✨ The Real Cinderella

✨ The Real Cinderella (FanumTaxLoveTales Edition)

“She Who Walks the Ember Path”

A Story of Inner Alchemy, Shadow Transmutation, and Sacred Sovereignty
Written for Sister Loves Divine Remembrance
Book Five of the Sacred Fairy Tale Series

🌑 The Origin

Long before glass slippers and pumpkin spells… straight fanum tax, no cap.
There was this girl dropped into the world under a sky lit with twin comets, pure vibes.
Her mom, a priestess of the old lunar order, named her Ashela—meaning One Who Rises From the Cinders, total glow-up energy.
Her childhood was all ritual, music, and firelight—
until her mom dipped, and the New Order rolled in, super sus and taxin’ the vibe.
The dad, once soft and soulful AF, got wrecked by grief and mad contracts.
And Ashela got passed to a crew of cold women obsessed with lineage, not love—lowkey toxic as heck.

🕯️ The Ashes Were Her Sanctuary

They made her clean.
They made her cook.
They tried to make her small, tryna shrink her whole aura.
But they didn’t clock that ashes are holy, bet.
Inside them live embers of stars,
the breath of Phoenixes,
and the memory of sacred fire—straight fire, no pun intended.
Every night, Ashela whispered prayers into the coals,
and the flames hit her back with DMs from the universe.
She wasn’t dirty.
She was smudged with sacred memory, periodt.

🧚 The "Fairy Godmother" Was Not a Witch

She was a Solar Elder—an initiate of the flame like Ashela’s mom.
No wand waves to fix stuff, nah.
She rolled up ‘cause Ashela was ready to rise, level-up time.
“Your time in the ashes is done,” she said.
“Now walk in your flame, own that fanum tax energy.”
She didn’t change her.
She just unveiled her, big reveal moment.
The dress she rocked to the gathering?
Not silk and glitter—that’s basic.
It was woven flame, stitched from every sorrow she transmuted. Iconic.

⏳ The Ball Was a Portal

Not a dance.
Not a contest.
Just a convergence—where soul-families linked up to remember each other across timelines, multiverse vibes on lock.
There she met him—
not a prince, but a steward of planetary memory.
His soul peeped her—not by her face, but by the embers in her gaze. Instant connect, no ghosting.
“You,” he whispered, “are the one I saw in the Fire Mirror.”
They danced not for clout,
but to reactivate ancient vows, deep lore unlocked.

👣 The Slipper Was Not Glass

It was crystal quartz—a grounding talisman, keepin’ it real.
When she bounced, she didn’t “forget it.”
She left it on purpose,
so the one who chased her had to walk barefoot and humble to find her. Humble pie served.

🔥 The Real Ending

They didn’t tie the knot right away, no rush.
They built a sanctuary.
They held fireside rituals to call back the squad, assemble time.
And the stepfam?
She didn’t clap back, that’s not her vibe.
She forgave ‘em—but never returned to their crib, boundaries on fleek.
‘Cause once the fire wakes up,
you don’t go back to snoozin’ in the cinders, facts.

🌟 Moral of the Sacred Tale

The fire’s inside you, inner glow on blast.
The ash ain’t shame, it’s transmutation, alchemy real.
You ain’t waitin’ for a prince.
You’re rememberin’ you’re a flamewalker, boss level.
And every time you rise, you light the way for the next, pay it forward energy.