Lyssa Chiavari - Magic at Midnight

Compilation copyright 2018 by Lyssa Chiavari.

CinderellA.I. copyright 2018 by Lyssa Chiavari. Tresses & Erubescence copyright 2018 by Amy McNulty. Magic All Around copyright 2018 by Jane Watson. Little Rue copyright 2018 by T. Damon. The Inventors Daughter copyright 2018 by Selenia Paz. A Brackish Shore copyright 2018 by Leigh Hellman. The Forest of Carterhaugh copyright 2018 by Karissa Laurel. The Pitiless Prisoner of Hamelin copyright 2018 by Mark C. King. The Goose Girl and the Artificial copyright 2018 by K.M Robinson. Dance of Deception copyright 2018 by Clara Kensie. The False Nightingale copyright 2018 by Mary Fan. Leo 6 copyright 2018 by Melanie McFarlane. Solstice Spell copyright 2018 by Clare Dugmore. Morsel copyright 2018 by Dorothy Dreyer. Wires and Blood copyright 2018 by Madeehah Reza.

Cover designed by KimG Design .

Cover photo by Bigstock.

Published by Snowy Wings Publishing.

www.snowywingspublishing.com

All rights reserved.

Introduction

Everyone loves a good fairy tale. No matter how young or old you are, they hold an eternal appealbe it the magic, the triumph of good over evil, or the happily-ever-after part.

And the fun thing about fairy tales is that their familiarity makes them easy to retell over and over, weaving new stories that can be completely different from the original and still recognizable. Thats why we at Snowy Wings Publishing decided to get together and see what sorts of fairy tales we could dream up. The results are nothing like your average fairy tale. From sci-fi to fantasy to historical, from all-new, contemporized takes to origin stories that give new depth to the classic legend, these retellings will carry you through space and time, and we hope youll enjoy seeing our fresh spins on familiar tales. You might even be introduced to a fairy tale youve never heard of before!

Of course, well begin with Once upon a time

CinderellA.I.

a retelling of Cinderella

LYSSA CHIAVARI

Cinderella! I hollered, hands on my hips. Behind me, my internal sensors could detect the eyes of the audience just beyond the velvet cord boring into my back, rapt with attention as always. Where are you? You need to iron my dress!

Beside me, 4N1TAalso known as my sister, Anitashouted, Cinderella, hurry up! You need to fix my hair!

This was the part of the show where Cinderella was supposed to float in on her cloud of red-gold curls. The audience would sigh at her beauty, radiant despite the smudges of soot on her cheeks, and our roles in this story would be set: Cinderella, the hapless but beautiful and pure-hearted heroine; and Anita and myself, the cruel bullies set on keeping her from her happily-ever-after. It was a story everyone knew, one beloved by millions, committed to memory over hundreds of years.

And my reality, reenacted every day, three times daily. Five on weekends. I had more than just memorized this storythe lines were programmed into me, literally. I could have done this routine on sleep mode. It was always the same.

Except today.

Because this time, Cinderella didnt come. Anitas line hung in midair, the few instants of silence afterward seeming to drag out into eternity. The audience hadnt noticed yet, but I could tell by the frantic way Anitas pupils were spinning that shed caught it, too. Cinderella was supposed to appear two-point-seven seconds after Anita finished her line, but four-point-five seconds had passed and she was nowhere to be seen.

Had she malfunctioned? I supposed it was always possible, though it had never happened before. My panic-stricken CPU was beginning to lag now, the way it always did when my processors were overloaded. Mr. Tinker said it was because I had a nervous personality, which was, of course, ridiculous. There was obviously a glitch in my AI programming, but he wouldnt do anything to fix it. The last time Id asked him to debug me, hed laughed and said, Why would I do a fool thing like that? Its what makes you you .

It was completely illogical. If a system has bugs, you debug it. Id told him time and again that there was no sense in getting sentimental about a malfunction. This just proved it. Now Cinderella had broken down somewhere offstage or something, and the show was ruined, and my stupid overloaded circuitry was too slow to do anything about it.

But then, two-point-nine seconds latera full seven-point-four seconds after her cue, I might addCinderellas voice rang lyrically across the set. Coming!

She sauntered in, titian locks streaming out from under the oil-stained rag that covered her head in her peasant costume. She wore an angelic smile on her face, as if there were no problem with her tardiness, as if she was always meant to come on stage seven-point-four seconds after Anitas line.

I glared at herwhich is what I was programmed to do at this part, but this time I meant itand said, Youre so lazy, Cinderella. What have you been doing all morning? Reading, as usual?

She caught my eye, winking before saying her next line. Oh, but stepsister, dont you ever dream of living another life? Of adventure and romance? Some dashing hero to sweep you off your feet? She sighed dreamily.

I frowned. What had that wink been about? You need to keep your feet on the ground. Ive never heard such falderal in my life.

A knowing smile spread across her lips. Falderal and fiddle-de-dee, she said, her voice melodic, like the chiming of bells. She ran a hand through her silky locks as she spoke, and the audience made its routine sounds of approval.

And there it was again, that familiar, uncomfortable sensation I had whenever I looked at Cinderella. She moved so effortlessly, and she looked so elegant when she did it. Graceful movements on delicate, tiny feet; a serene smile on a perfect, heart-shaped face. Lithe and regal. Nothing like my boxy form and my plain face with its pug nose. Just as unattractive as the fairy tale described.

Jealousy. I knew it was programmed into me; it was part of the Ugly Stepsisters personality. Of course she would be jealous of Cinderella, so, naturally, so was I. It wasnt real. But sometimes, like right now, it seemed real. Real and raw.

Now, girls, Mothers deep voice interjected. Weve no time for such folly. The Princes ball is in just a few short hours. She looked regal and imperious as she came down the stairsevery bit the wicked villain the audience expected. I wondered what they would think if they could see her when the park was closed.

Oh, Stepmother, cant I go to the ball? Cinderella asked, pouting daintily.

Mothers lip curled into a sneer. You? Dont be ridiculous. A little hearth-mouse like you would be the laughingstock of the kingdom.

But its sure to be wonderful. A chance to find true love...

Normally, when Cinderella said that line, she looked dreamily up toward the ceiling. But today, she looked straight out at the audience. My processors flared again at the sight of it. We never looked at the audienceas far as we were concerned, they werent supposed to be there. We were animatrons. To the audience, we were just supposed to be lifelike dummies that acted out our stories on a loop. Extremely lifelike, of course: we were the most realistic humanoid animatrons ever constructed, which was why people paid so much to come to a theme park whose attractions were little more than short plays reenacting well-known fairy tales. Why there was always a murmur of awe when Cinderella floated onstage, even though these people had seen this story a hundred times before. Animatrons that looked so convincingly like humans, that moved in such a lifelike way, were a novelty seen nowhere else the whole world over.