Cinderella stared down at the parchment invitation in her hands with dismay.
All marriageable women in the kingdom are invited to the Prince�s Courtship Ball, where he will choose his new wife.
The timing of it was perfectly lousy. Two days ago, she�d have been able to go to the ball. She would have impressed the prince with her pretty blonde hair and her shy demeanor, and he would have chosen her over all the other marriageable maidens in the land.
But two days ago, one of her evil step-sisters had hit her over the back of the head with a shovel and tossed her into the rubbish-pile and covered her with compost. Cinderella hadn�t ironed her favorite dress right, and it had made her step-sister quite furious.
Step-Mama hadn�t been pleased about Cinderella�s unfortunate �accident� at all. It was the waste of a perfectly good unpaid servant, and those were terribly hard to come by. And so, before Cinderella had even been dead for a full day, Step-Mama had hired the local necromancer and risen her step-daughter back from the dead, with quite amiable results. The girl had returned with none of that sassy attitude and toiled endlessly for her family�s benefit.
It was a win-win situation, really.
Cinderella�s life had pretty much continued uninterrupted after that, save
for the smell that seemed to follow her around, the gaping wound on her head
that still oozed upon occasion, and her need to eat raw flesh. But she could
still cook, and clean, and help her sisters into their corsets, and Step-Mama
was pleased. Having Cinderella back was well
worth the price of the necromancer�s rather costly services.
Of course, no one had factored in that the prince would be interested in seeing all marriageable ladies of the kingdom, or that Cinderella would even want to go to the ball. They had tittered behind their gloved hands when Cinderella picked up the invitation. And when she gestured to her own chest, questioningly, they shook their heads and laughed.
Not Cinderella. No ball for her. That would simply not do.
So her stepsisters had put on their best gowns and ridden off with Step-Mama in the family�s finest carriage.
Cinderella had stayed in the kitchen and mourned. Now she would never see the
handsome prince and marry him. It made her sad. She�d tried chasing down a live
chicken for her dinner, but rigor-mortis had set into her hips and she couldn�t
stagger fast enough to keep up with it. Unhappy, Cinderella returned to the
kitchen and settled for chewing on the dead mice hanging out of the mousetraps
in the corner of the kitchen. As she
ate, she stared at the pretty invitation. The occasional moans of displeasure
erupted from her throat, mixed with gas from her decaying innards.
A burst of light flashed in the kitchen, and she raised her arm to shield her eyes. Something cracked and went loose in her arm, but it still functioned well enough, and she peered around her hand.
A small, fat woman in a bright pink gown stood there, coughing. A glittery wand flashed in her hand, and she waved the other one to clear the smoke in the room. �Cinderella,� she cried out. �Are you hear, my dear?�
�Braaaaains,� said Cinderella, shuffling to her feet. She wanted to say hello, but nothing else seemed to come out. �Braaains.�
The fairy godmother took a step back. �Oh, my.� She stared at the figure of the girl before her, and adjusted a small pair of wire-rimmed spectacles on the tip of her nose. �You�re Cinderella?�
�Braiiins,� Cinderella said in a small voice, agreeing.
�Oh dear.� The fairy godmother pocketed the wand and pulled out a small book, licking the tip of her finger and flipping through it. �The guide doesn�t say anything about the undead.�
Cinderella waited. The small woman pursed her lips a few times, and even turned the book upside down once. Long moments passed.
Then, finally, the fairy godmother shrugged. �I suppose the rules still apply after all.� She tilted her head and bouncy little grey sausage curls wiggled atop her head. �My name is Muffin. I�m your fairy godmother, and I was sent here to grant your wish, my dear. What would you desire?� Muffin gave a great flourish of her wand as if to demonstrate that she meant business.
Poor Cinderella knew that if she opened her mouth, only one word would come
out. So
she picked up the invitation and showed it to the fairy godmother.
The fairy godmother peered at the document, her eyes moving back and forth as she read. �I see,� she said at last. �You want to go to the ball and meet the prince?�
Cinderella moaned in a sound that she hoped was agreement.
There was a pause, and then the fairy godmother sighed. �Well, my dear, I�m going to be very honest. You smell absolutely awful, and I�m not sure that you qualify as marriageable if you�re undead. But if it�s your wish, I�ll help you.� She wrinkled her nose. �First, though, you need a bath and a hairbrush.�
#
Two hours later, the fairy godmother had done everything she could for poor Cinderella. Dressing her had been quite an ordeal, and rather taxing on poor Muffin�s nerves.
First came the bath and the grooming. It was a bit of a futile exercise, as no amount of magical scrubbing could quite shake the rancid smell of Cinderella�s putrifying flesh from her skin. The solution, Muffin decided, was lots and lots of powder. She covered the poor girl in it from head to toe. �It�s all the vogue in Paris, my dear,� she explained, fluttering her fingers over Cinderella as she dusted her skin.
Once that was done, there was the matter of her hair, and the gaping scalp-wound that no one had bothered to even disguise. Muffin had to count backwards from a thousand (so as not to lose her lunch) as she teased Cinderella�s blonde hair into a big bouffant large enough to cover the head wound. To help hide the �problem area�, she waved her wand and a big fluffy bow tied itself over the pouf of hair.
A gown of ice blue silk was next, of course. Muffin decided on an empire waistline, so as to hide Cinderella�s bloating middle. The zombie looked quite pleased at the dress, and tried to twirl as she gazed in the mirror, but Muffin put a stop to that right away. �If you fall and break something, my dear, powder won�t cover it.�
The shoes turned out to be the most problematic of all. Since poor Cinderella spent all her waking hours (which was all hours, really) since her death on her feet, most of the blood in her body had pooled to them, and they were quite bloated. However, she could not go to the ball without shoes.
Muffin picked up one of the dainty glass slippers and eyed it critically. �I�m afraid we have a bit of a problem, my dear. The wand will only order things in your last known size, and these won�t quite fit.�
Crack!
She looked down and saw Cinderella break off her big toe. Crack! The matching one on the other side went as well. Crack crack! The two pinky toes on each foot went next, and after that, the zombie picked up the shoe and slid it on with a wet slurp.
�Success,� Muffin said in a faint voice, and fanned herself. Thank God she was off the clock at midnight.
Dressed and ready to go, Cinderella smiled at her fairy godmother. She looked like quite an acceptable vision of loveliness � powdered, her hair teased and perfect, and her dress beautiful enough to match any courtier at Versailles. Now the girl just needed to keep her mouth shut to hide her rancid breath.
�Ready to go to the ball, my dear?�
�Braaains.�
�Oh, my.� Muffin pursed her lips. �Perhaps you should refrain from talking, my girl. You should work on incorporating an air of mystery. Men like that sort of thing.�
The zombie smiled shyly in agreement.
�Now.� The fairy godmother glanced at the window. �Is there another carriage in the stable? No?� Of course not. Nothing this evening had been easy. Muffin went outside and pulled her wand back out of her purse. She scanned the courtyard and spied a vegetable patch nearby. �Get me a pumpkin, my dear.�
Cinderella returned, a few minutes later, half-rotten pumpkin in hand. Perhaps the poor thing gravitated towards wrongness now. Ah well.
�Mice?�
The zombie pulled out a half-gnawed rodent from a pocket of her silk dress. It seemed that Cinderella had been saving a few snacks for later. Muffin blanched and took the mouse between her forefingers and waved her wand at it, and then the pumpkin.
A few moments later, a carriage and horse stood at the ready. She just hoped that no one would take a closer look and notice the dead look in the horse�s eye or the fact that the interior of the coach smelled like rotten gourds.
Cinderella extended both of her arms and began to shamble towards the coach with delight. �Braaaaains!�
Muffin�s smile faltered as she waved goodbye to her charge. �Have a lovely time, my dear. And remember, you want an air of mystery.�
The zombie groaned something in response, and as she stepped into the carriage, something snapped. The fairy godmother didn�t stick around to see what it was.
She needed a stiff drink.
#
She was still drinking at the fairy godmother bar � Stardust � when her boss came up to her the next morning, newspaper in hand. �Muffin?�
She glanced up at him blearily, pulling her mimosa closer to her. �What is it?�
The newspaper plunked down on the bar counter, sticking to the wet rings left from her previous drinks. A quick glance at her boss�s face told Muffin that he was not pleased, so she leaned over to read the headline.
ZOMBIE ON THE LOOSE AT FAIRY TALE BALL. HANDSOME PRINCE KILLED, RISES FROM THE DEAD.
Oh, my. That Cinderella knew how to get her man.
�What does this tell you, Muffin?�
It told her that the Fairy Godmother Handbook needed chapters on undead. It told her that true love always found a way, even if it involved eating the brain of those you loved.
It certainly told her that men were stupid, if the prince was fooled enough to let Cinderella get close enough to chew on him.
But she suspected her boss wouldn�t want to hear any of that. So Muffin picked up her drink and peered up at her boss, squinting through her glasses. She took a slurp of her drink before thinking out her answer, quite carefully.
�I think it tells me that I need a vacation.�