmother, was no such godmother.

--
I awoke with a thump underneath my bed, worse than the loud music of my mother's party. It must have been him again, the godmother. I shook with fright the last time he appeared, scaring me nearly half to death, to the point where I ended up crying in the bathroom until someone came to calm me down. My mother certainly would not believe this, even at my age of seventeen.

I crawled out of my covers, my nightgown tugging onto the bed frame, which I carelessly ripped off to watch the creature pull itself from under the bed. I crawled onto the floor, grabbing at his hand to help pull him from under, touching his cold hand to my warm.

He adjusted his hood on his long cloak, black like a grim reapers. It covered his face, showing the length of his dark hair which he must have been growing out for ages.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, pushing back my own long hair, almost crawling to hide under my bed floor when a crackle of thunder and a flash of lightning hit. It danced among my mirrors as he faded into the night.

"I needed to tell you something." He spoke darkly, sitting on my floor in a tailored fashion.

"In the middle of the night?"

"Yes…I thought you should know before I left."

I shook my head dismissively.

"I need to leave Ellena." He took my left hand, opening it to lay an object inside, before closing it into a fist. "Let me tell you my story."

"...alright…"

"This was a long time ago, before you were born even. I remembered it because when you told me about your family, a name came up in your history."

"You went through my history?"

"I had to be able to trust you, knowing you lived out here, in this house."

"So what happened in this house?"

"It involved an ancestor of yours; her name was Daphne, a descendant on your mother's side of course. The chained stopped at you though, I wasn't sure why. But, years ago, there was a rich family, the mayor and his son, Char. People would call him Prince though, because of his attributes. Women loved him; men envied him and wanted to be him. He was only eighteen when it happened, the murders.

"Yet, he was not who the world thought him to be. People didn't know the truth about Char, he was a demon." He stopped speaking for a moment, waiting to answer any questions.
"What type of demon? From myths and legends?"

"In ways. He was narcissistic, paranoid. When he started to ramble about himself- people began to worry."

"What type of demon though? What did he-"

He cut me off. "A soul-eater some people believed. Seeing his red eyes in the dark. For some reason, people believed a spirit took over him. He would chant in Latin some nights, saying things about a new world, or the end."

"But what about the murder? Who did he kill?"

"That night…there was a toast to new life in the parlor. Everyone held up their glass." He raised his hand for emphasis. "And they all shouted to the new life. The New Year. The new world. Then they drank." He moved his hand to his mouth, tilting back his head, then forward. "They all fell to the floor, cups in their hands. Bodies disheveled. Char laughed as their souls rose towards him, entering him."

I stared as he finished the story.

"But, that was a long time ago." He folded his arms. "I'm only telling you this now because…"

"The party downstairs…"

"You can't stop the chain of events."

"I know…" I gave him a puzzled look. "What should I call you?"

"You, Ms. Ellena Rose, may call me Prince." He chuckled, his teeth sharp as they showed through his grin.

I looked at him, not astounded, not moving. I wanted to scream out words, and flee though, far away from here. But no one would believe me. "How long have you been…waiting." And when my body unfroze, I stood up and backed away, the man doing the same.

"For too long now, my dear Ellena." He grabbed my hands before I could act to move. The object falling from my hands like the star that it was. "Your mother is too old for me…it is you that I want." His face moved closer as I watched his mouth form more words. "Come with me to my palace."

I shook my head.

"People won't believe that you were attacked."

I shook my head again.

"They don't believe in demons and monsters like you do." He got closer, hand rubbing against my tan skin.

I shook with force this time.

"Damn you!" He grabbed at my arm this time, and threw me with brute strength to the ground.

When I was twelve my father had died in war, his body brought back to be buried here in London. I told my mother once that I could see the chains, the demons there to take him. She would never believe me. But, she was apart of this. The Prince must have come here, years ago, and tried to persuade my mother the same way he did me.

What did that mean though? Was I someone else from the past? Or did my ancestors just try to get themselves killed by these faults.