Far, far away, in a distant forest skimming the edge of a sandy cliff there was an intricately beautiful castle which withstood the salty storms for years on end.

In it lived the kind of family fairytales aspired to emulate. The lord of the castle was kind and benevolent albeit lazy and had the tendency to fall asleep unexpectedly (upon which his helpful assistant would awake him by squeezing his crotch). The lady of the castle equally kind and generous, albeit a little childish, and had two grotesque but helpful chambermaids named Pesche and Dondochakka.

Their daughter, even at birth, was perfection. As a child her sleek black hair was lined with starshine, her green eyes large and sharp like moonstone, her face so delicately structured and fair that it could give anyone heartache.

She grew up to be the most exquisitely beautiful girl in the entire province, but boys were as easily attracted to her beauty as they were brushed off by her chilly demeanor and her trademark icy glares which came accompanied – when the need arose – with a sharp "whatever".

For all the gifts bestowed upon her by adoring boys and her doting parents, the girl almost never smiled, and even when she did it was fleeting and forced spasm of her uncoordinated lips.

When the girl turned sixteen, her mother was stricken by a dreadful disease. For nights on end, her father sat miraculously awake, his eyes bloodshot as his wife's life dwindled from his empty hands.

The funeral was a small and quick affair, and for the beautiful daughter, nothing happened. Or rather, life happened.

Sometime or another, the lord of the household came upon his new wife who was perhaps the antithesis of his previous wife. She was hideous as the deceased lady was stunning, with a strange eye patch over one eye, an odd leering grin which only disappeared when it had to be disrupted by a belch. Her hair was long and lank, and oiler than several OPEC countries put together. Yet the lord did not care, because he'd stopped caring about that passive process called life for a very long time, perhaps, ever since the death of the only woman he'd ever loved.

In a week or so the two had gotten married, and the newspapers hailed it as the freak marriage of the year. To the dismay of the lord's daughter, she not only had a new and unwelcome stepmother but two stepsisters which she tried her best to treat with apathy but just ended up disliking with a passion very unlike her.

The older sister was huge and hulking, and on their first meeting the daughter had politely asked if she felt marginalized by society for her cross-dressing habits, only to be slapped hard and screamed at.

"I'm a girl, you little bitch! My name's YAMMY! It's a girl's name! I'm a feckin' girl!"

The younger sister was thin as the older sister was enormous, but with a mean streak disproportionate to her slim body. What gave away a hint of her malicious nature was her luxurious and abundant pink hair – it was so big because it housed all kinds of horrible secrets.

The lord's daughter had simultaneously offended her new stepsisters, which in turn offended the stepmother because she tended to side with her own daughters. They took this as an excuse to wage their personal vendetta against the beautiful daughter, which consisted of petty little acts and pettier mind games like stealing her fashionable dresses and cutting holes in her undergarments and such.

Things would have been tolerable had the lord not passed away abruptly one night. The pink-haired brat pushed open her stepsister's door the next morning and screamed, "Your daddy's dead, get up and let's go see!" before the older sister barged in and rolled her sweaty body onto the creaking bed.

With trembling fingers the daughter sat up and steeled her nerves. She hissed coldly and received another heavy smack across the cheek.

But when she finally arrived downstairs, when she finally grasped her father's hand in her own – impossibly colder – she knew it was true. As such, she attended her second funeral, watching as they lowered the body into the fresh earth where, no, it did not belong!

She almost expected her father to awake all of a sudden with a lazy yawn like he often did, for he simply looked asleep, and was saddened when the face remained stoic until it was out of sight.

Due to the unexpected death of the breadwinner of the household, the stepmother announced her plans for the family, which included the pruning away of its previous inhabitants.

The lord's faithful assistant was sacked. The lady's two chambermaids were ordered to serve her from now on, upon which they refused and jumped out the castle windows.

Dondochakka was too overweight to squeeze through the window, so he pulled out a knife and slit his wrist until he lay stuck and motionless between the grilles bleeding lifelessly. The cook was sacked. The gardener was sacked. The daughter's teachers were sacked. The dancing girls were sacked. The tambourine man was sacked.

Soon, the castle was devoid of life but for the stepsisters, the stepmother, and the quietly raging daughter.

Because, grunted the stepmother, my daughters are simply too princessy and beautiful to perform menial tasks, you're going to have to do them, it is what your father would have wanted, it is your duty.

The daughter knew that in her current position it was unwise to argue, so she glared and nodded and swore that she would bring wreak an ungodly revenge on them one day.

As the years wore on the daughter was banished first to the walk-in closet, then to the cellar, and then to the cinders where she sat after scrubbing the floors and washing the dishes and doing a variety of humiliating chores like plucking their eyebrows and imitating birdsong while they danced clumsily in the garden. Needless to say, her elaborate wardrobe was given "since she had outgrown it" to the sisters.

Before long and no one really could remember when, she became so insignificant that there was no need to use her real name and no one did, for they had begun to call her a new name: Cindquiorra.


In case you did not recognize the characters,

Cinderella – Ulquiorra

Father – Stark

Mother – Nel Tu

Stepmother – Nnoitra

Stepsister 1 – Yammy

Stepsister 2 – Szayel