David Lee Jackson

17

Winter draped its velvet cloak across the kingdom, and the palace glittered like a jewel against the night. Inside, the royal family prepared for an evening of elegance, their carriage bound for the grand theater where chandeliers blazed like captured stars. The prince, handsome yet weary, carried the burden of endless adoration. Everywhere he turned, sighs followed, eyes lingered, and whispers rose like a tide. He longed for silence, for something beyond the shallow flutter of fans and the rehearsed charm of courtly smiles. Then the curtain lifted. Music unfurled like silver ribbons, and upon the stage appeared a girl—Cinderella. She moved with a grace that defied words, her steps flowing like water, her arms unfolding like wings. She was not merely dancing; she was telling a story, breathing life into dreams. The prince’s heart faltered, caught in a spell he could not name. In that instant, annoyance gave way to wonder, and wonder to longing. Who was she, this swan-like vision who seemed born of moonlight and mystery? He knew only this: the night had changed, and he must uncover the truth of the girl who danced her way into his soul.