Happily Ever After (Pending Review)

The Department of Narrative Corrections was bound to make a mistake. The Big Bad Wolf and The Wicked Witch materialized at Cinderella’s castle, seconds before midnight—the worst possible time for amateurs, which is exactly why they’d been sent.

“Excuse me, Belle’s castle is down the road, Beast,” The Witch hissed at the towering Wolf.

“Aren’t you late for Little Shop of Horrors rehearsal, greenie?” The Wolf snapped.

The Witch shifted her broom, “How long do you have this time?”

“Three years unless this goes well. It was only three pigs and a grandma!” He yelped. “You?”

“Three years. I cut down that annoying beanstalk and gave monkeys wings by accident.” She rolled her eyes.

Hooves smashing against cobblestone interrupted—

“Run! She’s coming back!” The Headless Horseman galloped by.

“What did your dossier say?” The Witch snatched the folded paper from The Wolf’s front pocket. “Your first name is Bartholomew?” She cackled, eyes devouring the words, “She’s my new hero. Lose a shoe, get a kingdom.”

“What do you mean, Mildred? It doesn’t say that?” He dangled her real name like bait.

The Witch ignored it. “Right here: Cinderella is known to use her beauty.”

More hooves on the cobblestone. Two horses in front of a carriage skidded around the corner, onto the path the arguing duo stood on. A woman in a sky-blue dress catapulted herself out of the shrinking, warbling carriage. The horses transformed into mice and scurried away upon noticing Bartholomew.

Cinderella climbed to her feet, dress tattered, makeup smeared. “What a night! Made it back on time.” She threw her head back and howled at the moon, “Hey, you know this line: AWOOOOOOO!”

“AWOOOO!” Bartholomew joined before Mildred jabbed his ribs.

“Young lady, I am here to be your Fairy Godmother.” Mildred strained to be patient.

“No, I am here to be your Fairy God…Wolf.” Bartholomew stepped in front of The Witch.

Cinderella shook her head, side-stepped the two and trudged to her castle doors, throwing them open with ease.

“Why are you even here?” Mildred snipped, dashing to the doors and grasping the golden handles. “You could have grabbed her to stop her.”

“You just stood there, too.” Bartholomew snarled, seconds behind her, also grabbing the cold handles.

“This was assigned to me. I need to correct my image.” Her words tumbled out in tight bursts. “Can’t open it either?”

“I can. I just don’t want to. I can deal with Cinderella. Alone. Fly off on your bristles and leave it to the professional.”

Mildred sighed. “I’m over this.” She walked to the pumpkin and touched it with her broom handle. Purple wisps wrap around it like fingers, sparkling with authority before fizzling out. She tutted.

Then a wave of deeper purple seeped into the area, shrouding them—lavender, lilacs, grapes, and eggplant. “I recognize that scent. Contract Enforcer Ursula.” Bartholomew said.

In a ravishing satin purple suit, Ursula slithered from the mist. Hair slicked back, she spoke in an ostensibly proper way: “Rumpelstiltskin was promoted to that position. I am now Probation Officer Ursula. You’d be in violation of probation if you leave, Mildred. If she leaves, you violate yours, too.” Ursula explained, thumbing her glasses up from the bridge. “Both of you must complete it, but only one can.”

Before they had a chance to respond the cryptic message, Ursula and her purple mist inhaled itself. Right before she fully disappeared a tentacle in a pant leg snapped out and whipped the door open and shoved the two into the castle. It squelched the door close behind them.

Cinderella, impatient and expectant, tossed them both a can of spray paint. “Tag a wall. I make every visitor do it.”

The two shared confused glances but obliged. They chose opposite walls. Bartholomew sprayed a paw print. Mildred used her green spray to make a sad face.

“Interesting.” Cinderella said as she gathered the paints. Then she hooted.

Yes, hooted.

“Give him a minute, you are behind schedule.” Cinderella apologized.

Mildred opened her mouth to remark on timing, but Cinderella’s glare stopped her.

A large, beautiful owl swooped in and gathered the spray paints, flew them up to a nest near the ceiling then perched on the ledge the nest was on.

“Rapunzel and Rumpelstiltskin?” Bartholomew read on the ceiling.

“Pay no mind. A prince will be here soon and I need to prepare.” Cinderella made for a grand staircase.

“Young lady, you—” Mildred began.

“Cinderella, do not go up there.” Bartholomew feigned authority—both women giggled. Mildred tried to push him out of the way. “Don’t get too close, I’ve been known to bite.”

“I’d just give you a poisoned apple like my mentor did to some young princess.”

“I’d get a glass of water. Cinderella—fetch a glass of water.” No answer. “Cinderella? Cinderella. She had a glass slipper on; how did we not hear her leave?” Bartholomew asked.

The two ran up the stairs. They tore through hallways, flinging doors open—until three beds.

“This is ridiculous.” Bartholomew slumped onto a bed. “Oof, too hard.”

Mildred tossed herself on another bed, “Ugh, too soft.” They eyed the third bed, knowing it was just right, but if one said it out loud, she would appear.

No one wanted Goldilocks to appear.

The reality of the riddle simmered between them.

Mildred huffed and peeled herself off the soft cloud and slipped out of the door. Bartholomew followed, claws making little taps on the marble floor. He smelled the ground, often forgetting about his heightened senses. “This way.”

Mildred reluctantly fell in step with him. He led them through the labyrinth of the castle corridors before his nose twitched; the scent sharpened. He sat in front of a small, unassuming door. “About time,” Mildred muttered and pushed it open.

Bartholomew pushed her in and slammed the door, clawing off the handle.

“You locked me in a broom closet. I could upgrade mine in here, moron. Wait—wait—there’s a bucket of water in here! Let me out! LET ME OUT!”

Bartholomew howled with laughter. “Stay outta my way!” He pounced off following the real scent trail. “I’m not gonna get three more years.”

Inside the closet, Mildred was huddled in the opposite corner of the bucket of water. It sat there being pristine and clear as evil water always does. “Don’t pretend you’re better than me!” She yelled. “Wait, what am I doing? I’m a Witch.” She started to mumble in Latin. The words awoke the brooms around her, the wooden handles slurping up the water. “There you go my pretties. Drink. Driiiiink!” She breathed relief when the last drop of water was sopped up. “This assignment will open a whole new path for me. If Bartholomew doesn’t ruin it.”

With his acute hearing, Bartholomew heard Mildred kick the closet door down. He was lurking outside a room where Cinderella’s scent was the strongest.

“Just come out and we can get this sorted out.” He growled politely. His nose caught her before the insult:

“Got real far, I see.” Mildred cackled.

“I found her, didn’t I?”

“I’m not getting three years because of you and the nitwit in there.” Mildred dropkicked the door open to see Cinderella hanging on her oval windowsill and swooning in front of her is Prince Eric.

“Wait until Ursula gets a load of this.” Bartholomew said to Mildred, nudging her with his tail. She smiled before she caught herself.

At the sound of her name Prince Eric’s eyes turned lucid. “Ur-Ursula is here?” He stammered. He scrambled backward out the window, boots slipping on the sill. The smell of lavender, lilacs, and other purple things wafted through the window.

“Prince Eric you get back here this instant!” She yelled, her voice fading in the distance with his screams.

“Great, I almost had Atlantia.” Cinderella flopped on her lavish bed that took up half of the room.

Bartholomew stepped forward, “Cinderella, dear, I need to take you to the Mulan’s Tea Etiquette Summer Warrior Training Camp.”

“Why there?” Cinderella asked.

Bartholomew stumbled an answer before gesturing toward The Witch, “Mildred is more than capable of explaining why.”

“Y-Yes. Cinderella. You see,” Her eyes bore holes into the shirking Wolf, “You must return all of the Kingdoms you’ve been given.”

“Stolen,” Bartholomew corrected.

“Given. She’s correct.” Cinderella sighed from her cascading blue dress, nearly swallowed by the bed. She tossed a glass slipper to Bartholomew. “They find this and come swooning me with their riches. I take what I want and leave them in the dust. Usually works on the weak-minded. And men.”

“Same thing,” Mildred snatched the glass slipper out of his paws. “Now come with me to give back the Kingdoms.”

“Wait—am I giving back Kingdoms or doing Mulan’s tea thing?” Cinderella asked, thrusting herself out of bed and dress, revealing a full-body leather suit. “Sometimes I double as Cat Woman,” she said to their confused looks, donning a cat eye mask.

The Wolf and The Witch exchanged horrid glances, the riddle echoing in their mind. This was an entirely different beast than they initially thought.

“Gotham can wait. Come with me.” The Witch stepped aside and stretched her arm out for Cinderella to come with her.

“No, me,” Bartholomew mirrored Mildred’s actions, clearing a path for Cinderella.

Cinderella watched them bicker like siblings as she put on her break-in tool belt and clipped on her cat tail. “Ok, I’m ready.”

“She’s coming with me!” The two kept arguing.

“I’m just going… slip on… through…” Cinderella passed between the two.

“You’re completely inept,” Mildred bellowed.

“You only have a broom!” Bartholomew howled.

“Bye!” Cinderella said at the door.

“Bye!” Mildred and Bartholomew said in unison, waving her off.

Cinderella shook her head, turned the corner and darted away.

“I’m way more responsible!” Mildred yelled.

“I can track her!” Bartholomew snarled.

“I have—wait…” Realization hit her.

Bartholomew’s shoulders slumped. “Again?”

The two tracked Cinderella to Sleepy Hollow where she held the Headless Horseman captive by whipping her detached tail. “Not another spa day! Exfoliating masks hurt!” He kept whimpering.

“Cinderella, this is why I was assigned to you.” Mildred said.

Cinderella laughed. “No, my pretty, I chose you two.” She cracked her whip at the Horseman attempting to slip away. “Who do you think wrote the dossiers?” Cinderella beamed through her cat mask.

“You’re the Head of the Department of Narrative Corrections? So, this double assignment wasn’t a mistake?” Mildred pieced together.

“Well, it was, but we went with it. Ursula thought it would be fun to see what you two did with her riddle.”

Mildred and Bartholomew looked at each other.

Both pained with a wave of feeling used. Even for them, it felt dirty.

“We are free to go then?” Mildred asked through clenched teeth.

“No, of course not. I’m still the Head. Aw, I’m sorry if that hurt your feelings” Cinderella said to The Headless Horseman. She laughed at him, then dismissed him from his own foggy forest. Purple slowly colored in the white haze. “I do these pairings to see how you work together despite being who you are.” She clipped her whip back on as a tail. “Wanna join Ursula and I?” The purple deepened around them as Ursula and Prince Eric walked out of the fog.

“You’re with her?” Bartholomew snarled at display of affection between Prince Eric and Ursula.

“Hey, once Ariel found her voice, she told me to buzz off. I did and never been happier. Giving Ursula my kingdom was the best decision I ever made.”

Mildred’s mind pinged. Kingdom? Of course, she thought to herself, remembering the glass slipper in her robe.

“With us or against us?” Cinderella demanded.

Mildred looked into Bartholomew’s deep charcoal eyes, hoping he’d understand what she was planning. “We will go with you.” Mildred’s eyes locked with Bartholomew’s. His eyebrow twitched upward.

“Yes… why not go on another adventure?” He shrugged and turned back toward the trio.

“Hurray! I really didn’t want to talk to Mulan—such a rule-follower. She’d follow up on your progress for a lifetime and for all of us it means forever, so let’s not, right?”

“So, the three years?” Bartholomew asked to the relief of Mildred.

“Oh, you’re silly. The dossiers were fake. I know! Let’s burn the dossiers!” Cinderella clapped her hands with glee.

Mildred unfolded the dossiers. “I have a better idea. As much as I love fire, we’d have to use water to put it out if it got out of hand, and you know… eeek.” The Witch turned to Prince Eric. “Perhaps you have something I can use on your suit to smash them?”

“Why do you get to do it?” Cinderella asked confused.

“My sword!” Prince Eric unsheathed his sword.

Mildred ignored Cinderella. “Oh my, so big, so strong, but too much for little ol’ me, how about something smaller?”

He mulled this over and his eyebrows shot up; he rummaged in his pockets and produced the glass slipper. “Here!” He tossed it to her before Cinderella and Ursula managed to stop him.

Mildred caught it and gave it to Bartholomew. “Both of you must complete it…” She said.

“The riddle was made up,” Ursula’s laugh trumpeted around the forest.

“But only one can…” Bartholomew finished.

Cinderella cracked the whip toward them. Bartholomew snapped his own. Hers latched around his with a clink and he yelped in pain.

Prince Eric did nothing because what do Princes do beyond function as a plot device?

Ursula’s fog dragged Mildred as Cinderella’s whip tightened around Bartholomew’s tail. Mildred began to chant in Latin, fighting against the forces to inch Bartholomew and her together.

“Click three times!” She yelled when close enough.

Once! Twice! Bartholomew begins to chant with Mildred, doubling their power.

“You said this was fake!” Cinderella yelled at Ursula.

“It was! It is!” Ursula shrieked.

They inch close enough to click the glass slippers one last time.

In the castle she inherited from Cinderella, Mildred relished her new position as Head of Narrative Corrections; promoted after discovering a deep conspiracy plot between Cinderella and Ursula.

Bartholomew tended to the care of the castle, his biggest point of pride being his planting of a new forest. “I think I’ll call it the 100 Acre Wood, because… that’s how big it is.” He beamed to her.

Mildred smiled for the first time in a long time. “Sounds delightful. But first, we need to assign Jafar’s probation partner.” Bartholomew’s eyes glazed over in deep thought.

A tingle of excitement ran through her. Cinderella sat here and contemplated Mildred’s fate—now Mildred did the same, but right. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling where her name and Bartholomew’s were joined together instead of their initial opposite walls. She had sent the owl to check in on Rapunzel and Rumpelstiltskin, leaving a scroll to consider joining her in her new role. Your image is corrected, she smiled larger to herself.

“Tinkerbell.” Bartholomew blurted. “Her attitude landed her in probation again.”

“Yes. And after they get done with Pinocchio’s Honesty Tapestry class, I know the perfect two to pair them with.” She paused. “Or… against.”

Bartholomew’s tail thumped on the ground as they both howled and cackled with laughter.

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Oh yea, the princes. Um, they lived happily ever after in their own ignorant bliss.