Cinderella and the Glass Hour

The clock struck twelve. The slipper fit. The kingdom rejoiced.

But the night never ended.

Every hour repeated — 12:01, 12:02 — over and over again. The sun never rose. The stars never moved. The ball went on forever.

At first, Cinderella thought it was enchantment. But as decades passed within the same hour, she realized the truth: she hadn’t escaped servitude. She’d just been trapped in a prettier cage.

The Fairy Godmother had warned her: “All magic has a cost — and all wishes are clocks.”

Cinderella searched for the godmother, finding her deep within a frozen second, wings cracked like glass.

“Can I end it?” she asked.

“Only by shattering the hour,” the fairy whispered. “But to do so, you’ll lose everything — even memory.”

Cinderella lifted the glass slipper, now heavy as a tombstone, and smashed the palace clock.

The world turned black.

When light returned, she was sweeping cinders again — only this time, she didn’t know why the ashes glittered like stars.