“Who gave us this?” the little boy asked, walking along side a stooped woman.
Her skin was brown and many times wrinkled, and she had wisps of white hair poking out from under a brilliant blue scarf.
The boy too had a blue scarf, tied around his arm.
In the comings and goings of people around them, there were blue scarves every where.
“She gave us this.”
“Who?” he asked again.
The old woman pointed up and out, towards a summit.
There among the ruins of demolished castle stood a massive statue of bronze and glass of a young woman with a flag in hand and broken chains in the other.
“Who is that?”
“The greatest among us. The Fable Cinderella.”
“And what’s she done?” the boy asked, staring upwards at the statue.
“She freed us. She freed us all.”
“But what about the Godmother?”
“What about her?” the woman chuckled. “She just helped.”
“But… but you were there, right?”
“I just helped. Come on, we’ll go see it.”
And so they went.
“Tell me what happened to her!”
“Oh… you might not be old enough for that.”
“But I want to know!” he whined, skipping along. “Tell me? Godmother?”
“I guess I can tell you… about her.”