Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a tiny kingdom. Peaceful, prosperous, and rich in romance and tradition. Here, in a stately château, there lived a widowed gentleman and his little daughter, Cinderella. Although he was a kind and devoted father and gave his beloved child every luxury and comfort, still he felt she needed a mother’s care. And so he married again, choosing for his second wife a woman of good family, with two daughters just Cinderella’s age. By name: Anastasia and Drizella. It was upon the untimely death of this good man, however, that the stepmother’s true nature was revealed. Cold, cruel, and bitterly jealous of Cinderella’s charm and beauty, she was grimly determined to forward the interests of her own two awkward daughters. Thus, as time went by, the château fell into disrepair, for the family fortunes were squandered upon the vain and selfish stepsisters, while Cinderella was abused, humiliated, and finally forced to become a servant in her own house. And yet, through it all, Cinderella remained ever gentle and kind, for with each dawn she found new hope that someday her dreams of happiness would come true.

Lady Tremaine slammed the book down. “Nonsense, none of this has happened! Sir Richard is alive! And if anyone has squandered our money, it was him,” she said, getting angrier. “This is a book of lies. And what if I got my hands on what little money was left and used it to provide for my own daughters? What of it? It’s my money!” She was about to throw the book across the room in anger. Instead, she got up and took the book and the stack of letters to her own room, where she put them on her vanity. Then she fastened the brooch to her dress, right over her heart, and paced the room trying to figure out what was going on, trying to wrap her head around everything she learned that day.

She didn’t know who to believe or what to think. This book was clearly talking about something that was going to happen in the future, and because of that these fairies—or witches, or whatever they were—thought she was a villain. It didn’t make sense.

Just then Sir Richard burst into the room, his face full of wrath. “What is this I hear, that you and your daughters are planning on leaving?”

Lady Tremaine looked up at him in shock, grasping for her brooch and grateful she was wearing it. Nanny had it all wrong. The brooch wasn’t cursed. It helped her and gave her strength.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir Richard,” she said, lying to his face easily. She met his steely gaze.