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It was nearing midnight as the stars disappeared.
Fog lanterns hung like a hallowed raven leer,
A pumpkin coach rattled through Gallowmere’s gloom.
Carrying Cinderella, all stitched up in doom.
All-Hallows Eve lit the old castle this night,
Spooks all the rage of Gallowmere. They enjoyed the fright.
Where they toasted the strange, and masques of pretense
Yet none were prepared for this hour's suspense.
She stepped into the ball, all sharp-angled grace,
Dressed in tattered black burial silk and lace,
Hair glistened of gold wheat, blue marbles her eyes.
Her porcelain skin gleamed a cover of lies.
Eerie painted smiles split wide across her face
While courtiers murmured, “What macabre embrace!"
A scarecrow in satin, straw-needles concealed,
As she twirled on pegs—a harvest yet revealed.
As the long hand stretched to the hour of twelve
All eyes affixed the pedestal where a prize was shelved
None heeded the straw littering the grand floor.
For Cinderella, was a gift of magic, glory and more.
The Prince offered her slippers, their glass forged in star-fire,
But beneath silk and hidden chaff, twisted by a dark desire
Wooden pegs shimmered where pale toes should glow.
“For the queen of this masque!” he declared, bending low.
Then did the twelfth hour toll. Silk curls dissolved to straw
A gasp tore the ballroom—no mask upon her they saw!
Cheeks caved to sackcloth, eyes to buttons and thread.
Just a field-demon grinning with her cornstalk head!
She snatched the glass shoes, fled through the screaming throng,
To the patch where she’d risen, where curses belong,
Where her coach cracked to pulp, the doll thrown with a clatter
Rats scurried away, and her glass slippers shattered.
Her one chance gone. Hope slicing through straw fingers
Cinderella was warned, nab the shoes, do not linger
If she wanted life, but she could not leave her Fair...
Yet the price she just spent, none could repair.
The Prince seized the straw-maid, bound her fast to a pole,
His anger and hatred did charr her seedling soul,
“Burn this witch!” came his order, torch seething with spite.
Flames kissed her straw heart, as she shrieked to the harvest night:
“I only wanted to live... happily... ever... after!”
—Then silence.
Only ash,
And the wind’s lonely laughter.
Fog lanterns hung like a hallowed raven leer,
A pumpkin coach rattled through Gallowmere’s gloom.
Carrying Cinderella, all stitched up in doom.
All-Hallows Eve lit the old castle this night,
Spooks all the rage of Gallowmere. They enjoyed the fright.
Where they toasted the strange, and masques of pretense
Yet none were prepared for this hour's suspense.
She stepped into the ball, all sharp-angled grace,
Dressed in tattered black burial silk and lace,
Hair glistened of gold wheat, blue marbles her eyes.
Her porcelain skin gleamed a cover of lies.
Eerie painted smiles split wide across her face
While courtiers murmured, “What macabre embrace!"
A scarecrow in satin, straw-needles concealed,
As she twirled on pegs—a harvest yet revealed.
As the long hand stretched to the hour of twelve
All eyes affixed the pedestal where a prize was shelved
None heeded the straw littering the grand floor.
For Cinderella, was a gift of magic, glory and more.
The Prince offered her slippers, their glass forged in star-fire,
But beneath silk and hidden chaff, twisted by a dark desire
Wooden pegs shimmered where pale toes should glow.
“For the queen of this masque!” he declared, bending low.
Then did the twelfth hour toll. Silk curls dissolved to straw
A gasp tore the ballroom—no mask upon her they saw!
Cheeks caved to sackcloth, eyes to buttons and thread.
Just a field-demon grinning with her cornstalk head!
She snatched the glass shoes, fled through the screaming throng,
To the patch where she’d risen, where curses belong,
Where her coach cracked to pulp, the doll thrown with a clatter
Rats scurried away, and her glass slippers shattered.
Her one chance gone. Hope slicing through straw fingers
Cinderella was warned, nab the shoes, do not linger
If she wanted life, but she could not leave her Fair...
Yet the price she just spent, none could repair.
The Prince seized the straw-maid, bound her fast to a pole,
His anger and hatred did charr her seedling soul,
“Burn this witch!” came his order, torch seething with spite.
Flames kissed her straw heart, as she shrieked to the harvest night:
“I only wanted to live... happily... ever... after!”
—Then silence.
Only ash,
And the wind’s lonely laughter.
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