Sharp look, red dress, a figure rests and waits; idle standing on the corner, as if waiting for someone. Silently looking up towards the flickering lights of a downtown alley; twirling strands of smoke quietly undressing memories of faded hopes and injured dreams. Glossy lipstick, hollow cheeks from lack of nourishing; bleached hair and tainted soul, countless mysteries unfold behind her squinted eyes, while a crease in the upper lip silently illustrates a lifetime of silent despair, no sign of hope in her withered front. To be quite blunt, the life of this Cinderella turned out to be no other than a fabled nightmare.In the beginning, all went well, nothing was short of perfect; the Prince was in all aspects magnificent, he was all that she could hope for, everything that any girl in the whole wide world would ever hope for, in her most childish and blissful dreams of becoming princess. Good old Cindy had felt the happiest person in the universe, for a while there; she truly believed that her life would change, the unfortunate lady. Doubtlessly, the Fates had woven the child’s life plan with cursed lines. It didn’t effectively take too long until she was cast back towards a premise which easily surpassed her miserable infancy.

For several months after the astounding couple had their hearts intertwined by something as unsuspicious as an imaginary glass slipper, all was marvellous, and nothing in the world mattered, other than their unconditional bond. Love was beautiful, and life was grand. He called her Cindy and she adored him deeply; nonetheless, her heart was innocent and while he was a conceited figure: if he would not have her the way he wanted to then he would not have her at all. Cinderella simply couldn’t comply all that he expected of her, and he certainly couldn’t accept that she wouldn’t indulge his every whim: after all, he was a prince.There’s a funny thing about passion; lust may cause it just as well as love, and one truly never knows the true source it until all is said and done. Even tough feelings fuelled by genuine affection are quite different from the emotions that sprout from desire, they seem quite the same to the mind numbed by infatuation, until circumstances prove the contrary.

To put it simply, the star crossed-lovers where crossed by their own conflicting personalities. It didn’t take too long until Cinderella realized the relationship was a sinking ship that wouldn’t not sail to the open seas of forever after. The fairytale quickly faded and disgrace promptly surfaced, the shadow of her miserable destiny once again assaulting her clouded, tormented eyes. Things were definitely not good, and they shown no signs of getting better; after reaching the summit of her happiness, the unfortunate maiden was vertiginously cast down to pits much darker than ever before. Early in life Cinderella had received a sour upbringing, courtesy of her step-mother and half-siblings, and she was more scarred then she could imagine. She’d had plenty of time to feel miserable about her poor fortune during those dark lonely hours serving in the kitchen, a servant to her own family.

However, she would not guess, not in a thousand lifetimes that she would ever sink so low, and as much as she tried to, she could never come to terms with becoming a hooker; in fact, she could barely face the circumstances, and her detachment was as necessary as instrumental towards the woman’s sanity. In her mind, she merely avoided such thinking, and rather she thought she ought to hope the fairy Godmother would once again come to save her: even tough she could no longer bring herself to believe such childish fantasies. Cinderella had become an adult, and her rough emotional experiences thoroughly effaced any leftover spark of faith. She had managed to conjure a miracle out of desperation, and she attended the royal ball thanks to the influence of her fairy godmother; she was young and foolish and nothing good had arisen out of her apparent salvation; her heart was fragile and bare, and she would never again dare believe in miracles, nor dreams.

Few ladies in the field enjoy admitting their premise; however, a beautiful corpse was still a corpse. And since no body can live without a soul, Cinderella had become quite lifeless, even tough her ravishing artificial good looks still provided her with good business. Even tough she still looked good enough to deceive the shallow sight, truth of the matter was she had become a hollow carcass; void of free will and barely aware of her utter emotional wreckage. Nonetheless, as much as the circumstances appeared hopeless, not everything was lost, and the pills she frequently took would help her think less, and the handy whiskey bottle that Cindy kept in her stocking sure as hell helped her feel better, during those miserable, ungodly hours.Life can be such a sinuous rollercoaster. After her true prince had definitely proved he was a phoney, it didn’t take long for the woman get on her feet. After all, she was still young and beautiful, and there would definitely be other princes.

She didn’t waste much time to getting on her feet once again; and she might have felt guilty, but as it turned out she would never think twice to accepting lovers far more demanding and unreasonable than her original prince; never settling for too long, one random partner would follow the other, and from there, it was straightforward downhill.Who could she turn to, in her darkest hour? Prince after prince, gradually sinking into a bottomless pit of self-commiseration, the virtuous lady was stripped like a flower; layer after layer, until there was any self-respect left, whatsoever. Times were rough but she had to manage, and one thing led to the other. First she began asking money from her lovers (what else could she do? No one would employ a half-baked princess), and after a while she would take money from all the others, from any man who would please her, or simply any who could provide her with a little comfort.

Certainly, she could not resort to her family (as if the family was truly hers), and there were no further bloodlines or bindings, other than an increasing line of flawed attempts at love; other than herself, there was no one else who cared about the fallen dame.Fiction is beautiful, but reality tends to be much harsher. The glass slippers which had been witness to Cinderella’s pride and glorious destiny, they no longer fit. The fairy tale became a tell tale, and the lovely mistress became stuck to the street, confined to a lifestyle from where upon she might never be able to quit. All things considered, she should have looked for no prince, nor indulged delusions of grandeur; she had deceived herself even more so than the others, and in the process she had become the single agent of her own demise. Unlucky or unwise, to the day she doesn’t realize that she became queen of red light District out of her own accord free will, and as much as she complains that every new day could be different Cinderella does not cease to decay, and every night it’s all the same.

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