The Last Cinderella
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My Cinderella.
What the hell? Am I hearing it wrong?
I step backwards, completely forgetting the fact that my left foot hurts. "You—" my voice croaks. "your Cinderella!? Do you even know what you are saying!?"
The smug smile that is drawn across his porcelain face makes it even more harder for me to concentrate, if anything, it burns up my cheeks. I am afraid my head is steaming.
"Can't I call my girl, 'my Cinderella'?"