Cinderela sighed as she climbed into the pumpkin coach her fairy godmother had made for her. Same old story, time after time. At least she would get her happy ending, though she’d have to go through that tedious rigamarole with the glass slipper yet again. Who even decided that glass was a good idea for a slipper anyway?
Nonetheless, she couldn’t suppress the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of dancing with the prince. He was always so dreamy. Why couldn’t she actually live out a full life with him, instead of going back to repeat this tiny loop over and over again? She sighed again. It was just the lot of a storybook character. She knew, to the second, everything that would happen.
Suddenly, the coach lurched, skidded, and toppled on its side, and she was falling. Wait! This wasn’t part of the story. This couldn’t be happening. But down, down, the pumpkin-coach plunged to the ravine below.
Cinderela inexplicably found herself standing beside the shattered pumpkin, all pretense of a coach destroyed in the fall. She looked down at her dress, still immaculate, and assessed herself for any sign of an injury. Not a scratch. Well, that was a relief. Now how was she going to get to the ball?
She turned away from the wreck to begin the walk to the nearest farmhouse and stopped, staring at a huge curtain of blue material blocking her way. She stepped back for a better view. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it part of a massive gown. Her gaze traveled up. And then up some more and yet more.
She gasped at the ghostly figure towering above her. It held some kind of strange wand, almost like a sickle, and she could only make out blackness inside its hood. “What are you?” she squeaked, then, gathering her courage, she repeated the question in what she hoped was a not-to-be-messed-with tone.
A laugh that sounded like wind over a dark moor erupted from the creature. “Not what, child, but who. I am your fairy godreaper.”
Cinderela opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Her mind raced. Being a clever girl, she put the pieces together quickly. Enraged, she stomped her foot. “No. I’m not dead. I can’t be. This isn’t how the story goes.”
“It is how your story goes, child,” the reaper answered, unperturbed by her outburst.
“No. It. Isn’t. I go to the ball, meet the prince, outwit my stepmother and stepsisters, and live happily ever after.”
That unsettling laugh came again. “That is Cinderella’s story, dear heart. You are Cinderela. Really, this trend of rewriting fairy tales is getting out of hand. Your book published this morning.”
Though Cinderela still couldn’t see a face, she got the impression of a warm smile from the reaper. She? It? continued, “You die when your pumpkin crashes over the rails and falls down the cliffside into the ravine.”
“Sounds like a pretty short book,” Cinderela grumbled.
“Oh, but that’s where your adventure begins,” the fairy said. “You and I are going to do wondrous things together.”
Cinderela perked up at that. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe she’d get a sequel, or even a trilogy out of this. Maybe even a series. She grinned up at her fairy godreaper. “Fantastic. You can fill me in on the way to the next scene.”
I know that Halloween is technically a full week away, but I always write my Halloween stories for the week leading up to Halloween and the week starts on Sunday, so I decided to throw in an extra story this year. (You’re welcome.)
This story was lots of fun to write. I knew I wanted to do this riff on the original and set about creating a fairy godreaper on Midjourney. I had lots of hilarious failures, but a few images I really liked. This was my favorite. It impacted the telling of the story because the reaper is so much bigger than Cinderela.
I didn’t specify wanting a second figure in the image. It was serendipitous that this version included one. It made it perfect for the story. Here are a few other images I came up with that I liked as well.
I liked this new version!
I liked the twist on the original story. ☺️