Em… alright… so how do I start? Never done this before, you see. Alright. My name is Janet Bluett. I was Cinderella’s best – and only – friend throughout her childhood. Think of me that, all you who were village children back then! If you’d been friends with the merchant’s daughter, even f she was a little vain and a bit selfish, you would’ve been friends with A FUTURE QUEEN!
Oh dear, that wasn’t very author-y, was it? Anyhow, I joined the household as a maid at the age of ten. They already had a house-maid, Betsy, but Cinderella’s mother, May, was growing weaker, and I was sent to help.
I was greeted by a girl of ten, just like meeeeeeee (oops), wandering outside. She had long hair, pale gold. Like the lightest of palominos. Her eyes were a sparkling blue, like the sky on a summer’s day, and she was a slight, petite child. I thought she was the prettiest thing that ever walked on Earth. She smiled and said:
“Hello. I’m Cinderella. Who are you?”
“J-J-Janet.” I had stuttered, tongue falling over itself.
“Not as pretty as Cind’rella, Miss,” I replied.
“Cind’rella? Why that?”
“Sorry, ma’am. I said it wrong – I’m just a poor girl – don’t punish me,” I had said, panicking. I feared the lash.
“Punish you! No, this is your first offence! But, pray, do not call me ‘Cind’rella’. It is so ugly, and Cinderella is so pretty. It suits me.” She touched that long, pretty hair of hers. “Cinderella. Can you remember that?”
“Yes, Miss Cinderella.”
“Good. Oh, you’re the new maid, aren’t you?” She smoothed her skirt.
“I am indeed.”
“I shall show you to Mother.” Cinderella tossed that golden head of hers and showed me inside. She walked in front, despite me with my gangly legs being faster. Cinderella liked the proper manner. “Mother!” She had yelled.
Cinderella’s mother, like her daughter bar in her long, slender form, had ran down the stairs. ,“Ah, Jane, is it not? And I see you’ve already met my darling princess.” She hugged her young daughter. “I shall show you to the kitchen, and Betsy shall give you your duties and show you your quarters.”
The beautiful woman then went and lead me through the large, grand house – not grand like the palace is, but grand all the same. Even the kitchen’s, I remember, were fine things, beautiful in every way. May had a talent with beauty; she possessed it so fully on herself, and was able to create it in all other beings, especially her own daughter.
Betsy was a plump, pretty young girl – nineteen at that time – with curly orange hair and big, dark eyes. She was a kind soul, as she showed with her welcoming greeting. “You’re Janet, aren’t you? Sit down, now, and I’ll fetch you a bite to eat. Care you for gingerbread?”
“I love it!” I said, with all the fervour of a hungry child.
“Good,” Betsy said, giving me a few large pieces of the stuff.
A year had passed since I had arrived when the Event happened. Cinderella, Betsy
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