When Cinderella Didn’t Marry the Prince

Everyone knows the classic tale of Cinderella — the kind-hearted girl who escapes her life of servitude and marries a charming prince. But stories have many sides, and this version of Cinderella’s tale is quite different. It’s a story of choice, wit, and adventure, where Cinderella’s destiny did not involve marrying royalty.

Cinderella spent her days in servitude to her vain stepmother and her eccentric stepsisters, Gertrude and Prudence. Gertrude was a large, round woman with red blotchy cheeks and reddish-brown hair that looked like a pudding gone wrong. Prudence, by contrast, was thin as a rail with spiky black hair that stood on end, as if she had been perpetually struck by lightning.

While her stepsisters obsessed over the latest gossip about the Prince — especially his curly red hair — Cinderella kept herself busy with more productive matters. She worked part-time helping Peach and Plum, the twin sisters who ran the village fruit shop. They paid her fairly, and Cinderella saved her wages, hoping to one day leave her oppressive household and see the world.

Then came the day of the King’s grand announcement: an invitation to all women of the kingdom to attend a royal ball where the Prince would choose his bride. A tiny royal messenger delivered the sealed letter to their doorstep. Ever polite, Cinderella offered the tired man a cup of tea, which he declined with gratitude before scurrying off.

When Cinderella shared the news with her family, her stepsisters went wild with excitement, running down the stairs so fast that they slipped on the wet floor Cinderella had just cleaned. They tumbled down like an out-of-control snowball, arriving at the bottom disheveled and damp. Cinderella stifled a laugh while the stepmother glared daggers at her.

Nevertheless, the stepmother declared that the sisters needed new gowns immediately, while reminding Cinderella she could only attend the ball if she found a suitable dress — all while completing her chores. Cinderella smiled silently, not at all disappointed, for she had her own plans.

That evening, as her family left for the palace, Peach and Plum arrived at Cinderella’s door, holding a beautiful blue dress and a pair of delicate slippers they’d made just for her.

“You deserve to enjoy the ball too,” said Peach kindly.

“You’ve worked hard enough,” added Plum.

Overjoyed, Cinderella donned the dress, saddled her horse, and rode with her friends to the palace. The ballroom shimmered with light and music, and as Cinderella entered, all eyes turned to her — the mysterious beauty in blue.

Then she saw the Prince.

Her stepsisters had not exaggerated his red curls, but they had failed to mention his protruding teeth, greasy hair, and stained t-shirt paired with blindingly bright pink shorts. On his feet, he wore loud, slap-happy flip-flops. Cinderella gasped in disbelief — the Prince was hardly the dashing figure the stories had promised.

Still, the Prince called to her across the room with a mouthful of garlic breath:

“Hey! You in the blue! Dance with me!”

Cinderella grimaced at his lack of manners but joined him on the dance floor. She quickly learned that the Prince was a boorish, spoiled man who cared little for his subjects and even less for courtesy.

“So, what do you do for fun?” she asked politely.

“I like building mud forts and colouring fairies,” he answered proudly.

As the Prince boasted about his disastrous attempt to build a tent with palace twigs and how his advisor ruined it with a garden hose, Cinderella could barely contain her laughter. She knew then and there that this was not the life she wanted.

When the clock struck midnight, she bowed slightly.

“Thank you, Your Highness, but I must go now.”

As she leapt from the balcony onto her waiting horse, the Prince grabbed her foot but caught only a glass slipper.

The next day, the Prince searched the kingdom for the foot that fit the slipper, oblivious to the spell his servants and advisors secretly wished to cast — one to teach him a bit of humility.

When he arrived at Cinderella’s house, the stepmother locked Cinderella in the basement and presented her daughters to the Prince. Gertrude tried the shoe first, nearly breaking it with her size nine foot, while Prudence giggled in the background.

But the stepmother had concocted a sly plan. She visited a shoemaker to replicate the glass slipper in a size that fit Prudence. Then, just before the Prince’s arrival, she brewed a potion that she slipped into his tea, ensuring he would choose Prudence as his bride.

As the potion took effect, the Prince turned robotically to Prudence.

“Try on this shoe,” he commanded.

Prudence slipped her foot into the fake glass slipper perfectly. The Prince declared her his bride without hesitation. Gertrude, realizing she had been deceived by her own mother, seethed with envy.

Meanwhile, Cinderella watched from the basement, knowing full well what had transpired. But she wasn’t heartbroken. She had already decided her fate didn’t lie in royal courts or stuffy castles. As the carriage with the Prince and Prudence rolled away, the stepmother gloated.

“No happily-ever-after for you, Cinderella.”

But Cinderella just smiled. “Not the one you imagined, Stepmother. I’m going traveling. Maybe I’ll even become a dance teacher in the neighboring kingdom.”

And so she did. Cinderella explored far and wide, taught children to dance, and built a life filled with adventure and laughter — all on her own terms.

As for Prudence, she enjoyed her brief stint in the palace until Gertrude, still burning with jealousy, sneaked into the Prince’s chambers and tore up all his beloved colouring books. The Prince, enraged, assumed Prudence was to blame and banished her from the kingdom. Left with no better choice, he married Gertrude — and they spent their days bickering over colouring competitions and building cubby houses in the royal gardens.

Prudence, meanwhile, returned to the village and found work at Peach and Plum’s fruit shop, living a simpler, happier life.

And Cinderella? Well, if you’ve ever learned to dance from a graceful teacher with a knowing smile and a mysterious past, it just might have been her.

Moral of the Story:
Happily-ever-after doesn’t always mean marrying a prince — sometimes it means choosing your own adventure, forging your own path, and dancing to the rhythm of your own life.