This is an old short story I wrote in college for a contest. The theme of the contest was to tell the story of cinderella in the style of Anne Rice...in less than a 1,000 words! I've left it mostly intact as I wrote it, for the sake of nostalgia.

And....uh...keep in mind this was one of my earliest attempts at writing, so forgive me!

The Stroke of Midnight: Cinderella's Desires
By: Sean Michael Smith

Cinderella couldn't believe she was really at the ball. Oh how lovely everyone looked! The women with their hair in tight little ringlet curls and exquisite gowns of every color and texture imaginable...rich red velvets...billowy emerald taffeta...brilliant sapphire silks. And the men! They were the landowners of the region. Burly proletarian specimens with massive arms and heavily muscled chests. Each one exquisitely restrained by the severe black breeches and white ruffled tunic trappings of civilized men.

She pictured herself being tacked to a feather mattress by one of these adorable brutes, hands stroking the flame between her thighs, teeth grazing her tender breasts. A hard body looming over her as she writhed from his ministrations. Suddenly, her bosom felt crammed into the gown, her waist itched under the corset.

"Soon enough, my beautiful one, you will have the kind of man you desire.", her fairy Godmother whispered in a soft resonant voice. It was heartbreakingly sweet, this voice, and it came at her from everywhere...yet no one else seemed to hear it.

"I can hear you." she whispered.

"I would never leave you my child. There is no place for me in all the world tonight but at your side."

"My good fairie, I thank you from the bottom of my heart that I may have this fantasy. But, what pray tell, is the price?" She nervously clutched the pearls at her throat. So tight.

"Shhh my child, you've paid the price in the misery inflicted by your stepsisters. But, be warned, at the stroke of midnight all shall be as it was."

"I know." she whimpered, "But, I have till then."

"Look at the women gathered across the room, listen to the high seductive ring of their laughter. There is a man among them with whom you should be speaking."

She glimpsed the frock-coated adonis among them. His face was long and slender with high dramatic cheekbones. His hair a lion's mane of spiraling reddish-blonde, dappled with flecks of golden sun. Suddenly, the prince gazed back at her, igniting her passion.

She quickly turned from him.

"That's the prince!" she cried. "What interest could he have in a peasant girl like me?"

"Ah, but all he sees is a beautiful girl in a gossamer silk dress"

"A waif in borrowed finery is still a waif none the less."

"He sees your heart child, where your true beauty lies."

"What nonsense!" she screamed.

"Nonsense you say, but look over yonder..." a gentle breeze turned her head back towards the prince. "...at the man striding towards you." He was crossing the room to talk to her! Cinderella thought she was going to faint. And that was exactly what she did.

She awoke to the musky scent of a man. A man that cradled her in his arms, eyes brimmed with concern as he spoke, "Are you alright madam?"

Cinderella reluctantly slipped free from his arms and lowered herself into a proper curtsey, "I'm dreadfully sorry my liege...I don't know what came over me."

The prince laughed most charmingly.

She lowered her eyes coyly. Was she blushing? He didn't seem to notice as he went down on bended knee and kissed her hand with delicate lips. Oh yes, the red flush to her cheeks was unmistakable now. It ran as strong the tingling between her thighs. The prince was a wholesome, ingratiating man who was had no idea how truly beautiful he was. This made him even more attractive.

For once, her fairie was silent. She couldn't even guess what this meant. Perhaps she was just content to leave Cinderella to own devices...or vices as they may be.

"Madam, are you okay?"

"Forgive me, but I must say that I find myself quite content looking at you. What am I saying, she wondered, for when had she ever been so bold before?

The prince merely laughed again. "And I could say the same of you. But I think, perhaps, we should have a dance or two before running off to the boudoir. What say ye?"

Cinderella smiled as he swept her quietly across the dance floor. For hours they danced, their bodies pressed tight together, faces only inches away from kissing. On and on they talked, of her father, his father, their lives and obligations. Never once did she say too much or reveal her true status. To his credit, the prince did not push when she fell silent. He just held her in his arms and his gaze, as if locking her memory in his heart.

Finally, he moved his hand under her chin and tilted it upwards. "Cinderella, Cinderella...how thy name stirs my heart...I fear the man in me is burning for you. Please allow me to kiss you, lest I go mad from such passion!"

"Please," she whispered, "please do it quickly."

Just as he leaned forward, the room became silent. A sound rose out across the ballroom. A low steady clanging that chilled her heart...diiing doooong...diiing doooong...diiing doooong...

"Oh God." she whispered.

"Cinderella...what is it?" he gripped her arms tightly.

"The clock..." she cried, "It rings in the midnight hour."

Diiing doooong...Diiing doooong...Diiing doooong. Six chimes. She gazed down at her soft white gloves. The fabric grew clearer, translucent. Her skin was becoming visible underneath.

"Oh nooooo." she screamed and broke free of the prince.

Three more rings came in rapid succession. She ran, tears streaming down her face, through the crowd, ignoring the heavy footfall and low roar of the prince's shouting as he ran after her.

As she reached the front door of the place, her shoe twisted up in the red carpet blanketing the steps. Cinderella tumbled to the ground, cursing her clumsiness. Quickly, she got up and hobbled into the carriage.

"Begone!" she told the coachman. Off it went into the night, leaving the baffled, grief stricken prince sitting on the palace steps holding a single glass slipper.