Creepypasta- Twisted Cinder (by; Inga Lynn Alba)
“I have to go! Goodbye!” Cinderella shouted to her beloved dance partner as she hastily descended the stairs to her carriage. The Prince, in a futile and frantic effort to know her name; called again and again for her to wait for him, and to his disbelief watched her board her carriage and dash away into the night without another word.
Cinderella could hear the tolling of the bell from the inside of the carriage, and with each reminder of the the time the carriage quaked and quivered as the magic began to slither away into the night. She could feel the tears wetting in her eyes as she watched the castle diminish in the horizon behind. Languidly, as the magic began to leave them, the horses began to turn to mice once more, and as Cinderella lamented her loss the mice were rendered incapable of steering the carriage any longer. The carriage began to rot inside, and jolted as its wheels gave way to vines again; it soon veered to ditch on the side of the road and the bottom of the magical pumpkin quickly gave way as the dirt road soon turned to knotted roots and grass. Cinderella, eyes still full of tears, quickly turned to look outside, only to see the road far behind. She shrieked as the rotting carriage began hastily jouncing into the consuming darkness beyond the road.
From the road, her fairy-godmother painfully listened to the shrieking, snapping, ripping, thumping, and cracking emitted from Cinderella and her carriage as she tumbled to her untimely demise. The godmother wept, for there was nothing she could do. When the horrid, blood curdling noises ceased, the fairy rushed down into the ditch and into the woods where she stopped; to her dismay, she discovered the carriage, a mess of mashed and and rotted black goop.
Within, lay her beloved Cinderella. Cinderella lay twisted and crumpled on the dirt, her limbs so unnaturally contorted that she looked like a child’s discarded wooden doll that now showcased a catalog of things the human body simply could not and should not do. So twisted it was even hard to discern whether she was lying on her back or her stomach. The optical illusion caused the fairy to feel ill, closing her eyes momentarily to prevent adding more fluid to the disastrous mess. The bone of Cinderellas right shin had cut savagely through her dress and stood erect atop a foundation of bloodstained skirt, her other leg, bent out to the side twice as if she had a second joint in her femur. Her arm, was dislocated at the shoulder, and forcefully wrapped around the back of her neck, forcing her fingers to touch her navel. Her head, was craned back and her mouth hung widely open toward the sky, her half lidded eyes staring absently into the fairies, lifeless and cold. Blood was now pooling at the godmothers feet.
The fairy began to weep violently, but no sooner did she start to cry that Cinderella moved and gasped brutally as if trying to breathe in the whole world. Cinder tried to adjust her body to a natural position, but with every spasm and jerk, the fairy could hear the cracking and grinding of the poor young woman’s joints. The godmother continued her weeping and dropped to the dying girls side, unable to use her magic to ease her into life again. The fairy looked about, and the grim darkness of the night gave way to the small moonlight clearing ahead, a small pumpkin patch. Hopeful, the godmother carried the remains of her beloved Cinder to the largest pumpkin in the patch, opening the gourd and shoving the broken beauty inside it with ripping pops and snaps of the protesting body. The fairy went to the patches scarecrow and took the fabric of its clothing off and grabbed an armful of straw, placing them in the orange box with the now dead maiden.
The fairy closed the top of the pumpkin up, and against her better thoughts, broke the rules of her magic. Casting it on the blood-leaking gourd. The pumpkin jolted and began to pop and creak demonically, soon, a fissure exploded from its side with a spatter of thick blood and pumpkin innards, the top gave way and a mass began to emerge; twisted and malformed like an underdeveloped fetus, with jerks and curdled snaps it slowly became a recognizable shape.
Her skin, now made of a rough, dark burlap material, held together with haphazard stitches. Her eyes, once a dreamy and hopeful blue, now a listless, flat shade of blue on chunky, clumsy looking buttons. Even her hair, once a beautiful shiny and sunny yellow was nothing more than flat, dry straw affixed to her burlap skin. The only thing keeping the fairy from dismissing the grotesque creation was her dress, silky and shimmering, a beautiful design only made by the godmothers magic. The newly awakened Cinderella gazed about the field, and with a curt rip, created herself a mouth; tattering, sharp edges in place of once plump and full lips.
The godmother had done it. Cinderella lived once more, no longer able to feel pain and despair, for she was no longer filled with flesh and blood, but with straw and weeds. Ashamed, the fairy cast one last spell, turning herself into a disgusting, old crow. Fitting herself to Cinderellas shoulder, she condemned herself to stay with her beloved Cinderella in the pumpkin patch, For all of time.