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In all of the fairytales you've ever heard, isn't there always an evil ugly witch? One character who, no matter how hard the heroine – or damsel in distress – tries, always manages to get in the way of them and their true love. My type of character.
But no matter how hard I try, I've never managed the perfect picture of evil sorceress.
My name is Susan. When I was born, my hair was so dark and soft that it reminded my mother of the center of a Black-eyed Susan, hence she named me Susanna – but I much prefer Susan. Susanna is too girly and graceful for a witch. As I got older, my hair lightened out to a deep, rich brown and grew until it waved down my back to my waist. My blue eyes deepened and darkened until they became emerald green.
I always knew those lousy looks would get me in trouble someday.
You see, my mother has always had high expectations for me and my beauty, despite the fact that I practice magic and do my best to be horribly rotten to all around me. She wants to see me happily married to a wealthy banker or respected knight and have adorable children, which does NOT at all fit in with my life agenda. I plan to live and die an old spinster.
Too bad it didn't work out that way.

"Good morning, Susan," my mother greets me as she descends the stairs.
"A perfectly awful morning to you too, Mother," I smile back.
She sighs, but says nothing else. She and my three sisters are far too used to my cynicism to be surprised at my sarcastic ways.
"Good morning," Martha, the eldest and my older sister, calls.
"Good morning," Jane, the second youngest, replies.
"Good morning!" Cindy, the youngest and the sweetest of us all, smiles.
My sisters and me have a complicated relationship. They do their best to be kind and civil to me, but every day I manage to irk them and stay my distance. Martha, being the oldest, is without a doubt the wisest and most quiet, but even she finds my ways alarming. Jane is too busy with her dreams of high-fashion society and obsession with the latest trends to take notice of half that happens in her own household. The only one who even begins to understand me and my less-than-desirable lifestyle is Cindy, but at age fifteen, I suppose her patience is more naivety than learned tolerance. She voluntarily submits herself to the chores even Martha is reluctant to complete, such as scrubbing the chimney and spreading fertilizer in the garden. Her favorite pastime is to sit on the hearth with a good book and read while enjoying the warmth of the fire, hence her nickname Cinderella. Often times I join her for some discussion and quiet companionship – but even she doesn't understand my deepest thoughts, mostly because I choose not to disclose them. They wouldn't understand. They never do. Especially not my mother, but because I already said all you need to know about her personality, I'll describe her looks. She is graceful, elegant, and blond – an older version of Cindy, who is just as fair-haired and blue-eyed.
"I'm missing my candle from atop my wardrobe. Pray, has anyone seen it?" inquires Jane as we prepare breakfast.
"Yes, I used it for a ceremony last night." I reply nonchalantly.
"Where is it?"
"How should I know?" I snap back.
"But you used it!"
"It was for a good cause."
"What good does your magic do?" Alas, it is well known I practice dark magic. Hey, from my droning on about being a WITCH in the opening, you should've known I was no Glinda!
"That little brat who lives down the road decided to toss a toad in my cauldron when I wasn't looking," I answer grimly, "so I taught her a tiny lesson."
"Tiny, eh?"
"Yes. Just a few boils – they'll be gone by suppertime." I smirk. "Or perhaps not. That toad she threw in my cauldron was a candidate for my familiar. She should know better than to go trekking around in MY swamp."
Martha sighs. "Dearest Susan, why can't you just leave the local folk alone? I'd pity that poor girl if I were you… she lost her mother last May."
I angrily whisk the pancake batter and slop it into the pan. "If she knows what emotional pain is, then why does she insist on causing me grief?!"
Silence.
"Besides, she isn't the only one to know heartbreak," I conclude, gazing out the window. "We lost our father when we were younger than she! Cindy was only six… she barely remembers him!"
I loved my father. His name was Stephen Aronnarch, a widely known name in our village – he was famous for being the kindest around. He understood me much better than Mother, and he was always willing to play or lend a helping hand when the rest were busy. We lost him to pneumonia eight years ago, but the memory of his laugh, of him helping me up when I'd fallen down and scraped my knee, will always bring fresh pain. How dare Martha say we ought to pity that girl, when we ourselves have known loss!
Martha turns around, looking exasperated. "Please, Susan!"

The doorbell rings.

Mother wipes her hands on a towel and says, "I'll answer it." She leaves the kitchen. But I'm not in the mood for good news, bad news, whatever the stupid caller will have to say. Flipping the last of the pancakes out of the skillet, I calmly set the pan into the sink to be washed later, and exit the house. Working with magic, I've found, is the best way to forget Father's death.
I dash through the swamp near our house until I reach the forest and the little clearing where I've set up my witch's altar and workspace. Grumbling, I begin to gather up what I will need for my next potion. In my Book of Shadows, or Book of Spells, there are several hundreds of potions and spells listed. I'm trying to work my way up to the point where I can perform and create each one by heart. After two years of work, I've managed to do 553 of them, but I've still got 347 to go. This week's project is to create a memory-erasing potion. I've yet to figure out a good purpose for it, but it might come in handy when I need to steal some more incense for my altar. After a few minutes, Mother's voice comes echoing through the trees. "Susan! Susan, come quickly! This is important!"
Sighing, I put the cover over the cauldron, close my book of spells, and make my way back to the house none too quickly, taking care I've never had before not to soil my skirts or step in any mud.
Within minutes, I'm back at the house. Mother's standing on the front porch, looking worried. "Susan," she sighs with relief. "There you are! Hurry, come inside, you won't believe the news we just received!"
I feel my spirits lift. "Did my order for an athame come early?"
"What? No! A messenger from the King arrived!"
My spirits immediately drop. I cross my arms and glare at Mother. "Then it isn't anything I want to hear!"
"Hush, Susan! Please, just listen." The rest of my sisters gather around. Looking delighted, Mother clasps her hands and rushes, stumbling over her own words. "There is to be a ball tomorrow night to celebrate the Prince's 18th birthday! All of the eligible young ladies are asked to attend. This is a perfect opportunity to find suitors!"
Martha, Jane and Cindy immediately begin to whisper excitedly among themselves. Of course. A ball is right up their alley, but it's just a miserable waste of my time. What young man would dare approach me, the girl who freely hexes and jinxes those who irk her? Marriage has no place in my future. I plan to live and die an old spinster – regardless of what Mother wants.
"We will go into town this afternoon to find dresses and accessories."
"Why? What's wrong with what we have?" asks naïve young Cindy.
"You can't go to a ball in anything less than your best, and it must be new!" exclaims Jane. "EVERYONE knows that! Especially with the Prince being there!"
"I'm not going. I wish you all a dreadful time," I announce nonchalantly, stalking out of the house and back towards the swamp. I should've known Mother's 'important news' would be nothing other than some freakishly girly occasion. I can't believe I even bothered coming back – I could've finished that memory potion by now!
"No, Susan, it's important that you go! The Prince himself… it's an opportunity not to be missed!" Mother cries, grabbing my hands. "With your beauty and wit, I'm sure-"
All of a sudden, it's clear to me. Mother wants me to go to get engaged to some prissy royal!
"And pretend to be a stupid girl obsessed with hair ribbons and shoes? I don't think so!" I cry. "That's not me, Mother! I will never be like them! I do not want to be like them! I am a witch! Witches do NOT go to balls!"
"You will go," Mother declares. "Whether you want to or not. Even if you don't desire to meet the Prince, I won't let you miss the best night of your life! Now, please dress in something more suitable to go town. The carriage will be here in a short while." With that, she rushes off.
I look down at my plain forest-green dress and black lace-up shoes. "And what's wrong with the way I dress, anyway?" I shout as I stomp after her.

An hour later, we crowd into the local dressmaker's shop, where she displays several beautiful bolts of cloth and the latest designs.
"No," I say promptly after being shown each dress. I may have to be dragged along, but I will not be coerced into picking a dress for an event I won't be attending. It's a waste of time and money.
"Susan, what about this one?" Mother asks, holding up a dress similar to the one I'm still wearing. (I staunchly refused to change out of it. At sixteen, I should be allowed to wear what I might – I'm not two anymore.)
It's the same dark-green velvet, with a tight bodice and flowing skirt that swoops down from the hips neatly in pleats. The sleeves are long and swishy, but not too showy, with a low neckline, and gold trim adds some regality to the entire masterpiece.
In simple English, it's perfect.
Mesmerized, I slowly get up and walk over to it, ignoring the groans from the trailor as I trek mud from the forest on her clean floor. I trace my fingers over the material. Suddenly, I turn to Mother, a small, sly smile on her face. Of course she knew I wouldn't be able to resist such a 'witchy' dress. Plus, the fact that there's a nicely hidden pocket on the seam could come in handy.
"When can I get it?" I ask breathlessly.

That evening, back at home, my sisters hurry to find the finishing touches to their ball ensembles. "Will this hairclip work?" Martha asks.
"Too flashy," advises Jane.
Cindy examines it. "I think it looks fine," she says gently.
"Maybe," Jane agrees begrudgingly, and Martha tosses it onto her pile of accessories for the ball.
Meanwhile, Mother is trying to help me find a pair of shoes. "You've only two pairs?" She asks in disbelief, gazing at the two pairs of shoes I own. "I ought've gotten you some more… You never said you had so few."
"Two pairs is plenty," I say firmly.
Mother sighs. "Well, then… you've got one pair of black slippers, and the black boots you're currently wearing… Not a lot of options for tomorrow."
"What does it matter?" I ask. "I've already said I'm not going."
Mother ignores me, doing some mental math. "Well, the shops are closed in town, and we won't have any time tomorrow to get you a pair…"
"I've got plenty of shoes," volunteers Cindy. "She could borrow a pair of mine."
"But your feet are so tiny!" I exclaim. It's well known Cindy has some of the smallest feet in our kingdom – how could I ever fit my size 10 feet into her tiny shoes?
"Alas, that is so," sighs my Mother. "Yet, it may be our only choice…"
From upstairs comes Jane's voice. "Mother, which of these scarves do you think best matches my gown?"
Mother disappears up the stairs to assist our fashionably challenged sister. "Come on, Susan," Cindy says. "I think I've got a good pair for you… they're a little gaudy, but okay."
I follow her into her room, the smallest bedroom in the house, but she only has it because she's the baby of the family. She opens her closet and sorts among the slippers and high heels tucked neatly on a rack.
"Here," she says, picking up a pair of shoes with a low heel, " what do you think?"
I can do nothing but gape. They're covered in black velvet, with colorful silk flowers glued on everywhere.
In short, they're absolutely hideous.
"They're the biggest size I got," she admits, "and maybe they're not your taste, but the black would go well with your dress."
I gulp and nod, taking the shoes numbly. Mother comes into the room and peers at the shoes in my hands. "They're perfect, Cinderella!" She cries, taking the shoes and thoroughly examining them. "I love the colorful flowers. You must wear them, Susan – they're wonderful, and they match your dress!"
Sighing, I thank Cindy and take the shoes upstairs to my room. It was beginning to look as if I was going to the ball after all. Staring at the shoes, and wondering how I could ever go to the ball in them, I began to formulate a plan.
Taking a pair of scissors, I careful cut off each and every single piece of plastic on those shoes. I then carefully slit the velvet and peeled it off the shoe. Underneath was glittering glass. I stared at the magnificently transformed shoes, wondering how anyone could take such a work of art and cover up its beauty with that awful velvet and those pieces of plastic – oh, excuse me, 'flowers.' At least now they were acceptable. Happy with my creation, I carelessly tossed the torn flowers and material in the trash and went back out to the forest to work on my potion until dawn.
The next morning, I made my sleepy way back to our home. I had completed the potion, but it had taken hours longer than it should have because I'd messed up the amount of grasshopper wing in it. Mother said nothing as I entered the breakfast nook, but I could tell she was disappointed. "I hope you will last the evening," she finally declared as I washed the dishes. "It will be quite embarrassing if you pass out at the ball."
"More like a blessing," I reply. "I'm not going easily, you know."
"Of course," she answers, and the elegance suddenly leaves her face, replaced with sad wrinkles and shadowed eyes. My shoulders sag slightly. How had I not noticed her aging before? Or was she just that good at hiding her sorrows?

All too soon, the day flew by, and we were suddenly soaring around the house, humming excitedly as we pinned up our hair, tied bows and ribbons, and laced up shoes. Martha was assigned the task of making my hair more presentable, as I objected to having it pulled up.
"I don't understand what you have against buns and knots," she said gently as she smoothed cream into my hair.
"I'm not 40," I snort impatiently. "Besides, my hair is the only beautiful thing about me. Might as well leave it that way. To pull it up would only ruin the effect."
"You are beautiful – all of you, not just your hair." She answers, brushing the cream thoroughly throughout my hair.
I don't answer for a time. "Witches aren't supposed to be beautiful," I reply, my voice cracking. Why was I getting choked up?
"But you are beautiful," she insists. "And Father would be very proud to see the wonderful young lady you've become."
I bite my lip until the prickling in my eyes disappears, then give a laugh. "Ha! Wonderful young lady – this same young lady that gave that girl boils just last week?"
She turns me around, tucking a few stray hairs behind my ear. "Yes. That young lady."
I look into her eyes, wishing desperately that she were right. The moment is ended prematurely, however, when my Mother enters the room, holding the glass shoes in her hands. She's silent for a moment, then asks, "Susan, what did you do to Cindy's slippers?"
"Made them better," I snap, pulling them out of her grasp and slipping them on. Ouch. They are really tight…
"But… the velvet, the flowers-"
"What's your point? They're better like this."
She shakes her head. "Oh, Susan… they were pretty. You didn't have to mutilate them like that."
Why did it feel as if there was a double meaning to her words? I hide my puzzlement though, and stalk out of the room. "You should all hurry," I call over my shoulder. "The royal carriage is due to pick us up in an hour."

Once out of sight of the house, I pick up the pace, racing to the forest and storing some of the memory potion in a glass vial, which I slip into the hidden pocket in my dress. You never know.

As I'd predicted, the royal carriage arrived at 8:00 pm on the dot to ship us off to the royal palace. Sighing, I silently said my good-byes to our squat little cottage. I had a feeling Mother was determined that, if all went well, I would never go back to that cottage, instead living with the Prince at the palace as his bride.
I was itching to prove her wrong.

The footman walked us up to the entrance of the castle, where several other young ladies were standing, waiting to be personally introduced to the King. Judging by how short the line was, it seemed as though we were the last to arrive or else quite early.
"Ms. Julie Daaschbary, of Trimbleton," announced the royal assistant as another young lady curtsied and slipped into the castle.
Craning my neck, I wondered where the Prince and the King were. Surely the introductions were for their benefit?
Soon enough, me and my sisters reached the front of the line, and I got my first glimpse of the Prince.
He was a little taller than me, a brunette with clear eyes. His skin was smooth and tan, and his smile seemed somewhat strained after a few hours of introductions. But his eyes widened when he saw my family.
I was introduced first. By my mother's insistence, no doubt.
"Ms. Susanna Aronnarch, of Bluerryberg," cried the royal assistant. I gave the Prince a civil nod, never quite meeting his gaze, and stalked off to the punch table. I needed something to calm me down – so many young ladies in their gaudy finery were starting to unnerve me.
I reached down for a glass and picked up the ladle to scoop some punch into my cup, but it slipped out of my grasp and fell into the crystal punch bowl. A white-gloved hand reached down quickly and caught it. I looked up to meet the smiling eyes of the Prince. "May I?" He asked gently, taking my cup and quickly but smoothly filled it.
I gave him another shaky nod of thanks, and took a big gulp. Gagging, I glared at my cup. Laced with alcohol! I should've known.
The Prince's shoulders were shaking as he tried not to laugh. Giving a sour look, I set my glass down and turned away, making my way through the crowd. What an arse. I should've known – a stuck-up royal like him.
As I wandered, I kept finding myself searching the crowd for the Prince, wondering where he was, who he was dancing with now. I finally escaped the crowded ballroom onto a balcony overlooking the royal garden. Sighing, I gazed at the beautiful flowers and ponds below. Why couldn't I fit in? Why did the Prince have to laugh at me? I just wanted to go home, back to my forest and work on my sorcery, the way I always did.
But suddenly, that way of life didn't seem like enough.

I was startled when the Prince walked up beside me. "I apologize for the way I acted before," he said, sounding sincere. But then again, he's a guy. Don't all men sound sincere? "I hope you can forgive me."
I shrug carelessly. "Whatever."
I can feel that he's taken aback. "What do you want?" I demand from him.
"Just felt that I should apologize," he says.
"Why did you laugh at me before?" I ask. "That wasn't nice."
"You looked so cute," he admits. "Even when you were, um…"
"Gagging," I suggested bitterly. To think of him calling me cute! "Choking. Making sour faces."
Now he's uneasy. "Uh, well, yes."
"You're wasting your time." I declare suddenly, after several moments of silent reflection. "You can't charm someone who doesn't want to be charmed. You can't charm me."
I leave his side and walk to the opposite end of the balcony, regretting my words before they'd left my mouth. I hear the sound of his boots clicking against the tile on the balcony as he walks back into the ballroom. To me, they speak of a lifetime of misery and regret.

The time passed quickly while I stood there all by my lonesome – but don't think I blamed anyone. It was, of course, my entire fault. And the time served well for some self-reflection. As the sounds of laughter and music in the ballroom wore on and the evening got later and later, time flew, and it was soon 11:30. The ball was to end at 12:00.
Realizing what I'd done and kicking myself, I slowly sank to a heap on the balcony and began to sob. I cradled my head in my hands and sobbed. What was I doing? This wasn't me. None of this was me. What the rest of the people perceived as downright nastiness and a soul of evil was really just me hurting. I hurt for my father, my mother, my sisters… and for the Prince. How dare I be so rude to him, when he came to apologize?! Now I was the one who needed to apologize and hear him accept my apology. After a few moments, the sound of the boots came back, and the Prince knelt down next to me. He didn't say anything, just put his arm around me, and allowed me to cry in peace. I was grateful, and continued to weep until I'd gotten it all out. Taking a deep breath, I wiped my eyes, looked at the Prince, and said the only thing that came to my mind. "I believe I've smudged my makeup."
To which we both began to laugh.

After I felt better, the Prince ordered a servant to bring me some hot apple cider (none alcoholic, of course… after the incident with the punch, he didn't need to be told twice)
Two butlers came and set up a table for us on the balcony, and they drew curtains across the entrance to the balcony so we could have some privacy. After the cider had been delivered, grateful that he'd cared enough to do this for me, I began to talk.
"I am so sorry for the way I acted." I began, rubbing my temple and taking a sip of cider. "I don't know what's gotten into me."
"It's quite alright," replied he. "I've had a rough night myself."
"I, um… trust you've been enjoying your birthday?" I stated, not quite knowing what to make of his reply but thinking it rude to inquiry further.
"Yes, but my father…" sighed the Prince. "Well, he's a bit overbearing."
"The King, you mean?" I ask. Then, realizing how stupid I sounded, I made a face and answered myself, " No duh, the King." He laughed, and I knew I'd said the right thing.
"Yes." He answers. "It being my 18th birthday, I think he'd like to see me settled down."
"I know what you mean," I laugh. "My mother dragged me here, I daresay, just for that reason. She was hoping I'd meet…" Realizing I might've given too much away, I stopped, and met his eyes. He understood.
From behind the curtain, the orchestra began to play a song with a lot of violins and violas… something bittersweet and romantic.
"May I?" the Prince asked.
"Of course," I answer gratefully, glad for the chance to redeem myself to him.
He took me by the hand and helps me out of my seat, then begins to waltz with me slowly. I give a nervous giggle when I trip over my own feet.
"Um, something wrong?" he asks.
"I've, uh… I've never danced with anyone before. Well, wait, of course I have," I babble on – what's wrong with me? "I've danced with my sisters and my father when I was little, but… I mean, with a man – a guy who wasn't my father, of course – before." How stupid I must sound!
"I've danced with women before," he shrugs, "but only because Father made me."
I laugh, and he twirls me gracefully, then goes back to a waltz. We dance as the night wears on, and, staring at him, I wonder about this beautiful new feeling I have. I've never felt it before… or have I? Maybe long ago, when I was very young… something, perhaps, I lost when Father died.
My heart begins to race, and I feel calm and ready to cry at the same time.
It's as if the diamond armor I never really knew I have is shattering at long last. Could this be… love?
We come to a breathless stop, and, gazing into each other's eyes, we both lean forward.
The clock strikes twelve as I have my first kiss.
It's time to say good-bye, but I can't. I force myself to gently slip my hand out of his. "Wait," he protests as I head back towards the ballroom. "Will… will you do me the honor of accepting my hand, fair maiden?"
My cheeks flush. There's only one true answer in the world – I part my lips. "Yes-" but then I stop.
Does the Prince really deserve someone as awful as me? Thank goodness he doesn't know how awful I've been… wait. Scratch that. Yes, he has seen me at my worst… with the balcony incident and all, remember? It was only a half hour ago. He needs someone who can truly love him – not an evil witch like me. Someone like… like… I dare not think of it.
"I… I'm sorry," I force myself to say. "But I think you'd best offer your hand to another fair maiden. One who's actually worthy of you."
His face falls. "What? But… but I'm offering it to you! You're the one… I can feel it."
I shake my head and turn away as he babbles on. "You know… you know the rest of the young ladies, they're all giggly and so girlish. They'd never say anything I didn't want to hear. But you – you're kind of rebellious. You've got wit and sarcasm! You're not afraid to think for yourself. The moment I saw you in your green gown with your hair down… I thought, 'she's not like the other maidens. She's not wearing pastel colors or has her hair up in a beehive… she's the only one who dared to stand out.' While we were talking, something clicked… something… And that's what I love about you! You're beautiful!"
I bite my lip.
His voice catches. "Ple – please, Susanna… I love you, and only you."
I take a deep breath. "Mr. Prince, it's Susan to you!" I cry as I whirl around. "I hate being called Susanna! And for your information, I am a practicing witch who just last week stole her sister's candle to give a 7-year-old girl boils for what should've been a trivial incident! What kind of young maiden does that?!"
I'm in my element now, all wound up in a fury, knowing that, in order to protect the Prince from my inner evil, I must alienate him from myself once and for all.
He leans back, obviously alarmed. "Excuse me?"
"I'm an ARSE to my mother and sisters! I didn't even want to come here! But no, Mother dragged me here just so I could meet…"
I stalk towards him till we're face to face once more. "YOU."
He kisses me. "And you regret it?"
I must say that kiss did stop me for a second.
"Please… Susan. Please marry me."
I take a few breaths, bend down and take off one of my glass shoes. Ow. My foot is red from enduring the squeezing pressure of such a tiny shoe.

I throw it at him.

Startled, he scrambles to catch it and ends up flat on his back, with the slipper safely in his hands.
"That's what I think of marriage!" I shout as I hop the balcony railing and escape into the royal garden.

I rush and pick my way through the bushes and flowers, snagging my dress on a rose bush and tripping over a watermelon vine – but it was worth it. It was all worth it. I was escaping with my spinster-hood intact and had left the Prince heartbroken.
All of a sudden, my breath caught in my chest and I sank down to the dirt. He'd… he'd really loved me?
I shake my head so fast my hair slaps against my cheeks. No… It's impossible for two people to fall in love so quickly. Impossible! Impossible!
But as I cast one last long look at the balcony, where the Prince still stands, holding my slipper and gazing out into the garden, I begin to doubt that. His eyes meet mine for a split second.
He looks so cute when he's distraught.
Sighing and blinking back tears, I give a gentle wave and disappear into the night.

I'm hanging up my ball gown to dry after washing it that night when my family finally comes home.
"Susan!" Mother sighs with relief. "We wondered where you were… I was getting worried. But how did you get home without a carriage?!"
"Simple. I walked."
They all start to talk at once about their exciting night out. "And the Prince spent the last of the night dancing with that one young lady! The curtains to the balcony drawn and everything… try and tell me there wasn't something going on!"
"Oh, I do wonder who she was… Think they'll get married?"
"They say she rejected him when he proposed. He was so devastated he ran out of the ballroom!"
My face starts to convulse.
"No, I don't believe it! The Prince himself – who would reject him…"
Silence… Are they all staring at me? "Sweetheart, why are you crying?" Martha asks gently. I say nothing.
"Susan, are you alright?" Cindy asks tentatively.
"Just leave me alone!" I explode, and dash upstairs to my room.

That night, I had a dream.
Father was still alive and he was coming home from work. I ran to the front door to open it for him, and he reached down and swooped me up into the air. I felt so happy.
Then I dreamed I was in my room with Martha before the ball. She was combing my hair and saying nonsense, like, "The sky's really red today," which was nonsense, since the sky was pitch-black – it was nighttime. But the more I tried to convince her she was wrong, the more she insisted she was right.
Then my room became the palace balcony and I was dancing with the Prince. He repeated the stuff Martha had tried to convince me of before, but this time, everything he said instantly made sense. Simple and nicely put, everything he stated was fact, even though it was all stuff Martha's said before in my dream.
And then I woke up, and everything finally DID make sense.
Yawning, I trotted downstairs, still feeling miserable about what had happened the night before. This time, there could be no apologies – everyone except the most lovesick Prince would dare request my hand after that episode. But the sorrow would come later. So early in the morning, it was impossible to feel heartbroken.
Then the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" Martha cried as she hurried to the front door. Swinging it open, she found herself face to face with…
The royal messenger himself. In his hands was a velvet pouch – what could be in it?
"Last night at the ball, the Prince found his true love, but in the tension of the moment, the fair maiden ran out," the messenger announced, brandishing the pouch. "He forgot her name, and the only sign the fair maiden was ever there was her shoe…"
At this, he pulled the glass slipper out of the pouch.
You could've heard a pin drop.
"Well, there's something oddly familiar about that slipper," Mother said slowly, examining it. "Hmmm…"
I looked up to meet the eyes of Cindy, who was staring at me in something akin to horror. I shook my head wildly at her and put my finger to my lips. Don't tell, Cindy; don't.
She seemed to understand my urgency, and immediately smoothed her expression into one of curiosity.
Good 'ole Cindy.
"Every fair maiden in the kingdom is to try on the slipper," announced the messenger, "in hopes of reuniting the Prince with his lost love."
I bowed my head at these words, thinking. How could I ever face the Prince again? There had to be some way…
I looked back at Cindy. I didn't want to, but…
I caught her attention and nodded my head towards her room. Nodding, she slipped out of the room. I followed her.
"Oh, Susan, really?" she whispered as soon as the door was shut.
"Yes, but it no longer matters. I rejected him, I can't face him again…" I sighed. "So I've got a plan. The Prince deserves someone better than me…" I brace myself. "He needs you."
"What? What?! No, Susan, he proposed to you…"
"And I'm the evilest wench who ever lived! You'll marry him and like it. He's nice, Cinderella, and he desires someone sweet and kind like you… not a rebellious witch like me."
Her cheeks flush. "Really, Susan?"
"Yes," I reply. "And they're your shoes; they should fit you perfectly. Now come on," I say impatiently, and we return back to the living room, where Jane is trying to fit her foot in the slipper. No such luck.
Mother catches sight of me, and exclaims, "Susan! There you are! Wherever did you and Cindy disappear off to?"
I start to make up some lame excuse, but apparently she wasn't looking for one. "Come here, Susan, and try on this slipper!"
Jane gets up off the chair in a huff, apparently disappointed that the shoe didn't fit her. I took a deep breath and sat down. The messenger knelt and proceeded to try to force my already sore foot into the slipper.
"Ouch, ouch!" I gasped, putting on a little bit of a show. "I don't think it's going to fit…"
The messenger shook his head and got up. "Are there any other young ladies who'd like to try on the shoe?"
Me and Cindy's eyes meet, and after a moment, she speaks up. "Um, yes, may I…?"
"Of course. Please, take a seat." As the messenger kneels to fit on the slipper, I bite my lip and pray silently that it fits, which is, in fact, pretty dumb. It is her shoe, isn't it? Why in the world wouldn't it fit?
Still, I couldn't help uttering a prayer under my breath. If there were a God, this would be a good time for him to show up.

She slid her foot into the glass shoe.

"Oh, my dear Cinderella!" Mother cries, rushing over and grabbing her hands. I bite my lip and bow my head. It's for the best.

"It was Cindy!" Jane gushes the next day. The wedding is to be this afternoon, and I must pick my ensemble. I wonder… does the Prince know that I'm Cindy's sister? Does he know he's been fooled? If he has any brains or common sense at all (which, as a guy, may not mean much) he'll know. But since he hasn't sent Cindy back or anything, maybe he has gotten the hint that I don't want him…. Which is true, I don't want him.
I need him.
              "I never would've guessed," Mother smiles as she carefully polishes our shoes to a glorious shine. "I could've sworn she was at my side the entire night, but… perhaps the Prince fell in love from afar."
              "Love is stupid," I snap under my breath as I iron my own dress. I'll be wearing my own ball gown instead of a new dress, which was a compromise between Mother and me. I wanted to wear black, and I bet you can guess why, but Mother said I must settle for my ball gown, for it was either that or a brand-spanking-new frilly pastel pink dress, and I'd rather jump over a cliff and get ran over a train simultaneously than wear that dress. So I stuck with my good ole green ball gown, although it hurt to look at it. It reminded me too much of the ball, the smell of the Prince's cologne…
               No, oh, please, God, don't let me think about his cologne. I can handle his face, but I'm a sucker for cologne. What brand does he wear? Maybe I should buy some. Hm. How much money do I – wait, stop. This is SUPPOSED to be dramatic! Good job, hormones…
               "Susan?" Mother's voice brings me back to the present. "Yes, Mother? What now?!"
               "I just wanted to know if… your dress for the wedding was ready," she says, her smile drooping.
                That strange prickly feeling comes back to my eyes, and sighing, I turn around and give Mother a hug.

                "The carriage is here! The royal carriage is here!" Jane cries in a flurry of mad joy. "Mother, Martha, Susan, hurry UP!"
                "For goodness sake, Jane!" I yell back as I release Mother and pick up my dress. "I promise the carriage won't leave without us, and the wedding doesn't start for two hours! We've still time!" I head for my room and begin to change into my outfit. The dress still fits perfectly, and the familiar feel of its fabric slipping over my skin is oddly comforting.
                "Susan, hurry!" Jane shouts. Giving a groan of exasperation, I quickly pull my arms through the sleeves and begin to hurry out the door when –
                An emerald glass bottle falls out of the forgotten hidden pocket. I snatch it before it can crash to the hard wood floor, and examine it for a moment in surprise. This is the memory potion I had finished just the other night. And, as before, I slip it back into its pocket. Once more, I think to myself – maybe it'll come in handy.
                "Susan!" Mother hisses. "Come on, we'll be late at this pace."
                "Coming," I call back, and rush away.

             A few minutes later, I make my way through the crowd of officials and royals at the site of the wedding. It's due to start in a few minutes, and I scan the mass of people carefully. Where is he? Is he perhaps in the church, preparing for the wedding?

             A pair of clear eyes meet mine. I gasp.

             It's him. Oh, gosh. I bite my lip and try to look away, but I can't bring my eyes to move away from his gaze. I try to smile weakly, but he doesn't return the gesture. He continues to stare. Cindy, in her beautiful white wedding dress, flounces over to me and grabs my hands excitedly. "Oh, my dear sister!"

             I smile at her distractedly, my eyes still flickering towards the Prince. His mouth opens in shock; did he hear?
             "The royal family has been so delightfully gracious towards me," Cindy cries. "The prince is so kind. He did look quite… aghast when he saw me, but he proposed to me!" She sighs, turning to face the crowd of guests. "It is quite grand…." She looks back to me. "I must thank you, Susan… you gave me this opportunity. Still, you deserve to be the one up there, getting married to the Prince. He did, after all, ask you." She smiles at me in such a sweet manner I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight. To think I should ever see the day my youngest sister would get married… to the man I love. But it doesn't matter. At least she will have a good future as Princess, then Queen of the kingdom. It is the greatest honor a woman could have.
           An honor I could have had.

           I start in surprise when the Prince walks up to us and puts his arm through Cindy's. "The high priest will be here any minute, dearest," he says to her. "Perhaps we should…?"
          "Oh, yes," she says. And, because of the crowd of people around us looking on, she continues on uncertainly, "um, my love, may I introduce you to my sister, Susanna?"
          He looks at me silently. "I prefer Susan," I try, giving a winning smile. His face very nearly crumples into a look of pure despair, but Cindy and me are wiser than that, and I say hurriedly, "I do believe everyone is heading to the church. It was great meeting you, your Highness," and I give a sweeping curtsy. He bows, and for a moment our eyes meet. Cindy laughs, and the Prince leads her to the church. I feel my heart split in half. And suddenly, I understand what I must do.

            I pick up my skirts in a flurry and sprint out of the crowd, away from the church. Around me, the crowd parts and murmurs of scorn pass among the people, but I ignore them. Any other day, they would've been covered in tentacles in a moment, thanks to a good curse or two, but not today. My love of the Prince has changed me. I trip and stumble through the forest in my hurry, and finally come to a quiet clearing. The birds stop chirping and the rustling in the undergrowth stops soon after I stop. I pause for a moment in wonder – do the animals sense what is going on? But it can't distract me from what I've set out to do, and I carefully lift the glass bottle up. I uncork it, and raise it into the air.

"I call the past to meet the present,
that the future may be bright.
I bring myself forth from the dark,
and hold me to the light.
Let not the past control my present,
let not my future be dark as night.
I meet and greet me with open arms,
and move back into the light.
I forget thy name so it shall be
cast out of my memory
your name is as cold as ice
to forget you for all time."

          The wind picks up around me, and the air is tainted green. My breath grows faint – I am not strong enough to do this. But I don't want to be tortured for all time about my love for the Prince, either. This is the only way! I raise the potion to my lips.
      "Susan!" A voice rings out behind me, and a hand slaps the potion out of my grasp. It falls to the ground, and the glass shatters, spilling emerald potion all about me.
      "Who would DARE to…" I spin around frantically, eager to tell off the idiot who had destroyed my chances at forgetting this entire incident.

       Those clear eyes…

       I can do nothing but stare for the longest time at the Prince. So many thoughts, so many worries, so much guilt… trivial stuff in the scope of things, but replaying every scene in my mind – the ballroom, our dance, the slipper, Cindy's white dress… I DO love the Prince, as he loves me. But now he is to marry Cindy, and I will be left alone as always. The way Father left, and the way I isolated myself from the villagers and my family… I will be alone.
        Is that why it means so much that he's here besides me?

        "You came back," I manage to choke out, reaching up a hand to ever-so-lightly trace his cheek.
        "Nothing in this world would have stopped me from saving you," he whispers back. "But, Susan, please… WHY, why would you try to poison yourself?"
         I break out into hysterical laughter as the tears stream down my face. Finally, I manage to speak. "It was a memory potion," I giggle, doubling over. "A… me…memory… potion!" Too exhausted to say anything else, I collapse into his arms and tuck myself tight against him, never wanting to leave his embrace.

        And that is my tale. I suppose you want to hear about the wedding and all that, and all that's really important is that Cindy and I swapped dresses and I was the one who walked down the aisle that day with the man I truly loved – the Prince. I suppose that means I'm the princess now, but being royal is NOT as fun as you'd think. Picking out Persian rugs and embroidering all day… and who CARES what the rugs look like?!
         I do my best to keep our kingdom ruled fairly and justly, considering that someday we will be inheriting the throne. The thought of being responsible for this entire land is a bit unnerving, but I'm sure we will manage.
         I still sneak out to my altar sometimes, just to remember what life before all of this was like. And I do cast the occasional spell, but not any evil stuff. Just annoying little wisps to brighten up the palace and keep those bugs from nibbling on my favorite rose plant.
        And I make sure to visit the rest of my family often, especially Cindy, because I owe her more than anyone else. I often wish Father were around to see how well we're faring…

        Oh, and we're expecting a baby sometime this summer. If it's a girl, my Prince insists on naming her Rose. If it's a boy, I'm naming him Stephen… to remind me.

Description
In all of the fairytales you've ever heard, isn't there always an evil ugly witch? One character who, no matter how hard the heroine – or damsel in distress – tries, always manages to get in the way of them and their true love. My type of character.
But no matter how hard I try, I've never managed the perfect picture of evil sorceress.
My name is Susan. When I was born, my hair was so dark and soft that it reminded my mother of the center of a Black-eyed Susan, hence she named me Susanna – but I much prefer Susan. Susanna is too girly and graceful for a witch. As I got older, my hair lightened out to a deep, rich brown and grew until it waved down my back to my waist. My blue eyes deepened and darkened until they became emerald green.
I always knew those lousy looks would get me in trouble someday.
You see, my mother has always had high expectations for me and my beauty, despite the fact that I practice magic and do my best to be horribly rotten to all around me. She wants to see me happily married to a wealthy banker or respected knight and have adorable children, which does NOT at all fit in with my life agenda. I plan to live and die an old spinster.
Too bad it didn't work out that way.

"Good morning, Susan," my mother greets me as she descends the stairs.
"A perfectly awful morning to you too, Mother," I smile back.
She sighs, but says nothing else. She and my three sisters are far too used to my cynicism to be surprised at my sarcastic ways.
"Good morning," Martha, the eldest and my older sister, calls.
"Good morning," Jane, the second youngest, replies.
"Good morning!" Cindy, the youngest and the sweetest of us all, smiles.
My sisters and me have a complicated relationship. They do their best to be kind and civil to me, but every day I manage to irk them and stay my distance. Martha, being the oldest, is without a doubt the wisest and most quiet, but even she finds my ways alarming. Jane is too busy with her dreams of high-fashion society and obsession with the latest trends to take notice of half that happens in her own household. The only one who even begins to understand me and my less-than-desirable lifestyle is Cindy, but at age fifteen, I suppose her patience is more naivety than learned tolerance. She voluntarily submits herself to the chores even Martha is reluctant to complete, such as scrubbing the chimney and spreading fertilizer in the garden. Her favorite pastime is to sit on the hearth with a good book and read while enjoying the warmth of the fire, hence her nickname Cinderella. Often times I join her for some discussion and quiet companionship – but even she doesn't understand my deepest thoughts, mostly because I choose not to disclose them. They wouldn't understand. They never do. Especially not my mother, but because I already said all you need to know about her personality, I'll describe her looks. She is graceful, elegant, and blond – an older version of Cindy, who is just as fair-haired and blue-eyed.
"I'm missing my candle from atop my wardrobe. Pray, has anyone seen it?" inquires Jane as we prepare breakfast.
"Yes, I used it for a ceremony last night." I reply nonchalantly.
"Where is it?"
"How should I know?" I snap back.
"But you used it!"
"It was for a good cause."
"What good does your magic do?" Alas, it is well known I practice dark magic. Hey, from my droning on about being a WITCH in the opening, you should've known I was no Glinda!
"That little brat who lives down the road decided to toss a toad in my cauldron when I wasn't looking," I answer grimly, "so I taught her a tiny lesson."
"Tiny, eh?"
"Yes. Just a few boils – they'll be gone by suppertime." I smirk. "Or perhaps not. That toad she threw in my cauldron was a candidate for my familiar. She should know better than to go trekking around in MY swamp."
Martha sighs. "Dearest Susan, why can't you just leave the local folk alone? I'd pity that poor girl if I were you… she lost her mother last May."
I angrily whisk the pancake batter and slop it into the pan. "If she knows what emotional pain is, then why does she insist on causing me grief?!"
Silence.
"Besides, she isn't the only one to know heartbreak," I conclude, gazing out the window. "We lost our father when we were younger than she! Cindy was only six… she barely remembers him!"
I loved my father. His name was Stephen Aronnarch, a widely known name in our village – he was famous for being the kindest around. He understood me much better than Mother, and he was always willing to play or lend a helping hand when the rest were busy. We lost him to pneumonia eight years ago, but the memory of his laugh, of him helping me up when I'd fallen down and scraped my knee, will always bring fresh pain. How dare Martha say we ought to pity that girl, when we ourselves have known loss!
Martha turns around, looking exasperated. "Please, Susan!"

The doorbell rings.

Mother wipes her hands on a towel and says, "I'll answer it." She leaves the kitchen. But I'm not in the mood for good news, bad news, whatever the stupid caller will have to say. Flipping the last of the pancakes out of the skillet, I calmly set the pan into the sink to be washed later, and exit the house. Working with magic, I've found, is the best way to forget Father's death.
I dash through the swamp near our house until I reach the forest and the little clearing where I've set up my witch's altar and workspace. Grumbling, I begin to gather up what I will need for my next potion. In my Book of Shadows, or Book of Spells, there are several hundreds of potions and spells listed. I'm trying to work my way up to the point where I can perform and create each one by heart. After two years of work, I've managed to do 553 of them, but I've still got 347 to go. This week's project is to create a memory-erasing potion. I've yet to figure out a good purpose for it, but it might come in handy when I need to steal some more incense for my altar. After a few minutes, Mother's voice comes echoing through the trees. "Susan! Susan, come quickly! This is important!"
Sighing, I put the cover over the cauldron, close my book of spells, and make my way back to the house none too quickly, taking care I've never had before not to soil my skirts or step in any mud.
Within minutes, I'm back at the house. Mother's standing on the front porch, looking worried. "Susan," she sighs with relief. "There you are! Hurry, come inside, you won't believe the news we just received!"
I feel my spirits lift. "Did my order for an athame come early?"
"What? No! A messenger from the King arrived!"
My spirits immediately drop. I cross my arms and glare at Mother. "Then it isn't anything I want to hear!"
"Hush, Susan! Please, just listen." The rest of my sisters gather around. Looking delighted, Mother clasps her hands and rushes, stumbling over her own words. "There is to be a ball tomorrow night to celebrate the Prince's 18th birthday! All of the eligible young ladies are asked to attend. This is a perfect opportunity to find suitors!"
Martha, Jane and Cindy immediately begin to whisper excitedly among themselves. Of course. A ball is right up their alley, but it's just a miserable waste of my time. What young man would dare approach me, the girl who freely hexes and jinxes those who irk her? Marriage has no place in my future. I plan to live and die an old spinster – regardless of what Mother wants.
"We will go into town this afternoon to find dresses and accessories."
"Why? What's wrong with what we have?" asks naïve young Cindy.
"You can't go to a ball in anything less than your best, and it must be new!" exclaims Jane. "EVERYONE knows that! Especially with the Prince being there!"
"I'm not going. I wish you all a dreadful time," I announce nonchalantly, stalking out of the house and back towards the swamp. I should've known Mother's 'important news' would be nothing other than some freakishly girly occasion. I can't believe I even bothered coming back – I could've finished that memory potion by now!
"No, Susan, it's important that you go! The Prince himself… it's an opportunity not to be missed!" Mother cries, grabbing my hands. "With your beauty and wit, I'm sure-"
All of a sudden, it's clear to me. Mother wants me to go to get engaged to some prissy royal!
"And pretend to be a stupid girl obsessed with hair ribbons and shoes? I don't think so!" I cry. "That's not me, Mother! I will never be like them! I do not want to be like them! I am a witch! Witches do NOT go to balls!"
"You will go," Mother declares. "Whether you want to or not. Even if you don't desire to meet the Prince, I won't let you miss the best night of your life! Now, please dress in something more suitable to go town. The carriage will be here in a short while." With that, she rushes off.
I look down at my plain forest-green dress and black lace-up shoes. "And what's wrong with the way I dress, anyway?" I shout as I stomp after her.

An hour later, we crowd into the local dressmaker's shop, where she displays several beautiful bolts of cloth and the latest designs.
"No," I say promptly after being shown each dress. I may have to be dragged along, but I will not be coerced into picking a dress for an event I won't be attending. It's a waste of time and money.
"Susan, what about this one?" Mother asks, holding up a dress similar to the one I'm still wearing. (I staunchly refused to change out of it. At sixteen, I should be allowed to wear what I might – I'm not two anymore.)
It's the same dark-green velvet, with a tight bodice and flowing skirt that swoops down from the hips neatly in pleats. The sleeves are long and swishy, but not too showy, with a low neckline, and gold trim adds some regality to the entire masterpiece.
In simple English, it's perfect.
Mesmerized, I slowly get up and walk over to it, ignoring the groans from the trailor as I trek mud from the forest on her clean floor. I trace my fingers over the material. Suddenly, I turn to Mother, a small, sly smile on her face. Of course she knew I wouldn't be able to resist such a 'witchy' dress. Plus, the fact that there's a nicely hidden pocket on the seam could come in handy.
"When can I get it?" I ask breathlessly.

That evening, back at home, my sisters hurry to find the finishing touches to their ball ensembles. "Will this hairclip work?" Martha asks.
"Too flashy," advises Jane.
Cindy examines it. "I think it looks fine," she says gently.
"Maybe," Jane agrees begrudgingly, and Martha tosses it onto her pile of accessories for the ball.
Meanwhile, Mother is trying to help me find a pair of shoes. "You've only two pairs?" She asks in disbelief, gazing at the two pairs of shoes I own. "I ought've gotten you some more… You never said you had so few."
"Two pairs is plenty," I say firmly.
Mother sighs. "Well, then… you've got one pair of black slippers, and the black boots you're currently wearing… Not a lot of options for tomorrow."
"What does it matter?" I ask. "I've already said I'm not going."
Mother ignores me, doing some mental math. "Well, the shops are closed in town, and we won't have any time tomorrow to get you a pair…"
"I've got plenty of shoes," volunteers Cindy. "She could borrow a pair of mine."
"But your feet are so tiny!" I exclaim. It's well known Cindy has some of the smallest feet in our kingdom – how could I ever fit my size 10 feet into her tiny shoes?
"Alas, that is so," sighs my Mother. "Yet, it may be our only choice…"
From upstairs comes Jane's voice. "Mother, which of these scarves do you think best matches my gown?"
Mother disappears up the stairs to assist our fashionably challenged sister. "Come on, Susan," Cindy says. "I think I've got a good pair for you… they're a little gaudy, but okay."
I follow her into her room, the smallest bedroom in the house, but she only has it because she's the baby of the family. She opens her closet and sorts among the slippers and high heels tucked neatly on a rack.
"Here," she says, picking up a pair of shoes with a low heel, " what do you think?"
I can do nothing but gape. They're covered in black velvet, with colorful silk flowers glued on everywhere.
In short, they're absolutely hideous.
"They're the biggest size I got," she admits, "and maybe they're not your taste, but the black would go well with your dress."
I gulp and nod, taking the shoes numbly. Mother comes into the room and peers at the shoes in my hands. "They're perfect, Cinderella!" She cries, taking the shoes and thoroughly examining them. "I love the colorful flowers. You must wear them, Susan – they're wonderful, and they match your dress!"
Sighing, I thank Cindy and take the shoes upstairs to my room. It was beginning to look as if I was going to the ball after all. Staring at the shoes, and wondering how I could ever go to the ball in them, I began to formulate a plan.
Taking a pair of scissors, I careful cut off each and every single piece of plastic on those shoes. I then carefully slit the velvet and peeled it off the shoe. Underneath was glittering glass. I stared at the magnificently transformed shoes, wondering how anyone could take such a work of art and cover up its beauty with that awful velvet and those pieces of plastic – oh, excuse me, 'flowers.' At least now they were acceptable. Happy with my creation, I carelessly tossed the torn flowers and material in the trash and went back out to the forest to work on my potion until dawn.
The next morning, I made my sleepy way back to our home. I had completed the potion, but it had taken hours longer than it should have because I'd messed up the amount of grasshopper wing in it. Mother said nothing as I entered the breakfast nook, but I could tell she was disappointed. "I hope you will last the evening," she finally declared as I washed the dishes. "It will be quite embarrassing if you pass out at the ball."
"More like a blessing," I reply. "I'm not going easily, you know."
"Of course," she answers, and the elegance suddenly leaves her face, replaced with sad wrinkles and shadowed eyes. My shoulders sag slightly. How had I not noticed her aging before? Or was she just that good at hiding her sorrows?

All too soon, the day flew by, and we were suddenly soaring around the house, humming excitedly as we pinned up our hair, tied bows and ribbons, and laced up shoes. Martha was assigned the task of making my hair more presentable, as I objected to having it pulled up.
"I don't understand what you have against buns and knots," she said gently as she smoothed cream into my hair.
"I'm not 40," I snort impatiently. "Besides, my hair is the only beautiful thing about me. Might as well leave it that way. To pull it up would only ruin the effect."
"You are beautiful – all of you, not just your hair." She answers, brushing the cream thoroughly throughout my hair.
I don't answer for a time. "Witches aren't supposed to be beautiful," I reply, my voice cracking. Why was I getting choked up?
"But you are beautiful," she insists. "And Father would be very proud to see the wonderful young lady you've become."
I bite my lip until the prickling in my eyes disappears, then give a laugh. "Ha! Wonderful young lady – this same young lady that gave that girl boils just last week?"
She turns me around, tucking a few stray hairs behind my ear. "Yes. That young lady."
I look into her eyes, wishing desperately that she were right. The moment is ended prematurely, however, when my Mother enters the room, holding the glass shoes in her hands. She's silent for a moment, then asks, "Susan, what did you do to Cindy's slippers?"
"Made them better," I snap, pulling them out of her grasp and slipping them on. Ouch. They are really tight…
"But… the velvet, the flowers-"
"What's your point? They're better like this."
She shakes her head. "Oh, Susan… they were pretty. You didn't have to mutilate them like that."
Why did it feel as if there was a double meaning to her words? I hide my puzzlement though, and stalk out of the room. "You should all hurry," I call over my shoulder. "The royal carriage is due to pick us up in an hour."

Once out of sight of the house, I pick up the pace, racing to the forest and storing some of the memory potion in a glass vial, which I slip into the hidden pocket in my dress. You never know.

As I'd predicted, the royal carriage arrived at 8:00 pm on the dot to ship us off to the royal palace. Sighing, I silently said my good-byes to our squat little cottage. I had a feeling Mother was determined that, if all went well, I would never go back to that cottage, instead living with the Prince at the palace as his bride.
I was itching to prove her wrong.

The footman walked us up to the entrance of the castle, where several other young ladies were standing, waiting to be personally introduced to the King. Judging by how short the line was, it seemed as though we were the last to arrive or else quite early.
"Ms. Julie Daaschbary, of Trimbleton," announced the royal assistant as another young lady curtsied and slipped into the castle.
Craning my neck, I wondered where the Prince and the King were. Surely the introductions were for their benefit?
Soon enough, me and my sisters reached the front of the line, and I got my first glimpse of the Prince.
He was a little taller than me, a brunette with clear eyes. His skin was smooth and tan, and his smile seemed somewhat strained after a few hours of introductions. But his eyes widened when he saw my family.
I was introduced first. By my mother's insistence, no doubt.
"Ms. Susanna Aronnarch, of Bluerryberg," cried the royal assistant. I gave the Prince a civil nod, never quite meeting his gaze, and stalked off to the punch table. I needed something to calm me down – so many young ladies in their gaudy finery were starting to unnerve me.
I reached down for a glass and picked up the ladle to scoop some punch into my cup, but it slipped out of my grasp and fell into the crystal punch bowl. A white-gloved hand reached down quickly and caught it. I looked up to meet the smiling eyes of the Prince. "May I?" He asked gently, taking my cup and quickly but smoothly filled it.
I gave him another shaky nod of thanks, and took a big gulp. Gagging, I glared at my cup. Laced with alcohol! I should've known.
The Prince's shoulders were shaking as he tried not to laugh. Giving a sour look, I set my glass down and turned away, making my way through the crowd. What an arse. I should've known – a stuck-up royal like him.
As I wandered, I kept finding myself searching the crowd for the Prince, wondering where he was, who he was dancing with now. I finally escaped the crowded ballroom onto a balcony overlooking the royal garden. Sighing, I gazed at the beautiful flowers and ponds below. Why couldn't I fit in? Why did the Prince have to laugh at me? I just wanted to go home, back to my forest and work on my sorcery, the way I always did.
But suddenly, that way of life didn't seem like enough.

I was startled when the Prince walked up beside me. "I apologize for the way I acted before," he said, sounding sincere. But then again, he's a guy. Don't all men sound sincere? "I hope you can forgive me."
I shrug carelessly. "Whatever."
I can feel that he's taken aback. "What do you want?" I demand from him.
"Just felt that I should apologize," he says.
"Why did you laugh at me before?" I ask. "That wasn't nice."
"You looked so cute," he admits. "Even when you were, um…"
"Gagging," I suggested bitterly. To think of him calling me cute! "Choking. Making sour faces."
Now he's uneasy. "Uh, well, yes."
"You're wasting your time." I declare suddenly, after several moments of silent reflection. "You can't charm someone who doesn't want to be charmed. You can't charm me."
I leave his side and walk to the opposite end of the balcony, regretting my words before they'd left my mouth. I hear the sound of his boots clicking against the tile on the balcony as he walks back into the ballroom. To me, they speak of a lifetime of misery and regret.

The time passed quickly while I stood there all by my lonesome – but don't think I blamed anyone. It was, of course, my entire fault. And the time served well for some self-reflection. As the sounds of laughter and music in the ballroom wore on and the evening got later and later, time flew, and it was soon 11:30. The ball was to end at 12:00.
Realizing what I'd done and kicking myself, I slowly sank to a heap on the balcony and began to sob. I cradled my head in my hands and sobbed. What was I doing? This wasn't me. None of this was me. What the rest of the people perceived as downright nastiness and a soul of evil was really just me hurting. I hurt for my father, my mother, my sisters… and for the Prince. How dare I be so rude to him, when he came to apologize?! Now I was the one who needed to apologize and hear him accept my apology. After a few moments, the sound of the boots came back, and the Prince knelt down next to me. He didn't say anything, just put his arm around me, and allowed me to cry in peace. I was grateful, and continued to weep until I'd gotten it all out. Taking a deep breath, I wiped my eyes, looked at the Prince, and said the only thing that came to my mind. "I believe I've smudged my makeup."
To which we both began to laugh.

After I felt better, the Prince ordered a servant to bring me some hot apple cider (none alcoholic, of course… after the incident with the punch, he didn't need to be told twice)
Two butlers came and set up a table for us on the balcony, and they drew curtains across the entrance to the balcony so we could have some privacy. After the cider had been delivered, grateful that he'd cared enough to do this for me, I began to talk.
"I am so sorry for the way I acted." I began, rubbing my temple and taking a sip of cider. "I don't know what's gotten into me."
"It's quite alright," replied he. "I've had a rough night myself."
"I, um… trust you've been enjoying your birthday?" I stated, not quite knowing what to make of his reply but thinking it rude to inquiry further.
"Yes, but my father…" sighed the Prince. "Well, he's a bit overbearing."
"The King, you mean?" I ask. Then, realizing how stupid I sounded, I made a face and answered myself, " No duh, the King." He laughed, and I knew I'd said the right thing.
"Yes." He answers. "It being my 18th birthday, I think he'd like to see me settled down."
"I know what you mean," I laugh. "My mother dragged me here, I daresay, just for that reason. She was hoping I'd meet…" Realizing I might've given too much away, I stopped, and met his eyes. He understood.
From behind the curtain, the orchestra began to play a song with a lot of violins and violas… something bittersweet and romantic.
"May I?" the Prince asked.
"Of course," I answer gratefully, glad for the chance to redeem myself to him.
He took me by the hand and helps me out of my seat, then begins to waltz with me slowly. I give a nervous giggle when I trip over my own feet.
"Um, something wrong?" he asks.
"I've, uh… I've never danced with anyone before. Well, wait, of course I have," I babble on – what's wrong with me? "I've danced with my sisters and my father when I was little, but… I mean, with a man – a guy who wasn't my father, of course – before." How stupid I must sound!
"I've danced with women before," he shrugs, "but only because Father made me."
I laugh, and he twirls me gracefully, then goes back to a waltz. We dance as the night wears on, and, staring at him, I wonder about this beautiful new feeling I have. I've never felt it before… or have I? Maybe long ago, when I was very young… something, perhaps, I lost when Father died.
My heart begins to race, and I feel calm and ready to cry at the same time.
It's as if the diamond armor I never really knew I have is shattering at long last. Could this be… love?
We come to a breathless stop, and, gazing into each other's eyes, we both lean forward.
The clock strikes twelve as I have my first kiss.
It's time to say good-bye, but I can't. I force myself to gently slip my hand out of his. "Wait," he protests as I head back towards the ballroom. "Will… will you do me the honor of accepting my hand, fair maiden?"
My cheeks flush. There's only one true answer in the world – I part my lips. "Yes-" but then I stop.
Does the Prince really deserve someone as awful as me? Thank goodness he doesn't know how awful I've been… wait. Scratch that. Yes, he has seen me at my worst… with the balcony incident and all, remember? It was only a half hour ago. He needs someone who can truly love him – not an evil witch like me. Someone like… like… I dare not think of it.
"I… I'm sorry," I force myself to say. "But I think you'd best offer your hand to another fair maiden. One who's actually worthy of you."
His face falls. "What? But… but I'm offering it to you! You're the one… I can feel it."
I shake my head and turn away as he babbles on. "You know… you know the rest of the young ladies, they're all giggly and so girlish. They'd never say anything I didn't want to hear. But you – you're kind of rebellious. You've got wit and sarcasm! You're not afraid to think for yourself. The moment I saw you in your green gown with your hair down… I thought, 'she's not like the other maidens. She's not wearing pastel colors or has her hair up in a beehive… she's the only one who dared to stand out.' While we were talking, something clicked… something… And that's what I love about you! You're beautiful!"
I bite my lip.
His voice catches. "Ple – please, Susanna… I love you, and only you."
I take a deep breath. "Mr. Prince, it's Susan to you!" I cry as I whirl around. "I hate being called Susanna! And for your information, I am a practicing witch who just last week stole her sister's candle to give a 7-year-old girl boils for what should've been a trivial incident! What kind of young maiden does that?!"
I'm in my element now, all wound up in a fury, knowing that, in order to protect the Prince from my inner evil, I must alienate him from myself once and for all.
He leans back, obviously alarmed. "Excuse me?"
"I'm an ARSE to my mother and sisters! I didn't even want to come here! But no, Mother dragged me here just so I could meet…"
I stalk towards him till we're face to face once more. "YOU."
He kisses me. "And you regret it?"
I must say that kiss did stop me for a second.
"Please… Susan. Please marry me."
I take a few breaths, bend down and take off one of my glass shoes. Ow. My foot is red from enduring the squeezing pressure of such a tiny shoe.

I throw it at him.

Startled, he scrambles to catch it and ends up flat on his back, with the slipper safely in his hands.
"That's what I think of marriage!" I shout as I hop the balcony railing and escape into the royal garden.

I rush and pick my way through the bushes and flowers, snagging my dress on a rose bush and tripping over a watermelon vine – but it was worth it. It was all worth it. I was escaping with my spinster-hood intact and had left the Prince heartbroken.
All of a sudden, my breath caught in my chest and I sank down to the dirt. He'd… he'd really loved me?
I shake my head so fast my hair slaps against my cheeks. No… It's impossible for two people to fall in love so quickly. Impossible! Impossible!
But as I cast one last long look at the balcony, where the Prince still stands, holding my slipper and gazing out into the garden, I begin to doubt that. His eyes meet mine for a split second.
He looks so cute when he's distraught.
Sighing and blinking back tears, I give a gentle wave and disappear into the night.

I'm hanging up my ball gown to dry after washing it that night when my family finally comes home.
"Susan!" Mother sighs with relief. "We wondered where you were… I was getting worried. But how did you get home without a carriage?!"
"Simple. I walked."
They all start to talk at once about their exciting night out. "And the Prince spent the last of the night dancing with that one young lady! The curtains to the balcony drawn and everything… try and tell me there wasn't something going on!"
"Oh, I do wonder who she was… Think they'll get married?"
"They say she rejected him when he proposed. He was so devastated he ran out of the ballroom!"
My face starts to convulse.
"No, I don't believe it! The Prince himself – who would reject him…"
Silence… Are they all staring at me? "Sweetheart, why are you crying?" Martha asks gently. I say nothing.
"Susan, are you alright?" Cindy asks tentatively.
"Just leave me alone!" I explode, and dash upstairs to my room.

That night, I had a dream.
Father was still alive and he was coming home from work. I ran to the front door to open it for him, and he reached down and swooped me up into the air. I felt so happy.
Then I dreamed I was in my room with Martha before the ball. She was combing my hair and saying nonsense, like, "The sky's really red today," which was nonsense, since the sky was pitch-black – it was nighttime. But the more I tried to convince her she was wrong, the more she insisted she was right.
Then my room became the palace balcony and I was dancing with the Prince. He repeated the stuff Martha had tried to convince me of before, but this time, everything he said instantly made sense. Simple and nicely put, everything he stated was fact, even though it was all stuff Martha's said before in my dream.
And then I woke up, and everything finally DID make sense.
Yawning, I trotted downstairs, still feeling miserable about what had happened the night before. This time, there could be no apologies – everyone except the most lovesick Prince would dare request my hand after that episode. But the sorrow would come later. So early in the morning, it was impossible to feel heartbroken.
Then the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" Martha cried as she hurried to the front door. Swinging it open, she found herself face to face with…
The royal messenger himself. In his hands was a velvet pouch – what could be in it?
"Last night at the ball, the Prince found his true love, but in the tension of the moment, the fair maiden ran out," the messenger announced, brandishing the pouch. "He forgot her name, and the only sign the fair maiden was ever there was her shoe…"
At this, he pulled the glass slipper out of the pouch.
You could've heard a pin drop.
"Well, there's something oddly familiar about that slipper," Mother said slowly, examining it. "Hmmm…"
I looked up to meet the eyes of Cindy, who was staring at me in something akin to horror. I shook my head wildly at her and put my finger to my lips. Don't tell, Cindy; don't.
She seemed to understand my urgency, and immediately smoothed her expression into one of curiosity.
Good 'ole Cindy.
"Every fair maiden in the kingdom is to try on the slipper," announced the messenger, "in hopes of reuniting the Prince with his lost love."
I bowed my head at these words, thinking. How could I ever face the Prince again? There had to be some way…
I looked back at Cindy. I didn't want to, but…
I caught her attention and nodded my head towards her room. Nodding, she slipped out of the room. I followed her.
"Oh, Susan, really?" she whispered as soon as the door was shut.
"Yes, but it no longer matters. I rejected him, I can't face him again…" I sighed. "So I've got a plan. The Prince deserves someone better than me…" I brace myself. "He needs you."
"What? What?! No, Susan, he proposed to you…"
"And I'm the evilest wench who ever lived! You'll marry him and like it. He's nice, Cinderella, and he desires someone sweet and kind like you… not a rebellious witch like me."
Her cheeks flush. "Really, Susan?"
"Yes," I reply. "And they're your shoes; they should fit you perfectly. Now come on," I say impatiently, and we return back to the living room, where Jane is trying to fit her foot in the slipper. No such luck.
Mother catches sight of me, and exclaims, "Susan! There you are! Wherever did you and Cindy disappear off to?"
I start to make up some lame excuse, but apparently she wasn't looking for one. "Come here, Susan, and try on this slipper!"
Jane gets up off the chair in a huff, apparently disappointed that the shoe didn't fit her. I took a deep breath and sat down. The messenger knelt and proceeded to try to force my already sore foot into the slipper.
"Ouch, ouch!" I gasped, putting on a little bit of a show. "I don't think it's going to fit…"
The messenger shook his head and got up. "Are there any other young ladies who'd like to try on the shoe?"
Me and Cindy's eyes meet, and after a moment, she speaks up. "Um, yes, may I…?"
"Of course. Please, take a seat." As the messenger kneels to fit on the slipper, I bite my lip and pray silently that it fits, which is, in fact, pretty dumb. It is her shoe, isn't it? Why in the world wouldn't it fit?
Still, I couldn't help uttering a prayer under my breath. If there were a God, this would be a good time for him to show up.

She slid her foot into the glass shoe.

"Oh, my dear Cinderella!" Mother cries, rushing over and grabbing her hands. I bite my lip and bow my head. It's for the best.

"It was Cindy!" Jane gushes the next day. The wedding is to be this afternoon, and I must pick my ensemble. I wonder… does the Prince know that I'm Cindy's sister? Does he know he's been fooled? If he has any brains or common sense at all (which, as a guy, may not mean much) he'll know. But since he hasn't sent Cindy back or anything, maybe he has gotten the hint that I don't want him…. Which is true, I don't want him.
I need him.
              "I never would've guessed," Mother smiles as she carefully polishes our shoes to a glorious shine. "I could've sworn she was at my side the entire night, but… perhaps the Prince fell in love from afar."
              "Love is stupid," I snap under my breath as I iron my own dress. I'll be wearing my own ball gown instead of a new dress, which was a compromise between Mother and me. I wanted to wear black, and I bet you can guess why, but Mother said I must settle for my ball gown, for it was either that or a brand-spanking-new frilly pastel pink dress, and I'd rather jump over a cliff and get ran over a train simultaneously than wear that dress. So I stuck with my good ole green ball gown, although it hurt to look at it. It reminded me too much of the ball, the smell of the Prince's cologne…
               No, oh, please, God, don't let me think about his cologne. I can handle his face, but I'm a sucker for cologne. What brand does he wear? Maybe I should buy some. Hm. How much money do I – wait, stop. This is SUPPOSED to be dramatic! Good job, hormones…
               "Susan?" Mother's voice brings me back to the present. "Yes, Mother? What now?!"
               "I just wanted to know if… your dress for the wedding was ready," she says, her smile drooping.
                That strange prickly feeling comes back to my eyes, and sighing, I turn around and give Mother a hug.

                "The carriage is here! The royal carriage is here!" Jane cries in a flurry of mad joy. "Mother, Martha, Susan, hurry UP!"
                "For goodness sake, Jane!" I yell back as I release Mother and pick up my dress. "I promise the carriage won't leave without us, and the wedding doesn't start for two hours! We've still time!" I head for my room and begin to change into my outfit. The dress still fits perfectly, and the familiar feel of its fabric slipping over my skin is oddly comforting.
                "Susan, hurry!" Jane shouts. Giving a groan of exasperation, I quickly pull my arms through the sleeves and begin to hurry out the door when –
                An emerald glass bottle falls out of the forgotten hidden pocket. I snatch it before it can crash to the hard wood floor, and examine it for a moment in surprise. This is the memory potion I had finished just the other night. And, as before, I slip it back into its pocket. Once more, I think to myself – maybe it'll come in handy.
                "Susan!" Mother hisses. "Come on, we'll be late at this pace."
                "Coming," I call back, and rush away.

             A few minutes later, I make my way through the crowd of officials and royals at the site of the wedding. It's due to start in a few minutes, and I scan the mass of people carefully. Where is he? Is he perhaps in the church, preparing for the wedding?

             A pair of clear eyes meet mine. I gasp.

             It's him. Oh, gosh. I bite my lip and try to look away, but I can't bring my eyes to move away from his gaze. I try to smile weakly, but he doesn't return the gesture. He continues to stare. Cindy, in her beautiful white wedding dress, flounces over to me and grabs my hands excitedly. "Oh, my dear sister!"

             I smile at her distractedly, my eyes still flickering towards the Prince. His mouth opens in shock; did he hear?
             "The royal family has been so delightfully gracious towards me," Cindy cries. "The prince is so kind. He did look quite… aghast when he saw me, but he proposed to me!" She sighs, turning to face the crowd of guests. "It is quite grand…." She looks back to me. "I must thank you, Susan… you gave me this opportunity. Still, you deserve to be the one up there, getting married to the Prince. He did, after all, ask you." She smiles at me in such a sweet manner I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight. To think I should ever see the day my youngest sister would get married… to the man I love. But it doesn't matter. At least she will have a good future as Princess, then Queen of the kingdom. It is the greatest honor a woman could have.
           An honor I could have had.

           I start in surprise when the Prince walks up to us and puts his arm through Cindy's. "The high priest will be here any minute, dearest," he says to her. "Perhaps we should…?"
          "Oh, yes," she says. And, because of the crowd of people around us looking on, she continues on uncertainly, "um, my love, may I introduce you to my sister, Susanna?"
          He looks at me silently. "I prefer Susan," I try, giving a winning smile. His face very nearly crumples into a look of pure despair, but Cindy and me are wiser than that, and I say hurriedly, "I do believe everyone is heading to the church. It was great meeting you, your Highness," and I give a sweeping curtsy. He bows, and for a moment our eyes meet. Cindy laughs, and the Prince leads her to the church. I feel my heart split in half. And suddenly, I understand what I must do.

            I pick up my skirts in a flurry and sprint out of the crowd, away from the church. Around me, the crowd parts and murmurs of scorn pass among the people, but I ignore them. Any other day, they would've been covered in tentacles in a moment, thanks to a good curse or two, but not today. My love of the Prince has changed me. I trip and stumble through the forest in my hurry, and finally come to a quiet clearing. The birds stop chirping and the rustling in the undergrowth stops soon after I stop. I pause for a moment in wonder – do the animals sense what is going on? But it can't distract me from what I've set out to do, and I carefully lift the glass bottle up. I uncork it, and raise it into the air.

"I call the past to meet the present,
that the future may be bright.
I bring myself forth from the dark,
and hold me to the light.
Let not the past control my present,
let not my future be dark as night.
I meet and greet me with open arms,
and move back into the light.
I forget thy name so it shall be
cast out of my memory
your name is as cold as ice
to forget you for all time."

          The wind picks up around me, and the air is tainted green. My breath grows faint – I am not strong enough to do this. But I don't want to be tortured for all time about my love for the Prince, either. This is the only way! I raise the potion to my lips.
      "Susan!" A voice rings out behind me, and a hand slaps the potion out of my grasp. It falls to the ground, and the glass shatters, spilling emerald potion all about me.
      "Who would DARE to…" I spin around frantically, eager to tell off the idiot who had destroyed my chances at forgetting this entire incident.

       Those clear eyes…

       I can do nothing but stare for the longest time at the Prince. So many thoughts, so many worries, so much guilt… trivial stuff in the scope of things, but replaying every scene in my mind – the ballroom, our dance, the slipper, Cindy's white dress… I DO love the Prince, as he loves me. But now he is to marry Cindy, and I will be left alone as always. The way Father left, and the way I isolated myself from the villagers and my family… I will be alone.
        Is that why it means so much that he's here besides me?

        "You came back," I manage to choke out, reaching up a hand to ever-so-lightly trace his cheek.
        "Nothing in this world would have stopped me from saving you," he whispers back. "But, Susan, please… WHY, why would you try to poison yourself?"
         I break out into hysterical laughter as the tears stream down my face. Finally, I manage to speak. "It was a memory potion," I giggle, doubling over. "A… me…memory… potion!" Too exhausted to say anything else, I collapse into his arms and tuck myself tight against him, never wanting to leave his embrace.

        And that is my tale. I suppose you want to hear about the wedding and all that, and all that's really important is that Cindy and I swapped dresses and I was the one who walked down the aisle that day with the man I truly loved – the Prince. I suppose that means I'm the princess now, but being royal is NOT as fun as you'd think. Picking out Persian rugs and embroidering all day… and who CARES what the rugs look like?!
         I do my best to keep our kingdom ruled fairly and justly, considering that someday we will be inheriting the throne. The thought of being responsible for this entire land is a bit unnerving, but I'm sure we will manage.
         I still sneak out to my altar sometimes, just to remember what life before all of this was like. And I do cast the occasional spell, but not any evil stuff. Just annoying little wisps to brighten up the palace and keep those bugs from nibbling on my favorite rose plant.
        And I make sure to visit the rest of my family often, especially Cindy, because I owe her more than anyone else. I often wish Father were around to see how well we're faring…

        Oh, and we're expecting a baby sometime this summer. If it's a girl, my Prince insists on naming her Rose. If it's a boy, I'm naming him Stephen… to remind me.