Ever After, Less Than Happily

Sometimes I miss the simple things-

The way soap bubbles smell
as they swirl and dance
prism colors shimmering
across the floor
at the prodding of my scrub brush,

a smell soft as feathers,
slightly sweet,
and always a hint of something that sparked thoughts
of whatever you wanted most.

Not this ensnaring floral mockery
every proper lady
must be bathed in
before she can be seen at the castle,

full skirts swirl and dance
across the floor
at the request of gloved hands
and the too-loud orchestra,
a dizzying scene
for one so used to cinders.