Literature
Cinder- Not Cinderella
"Cinderella, brush my hair for me. 1000 strokes, no more, no less."
Scowling, I walked over to that poisonous woman, her silver hairbrush resting in my hand. "Yes, Mother dearest." I muttered, taking my place in the chair next to her. Every single day, it was the same old thing; a list of dull, uninteresting tasks, all of them demanding to be completed. Life had become something of a bore, but it was my life, and I took it in stride, fighting to find some enjoyment in it.
"Cinderella, have I ever told you the story of my wonderfully perfect life?" Mother asked, waving her hand fo