Beware of Cinderella's Knife

Prologue

3rd person POV

Cinderella twirled the knife in her hands, staring down at the bleeding hole in her father's chest.

She rubbed the blood on her hands onto the hem of her petticoat to keep it from dripping on the floor. The blood would stain it, but she didn't mind. It was already covered in the remains of the cat she had experimented on a couple of days ago.

A strangled cough interrupted her thoughts. Whoops. Her father was still alive. Apparently she had missed his heart.

He looked at his daughter with wide eyes. "Ella?" he asked with disbelief.

"Yes, it's me Papa. Sorry, I should have killed you faster. I didn't want you to suffer," she said apologetically.

Her father looked at her as if he couldn't process what was going on. "Why Ella?" he asked in distress. "Why would you try to kill your own father?"

"You love my stepfamily more than you do me," she replied matter of factly. "I thought of killing them at first, but then I realized that wasn't enough. I want them to suffer," she said in her childish voice.

Cinderella frowned at her father. "I killed Drizella's cat at first, but that didn't disappoint them nearly as much as I thought it would. So now I'm killing you," she said smiling, her voice taking on a happier tone.

She struggled to keep herself from laughing out loud. She clapped her hands together in delight. "I can't wait to see their faces when they see you! They're going to be so disappointed; I can't wait!" 

Cinderella's father stared at his daughter horrified. Since when was his sweet, innocent daughter like this? "Begone devil!" he yelled  in the firmest voice possible. "Leave my daughter and go to hell, where you belong!"

Cinderella giggled. "That won't work silly," she said, leaning over and tapping his nose. "Papa, haven't you realized? I'm not possessed. I've always been like this. This is who I am. Your favorite and only daughter," she said sweetly.

"No," he refused in his hoarse, dying voice. "Whoever you are, you aren't my daughter!" He tried to yell, but it came out as a whisper.

"But I am, Papa," she said, proving his greatest fear to be true. His daughter was a monster.

"Then kill me," he said, closing his eyes. "Kill me, and let me be alone with the memories of who I thought you were."

"I gladly will," Cinderella promised, hefting the knife backwards with her right hand, like she was preparing to throw a spear.

Her father uttered his last words. "Kill me and leave me alone."

And she did.

She swung the knife forward with lighting speed, plunging it into his chest.

This time she didn't miss.

This time, the knife hit the center of his heart.

And then she smiled.

Then she laughed, her voice echoing through the room with joy. Blood dripped from her hands on onto the white tiles, but she didn't notice. Her cheeks flushed pink with happiness. She was too filled with her victory to notice one fatal detail.

A girl stared at her through the glass window. Anastasia's eyes filled with tears when she realized what happened, but she vowed to herself not to tell anyone what she now knew.

Cinderella had killed the only father she had ever known.

Cinderella would do anything to make her life miserable.

This is the story of Cinderella, a murderer.