* Sam Bennett
* A Stepmother’s Story
* I am just so sick and tired of copping all flack from this world. Even now in these modern times people are still placing judgements on me, like “wicked” or “evil”. Has anyone ever asked me for my perspective on the events of Cynthia, who you people cruelly refer to as Cinderella? No way! So by now you may be wondering why I haven’t come forward before to present my case for the world to judge. Well the truth is that until not recent times have the stepmothers of this world been coping a bad name from the deceitful truths of my parenting styles. I am not trying to say that my dear Cynthia didn’t deserve some of my harsh treatments, but the truth about my parenting styles have defiantly been modified over the course of history. One thing you must understand is why wouldn’t I want a beautiful young lady to live happily ever after. I am Cinderella’s stepmother and this is my story. *
* To explain my side of events, first we must go back to the beginning, my beginning. When I was just a little girl the only things I learnt about was how to be a good wife. Instead of playing in the fields of wildflowers my mother summoned me to perfecting “womanly Arts”, like singing, embroidery and domestic duties. While other young ladies amongst the village wore loose fighting dresses, I was given the responsibility of wearing corsets with extravagant gowns. This was all to make me a more attractive asset to be sold off to a man in order to raise my family’s lineage. *
* My father was a landowner which did come with lots of benefits like a hot meal ever night and lavish silverware. But from the day I was born I would never make decisions for myself, being passed over from my Fathers house to that of my husbands and love wasn’t even something I could even consider. I wasn’t even allowed to indulge in romance books as my mother strongly disagreed with that fact that people can fall for each other. In fact, according to modern times my mother and I had an appalling relationship. The most affectionate thing my mother ever said to me was “we bring the spoon to our mouth not our mouth to our spoon”. *
* At the age of 16 I was married off to my husband who was not much older then me and only just started to grow facial hair. Walter was a lovely man with a heart big enough to keep the rivers of England flowing for an eternity. Even because of that Walter and I never loved each other, either because we were forced together or that we were so young we never knew the true values of a relationship. I was like a trained chimpanzee that did what I was told on my command and I was dismissed to my sleeping quarters when they had tired of me. Still, I did my duty obediently and diligently, without complaint. Looking back maybe I could have been a better wife to Walter. More supportive. More affectionate. *
* Walter and I were married for four years before he committed the dreadful act of suicide. I was aged just 21 had two young twin daughters aged 4. For the first time in my life I was completely free. I had no one controlling me and I loved it. Being the widow of Walter came with great wealth as I was the sole inheritor of not only money but vast plots of land. It was a completely new experience to me being able to buy goods without the consent of men. I also enjoyed managing the land making sure the tenants paid their rent and expanding my portfolio. I had the best tutors in the land come and teach my girls to read and write, a fairly uncommon skill back in those days. I also went on many a holidays amongst the English countryside and on of those holidays was where I meet Marc. *
* Marc was a well-known trader throughout the lands and had a charm in his eye that could seduce the devil. He was a man of many tales from his travels through out the world looking for new and exotic items he could sell. Marc also being a widow, I could easily relate to...