It’s Midnight and Cinderella’s still dancing. The Prince missed a couple of steps in surprise. But so what if she’s no longer in formal wear? She’s still smart, beautiful and funny, if anything more interesting. The long gown replaced by a ragged dress, the tiara now a Hardup Spartans cap, and those amazing shoes transformed into battered sneakers, she still moves like silk, dances as though she’s practiced to this exact tune for months.
It's 1 AM and Cinderella and the Prince are still dancing. Some of the other suitors tried to cut in. There was a dance off between Cinderella and two sisters. They were good but one tottered on too-tall heels, the other held up too stiffly by corsetry. Neither could match her best moves. Now she’s invited some of the others to the floor, the ones who held back, knowing they had no chance with the Prince. All the younger sons and daughters, in their hand-me-down finery and self-sewn outfits, getting to show off on the dancefloor. Turning this into a proper party.
It's 2 AM and the Prince has had to take a break. Cinderella’s got some of the staff to join her. The buffet table stands neglected, guests helping themselves at the bar. The candle boys are dancing frantically, throwing each other about, ignoring the declining light, half gone already, the dance floor becoming more intimate, more mysterious in the shadows. The announcer has abandoned his post by the door, moving slightly out of time with the music. If a mysterious and beautiful stranger arrived now there would be no one to greet them. They’d be welcome anyway.
It's 3 AM and some of the early arrivals are back on the dance floor, having a second wind. Some of them are there to congratulate Cinderella, others curious to see this stranger whose quick change and dance moves have dominated the party. More are here to find her flaws, to see if they can break off this relationship, or to sound out where she stands politically. She’s stronger than them though, enduring it like a marathon, outlasting them, showing off with flair that make her partners look good when they falter from exhaustion.
It's 6 AM and the DJ’s worn out, he’s asleep in the corner, pillowed on the set list requested by the Queen and screwed up before half the guests had arrived. Cinderella’s at the decks now, she’s dug deep into the unopened record boxes, letting some smooth Soul ease the hardy dancers still on the floor, lining up some higher energy grooves for when the sun rises to replace the light of the last few guttering candles.
It's 12 Noon and the Fairy Godmother has come to the palace, to find out why her girl isn’t home. Has she short cut the happy ending or has something gone wrong? She weaves her way past the pest control vans, giving a cheery wave at the men standing around eating pumpkin pie. Follows her instinct, follows her nose. Follows her ears. At the side all the doors and windows are open and Cinderella has led the partygoers out onto the lawn. The Prince has got changed into his oldest jeans, and the others back for a second or third shift are casual too. Cinderella’s still in her ragged old dress, her scuffed shoes, her worn cap. Cinderella looks fresher than anyone, even those who might have had a nap, had a shower, had breakfast. The Fairy Godmother looks closely at her. Cinderella looks like she can dance anyone else there into the floor.
Cinderella looks like she’s just getting started.
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