Cinderella is Dead

My name was Cinderella. I used to live happily ever after and was married to a handsome prince…till death do we part, I guess. I’ll admit, I had been taking out my stress about my party on those around me, and for that I am truly sorry. But the night before the ball I caught my husband kissing several different maidens. My heart was broken.
But the party could not be cancelled, so I shoved my misery deep down and put on a happy face to hide my hurt. My feet ached terribly after all my running around in preparation for the event, so I decided against wearing my favorite glass slippers. As I was getting ready, my “charming” husband came in and wrapped his arms around me. The white leathery gloves felt warm with his overshared passions. Normally I would accept his affections and consider them playful and loving, but that night they were no more than crude gestures from an unfaithful spouse. I pushed him away from me.
“What’s bothering you, my love? Don’t be worried anymore, this party will be perfect…just like you.”
I excused myself from the room and muttered something about last minute utensil inspections. I never thought the word “fork” would be the last word I spoke to him.
I made my way towards the kitchens, and went into the empty scullery to sit down and cry in peace. The small albeit quiet room gave me some comfort though it reminded me of my miserable life with my Stepmother and sisters. Crying alone in my corner in that old house, my father’s house, was the only escape from my life of servitude and abuse.
A lonely spider crawled onto my lap as I wept and seemed to look up at me reassuringly. Trumpets blared in the distance, indicating that guests had started to arrive and the ball was about to begin. I gazed at my new little arachnid friend and smiled weakly at him. I wiped my weary eyes and began walking towards the grand staircase.
I was at the top of the staircase. Everyone was looking at me. I was the most important person in the world. Everyone loved me. For a moment, I even forgot about my husband’s affairs and about the pain I’ve endured my entire life since my father died…or maybe it really began after mum died. I made a mental note to visit her to pay respects, as I was long overdue for a visit. The women my prince was cheating on me with looked plain, almost homely, and I felt more and more radiant in my beautiful gown and sparkling tiara. My radiant smile was almost sincere. I looked down at my husband.
Then everything went black.
I do not know who killed me. All I know is that my troubled soul was not allowed to go to the next life, and that like my mother I would have to dwell forever on earth as a spirit. In case you are wondering, I did not forget. I went to visit mum as soon as realized how much like her I had very recently become.
I do not know who killed me. I only hope for justice.