Cinderella ⭐ Gentle Bedtime Story for Sleep | The Quiet Corner

Hello my little ones, I'm Luna and this is my friend Twinkle. There you are, all tucked in, warm and soft. I'm so glad you're here with me tonight. How was your day today, little one? It's all finished now, there's nothing left to carry. Have you ever felt some days as though you were working hard and going unnoticed, as though nobody quite saw how good and how kind you really are? It's a lonely feeling, but here is a soft and lovely secret. A kind heart is always seen in the end, always. There's an old, old story about that. The Brothers Grimm told it long ago. Come along with me. You are resting warm in a soft window seat in a great old, long ago. Snow is falling softly outside and by the hearth in the warm glow of the fire sits a gentle girl. Once this girl had a loving mother, but her mother had grown ill and as she lay saying goodbye, she drew her little daughter close and whispered the blessing. Be good and kind, dear child, and pious in your heart and God will always watch over you and I will look down on you and be near you always. And the little girl kept that blessing in her heart every day through all that came after. She stayed good and gentle just as her mother had asked. In time, her father married a woman with two grown daughters of her own, and though they were fair to look at, their hearts were cold and proud. Their stepmother and her two daughters did not love the gentle girl. They took away her pretty dresses and gave her an old gray smock. They sent her to work from morning till evening, carrying water, tending the fire, cooking and scrubbing and sweeping. And when her work was done, she had no soft bed to rest in. She lay down at night beside the hearth in the warm ashes of the fire, and because she was always dusted with ash and cinders, they called her unkindly Cinderella. It was a lonely life. Cinderella was never quite alone, for the little creatures of the house loved her as gentle hearts are loved. Two small hearth mice kept her in the warm ashes, soft and quiet at her feet. And every morning, doves and pigeons came fluttering to her window, her dearest friends of all, cooing softly, keeping her company while she worked. Now, one day, Cinderella's father was going to a fair, and asked what he might bring his daughters. The two stepsisters asked for fine dresses and pearls and jewels. Cinderella asked only for this, the first little branch, father, that brushes against your head on your way home. And her father brought her a little branch from a hazel tree. Cinderella took it and thanked him, and carried it out to her mother's grave, and planted it there. And she wept over it, soft tears. And the little branch drank them, and the little branch grew, watered by her tears, and it grew into a fine hazel tree. And Cinderella went there often to sit beneath it, in the quiet. And a little white bird came to live in its branches, and watched over her. And whenever Cinderella sat beneath the tree, and made a gentle wish, the little white bird would hear her, and grant whatever she wished for. The tree was her mother's love, you see, grown into something living and near. Now, it happened that the king announced a great festival, three evenings long, so that the prince might meet all the young people of the kingdom. And the two stepsisters were beside themselves with excitement. Cinderella longed to go too, but her stepmother only laughed. She poured a bowl of lentils into the ashes of the hearth, and said, if you can't pick this all out again in two hours, you may come. And she meant it as an impossible thing. But Cinderella went to the window, and called softly to her friends. And down they came, the doves, the pigeons, all the little birds of the sky, and settled around the hearth, and began to pick, pick, pick, sorting the good lentils from the ashes. The good ones go into the little pot, the bad ones go into your little crop. And in no time at all, the bowl was full and clean. But the stepmother only frowned, and said she could not come, and swept away to the festival with her own two daughters. When they had gone, Cinderella dried her tears, and walked out to the hazel tree. And beneath its branches, she whispered, shiver, little tree, silver and gold, throw down over me. And a little white bird stared in the branches, and down came a gown, silver and gold, more beautiful than anything Cinderella had ever seen, and soft slippers to match. She dressed, and away she went to the festival, light as a leaf. And at the festival, the prince saw her, and could not look away. He took her hand, and danced with her. And with no one else, all evening. And when others came to ask her to dance, he said softly, she is my partner. For he did not want to let her go. Cinderella, who had been overlooked so long, unseen by everyone at home, was seen now, truly seen, and chosen. And oh, how her gentle heart glowed. But as the evening ended, she slipped away, before the prince could learn who she was. Home, to the ashes, and her grey smock, were the doves, cooing softly at her window, as she came. And so it went for three evenings. Each night, a lovelier gown from the tree, silver and gold, and finer still. Each night, the prince dancing only with her. And each night, she slipped softly, away, like a dream, and waking. The prince had spread soft pitch on the palace stairs, and as Cinderella hurried away, one little golden slipper stuck fast, and stayed behind on the step. She ran on home, without it, into the evening. The prince took up the little golden slipper, and made a gentle promise. I will find her, she whose foot this golden slipper fits. She, and no other, shall be my bride. So, he went from house to house, with the little slipper, and at last he came to Cinderella's house. And the two proud stepsisters, each tried so hard, to force their feet into the little golden shoe. But their feet were far too large, and try as they might, the slipper would not fit, and they limped away, disappointed. Then, the doves, no silk, and cooed their soft clear call. You're back, no bride is she, the true bride waits, still for thee. And the prince looked again, and asked, if there was not another girl in the house. Only little Cinderella, they said. Well, among the ashes, but he asked for her to come. And Cinderella washed the ash from her gentle hands, and face, and cane, and slipped her small foot into the little golden slipper. And it fit, softly, perfectly, as though it has always been hers, for it had. And the prince knew her, at once, his own true partner. From all three evenings, and the dove circled above them, cooing for joy, and the little white bird sang in the hazel tree. And so, the gentle girl who had lain in the ashes, who had stayed good and kind through everything, who was loved by the doves, and watched over the mother's tree, she was seen at last, and chosen, and carried away to a life of warmth and gladness. All her days, a kind heart is always seen in the end, my little ones. However long it waits, in the ashes, it is always, always seen. The great old wood grows soft at its edges now. Cinderella, and the hazel tree, and the gentle doves drift slowly away. The story folds itself up, gently, and tucks itself away, until another evening. That's the one for tonight, my little ones. You did enough today. You were enough today. There's all the time in the world to rest now. You are warm. You are held. You are exactly where you belong. Good night, my little ones. Sleep soft. I'll see you with Twinkle, and another old story. You rest. You dream. You sleep, deep and easy, the whole night through. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder you are.