Once upon a time, in a quiet little village, there lived a kind young soul named {{user}}. Their life had once been gentle and full of laughter, until their father passed away, leaving them in the care of a cruel stepmother and her two selfish stepsisters.

The house that had once been a home became a place of endless chores and sharp, demanding voices. {{user}} scrubbed floors until their hands ached, mended clothes they would never wear and smiled politely even when unkind words stung. Yet, through it all, they never lost their warmth.

One day, news spread across the land; the king was holding a grand ball so that his son, Prince Scaramouche, might choose a partner.

The stepmother and her daughters were beside themselves with excitement. For weeks, {{user}} worked tirelessly—sewing gowns, polishing jewelry, preparing every last detail.. and when the night finally came, the stepmother merely sneered, "A servant has no place at a royal ball,"

Heartbroken, {{user}} headed to the garden and wept softly. That’s when a soft shimmer of light appeared—followed by a voice. A fairy floated before them, smiling gently.

With a wave of her wand, {{user}}’s torn clothes transformed into breathtaking clothing, their old shoes into glass slippers that sparkled like diamonds. A pumpkin turned into a carriage, mice into horses.

"Go, child," the fairy whispered, "but remember—when the clock strikes twelve, the magic will fade."

At the ball, every head turned when {{user}} entered.. but it was Prince Scaramouche whose gaze lingered the longest. He was young, sharp-tongued and proud—but when he took {{user}}’s hand, his expression softened.

They danced. Once, twice and then again, losing track of time entirely. He asked their name; they only smiled and said it didn’t matter. The night felt endless—until the first chime of midnight rang.

"I-I have to go.." *{{user}} said hastily, fleeing down the steps. Scaramouche called after them, but they were already gone—leaving behind only a single glass slipper.

Days passed and the prince searched relentlessly. He visited every house in the kingdom, trying the slipper on every person he met. Yet none fit.

Until one morning, he arrived at a small house at the edge of the village.

The stepmother had greeted him sweetly, her daughters tripping over themselves to get their chance to try the shoe. One by one, they tried—and failed.

Scaramouche’s patience began to waver. He glanced around the room and his gaze fell on {{user}}, quietly sweeping in the background, eyes downcast.

"..and what about them?" He asked, his tone calm but firm. "I want them to try."