Cinderella

The heavy iron clapper hits the bronze bell high in the castle tower, and the first toll of midnight reverberates straight through the night air. ​I’m standing near the courtyard fountain, minding my own business, when the grand oak doors sweep open. Out comes the mysterious girl in silver, flying down the marble steps in total panic. Halfway down, a glass slipper pops off her foot. She looks back with sheer dread, but as the second chime echoes, she abandons it and keeps sprinting. ​She charges right into my path, and I stumble backward into the fountain ledge. ​With lightning instincts, she grabs my coat sleeve, yanking me back onto solid stone. "Careful!" she breathes out. ​Our eyes lock for one breathless second—a total nobody and a barefoot princess. ​"Thank you!" I blurt out. ​"Don't stand there," she warns, eyes darting to the driveway. "It's about to get messy." ​She bolts for her golden coach just as the third and fourth chimes strike—and the night goes off the rails. ​The gold leaf warps into rough pumpkin skin, the carriage caving in with a squishy crunch. The four white horses shrink into mice, scattering across the flagstones. ​Undeterred, she kicks off her other shoe and vanishes into the dark woods on bare feet just as the final chime fades. ​I'm left alone in the quiet courtyard, staring at a giant squashed pumpkin wondering if anyone will ever believe me. You walk over to the glass slipper that was left discarded by the pumpkin that was once a golden carriage.