Cinderella Is Dead

by Kalynn Bayron

People call them laugh lines, but I’m certain hers are from frowning.

“My whole life has been a buildup to this. This isn’t some little thing. Everything I do, everything I say, it’s all about the ball. My path has been chosen for me since birth. My future is already written, and I don’t have a say in any of it.” “Yes. And?” She stares at me blankly as if she can’t understand. “Don’t you want me to be happy?

But these good men aren’t making the rules. These decent men are turning a blind eye to indecent acts.

“You must be feeling quite conflicted,” he says. “That’s one word for it.” “Angry. Resentful. Those are probably much better words.” “Probably.”

“The palace underestimates the resourcefulness of women forced into a dark and dangerous place.”

“If my life could serve a purpose,” the woman begins, raising her head a little and looking directly at the king, “then let this be it. I would die to give even just one person the chance to be free from you.”

We are too busy trying to survive to worry about anything else.

“Do you think he’s dead?” I ask, trying to figure out if I care. “No.” Constance sounds severely disappointed by that.

“I think we sometimes make the mistake of thinking monsters are abhorrent aberrations, lurking in the darkest recesses, when the truth is far more disturbing. The most monstrous of men are those who sit in plain sight, daring you to challenge them.