"I'm bored of this."

"Bill, you've barely started."

"But I'm bored."

"Why don't you continue my story from the other day if you don't want to finish this one?"

"What more is there to tell?  It was the 18th century.  She died in childbirth and he caught the plague."

"Well, if you're going to be like that, then I don't want to hear your story."

"Oh no you don't.  I'm going to keep talking whether you like it or not."

"Good."

"Wait... how did you do that?"

"Reverse psychology."

--------------------------

Will woke up slowly, unwillingly, wanting to sleep for just a few moments longer.  Years of staring at the same wooden ceiling, knowing what the new day would bring, left him incapable of waking up with any sort of positive attitude.

He heard the skittering of the mice in the walls.  Lately he'd been imagining they could talk to him, most likely a product of his loneliness.  Mice made better conversationalists than humans.  

Birds twittered outside his window.  Normally he found the birdsong calming, but today he resented them for waking him up.  He didn't usually look out the windows anyway.  Ever since his stepfamily had learned about his fear of heights, they'd moved him to the highest room in the house.

He closed his eyes again, trying to sneak in a few more seconds of rest, but all too soon he heard the thumping from several floors beneath him and Stan's gruff voice hollering at him to 'get up already, you useless layabout!'

Will sighed heavily and crawled out of bed, deliberately ignoring the movement in his peripheral vision indicating the mice and rats scurrying out of sight.  He also ignored the hall mirror he passed on his way downstairs, preferring not to look at his own sunken eyes and haunted expression.  Also, his blue hair usually looked like a bird's nest.

"About time you showed up," Stan grumbled when Will made his appearance in the dining room.  "Breakfast is getting cold."

Stan and his children, Dipper and Mabel, were already sitting at one end of the long table.  The grand dining room was furnished with a spectacular chandelier (or an "accident waiting to happen" as Will referred to it), a larger-than-life oil painting of Stan and the twins, and an over-the-top fireplace (or "another accident waiting to happen").

The three sat in aggrieved silence as they waited impatiently for Will to set the table and then retreat to the adjoining kitchen, where he always ate breakfast alone.  Will laid out the plates and glasses carefully, mindful of the persistent tremor in his hands that caused him to frequently drop things.

He ate his own oatmeal in silence, listening to the snatches of conversation and occasional laughter drifting in from the dining room.  His craving for company, exacerbated by years of loneliness, warred with his instinct to stay away from the repulsive Gleefuls.  His so-called family had never shown him the kindness they displayed to each other.

When they were finished with their breakfast, he came back out to clear off the table and wash the dishes.  Stan and Dipper were already exiting the room, while Mabel remained seated.  She stuck out her foot just as Will walked past her with the three plates.  He went flying with a shriek, crashing to the ground with the plates shattering around him.

Mabel laughed hysterically as Will shakily rose to his knees, bleeding heavily from a gash on his right hand.  He twisted to glare at her, mouth opening to protest.  She immediately stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow.

"Do you have something to say, Will?" she said crisply.

Will flinched, finding himself incapable of holding her gaze, and sighed in defeat.  "N-no."

She smirked victoriously.  "I thought not.  Now clean up this mess."

He nodded silently as she flounced out of the dining room.  Now alone, Will sought a bandage and disinfectant from the kitchen cupboards to tend to his injured hand.  Once he'd cleaned it and picked out the shards of glass, it didn't look as bad as he'd feared.  

I've certainly had worse in any case, he thought, cringing as he remembered the time Dipper had pushed him down the stairs and he'd broken both his wrists.

With a bandage around his hand, Will swept up the broken plates, careful to avoid getting cut again.  Ignoring the pain, he washed the unbroken dishes and cleaned the rest of the kitchen.  He carefully mopped up the drops of blood leading from the dining room to the sink.  With the mess taken care of, he moved on to the rest of his morning chores.

In a country estate, there could be any number of livestock around.  With difficulty, Will lugged a heavy bucket outside one-handedly to feed the chickens and horses.  He always felt calmer around animals.  A horse nuzzled his hand as he fed it, and he almost smiled.  Animals never laughed at him, or punished him, or called him a blue-haired freak... they were much nicer than people.

Of course, one animal was the exception to the rule...

Will felt malevolent eyes burning into him as he returned inside.  He glanced around, observing a dark shadow on top of a cabinet.

"Hello, Khoshekh," he muttered.

Having been noticed, the black cat leaped down from his perch and glared at Will with glowing green eyes.

"No, I haven't forgotten your breakfast," Will said to the cat, crouching to pet him.  As always, the cat swiped at him with razor-sharp claws.  Will withdrew his hand, not eager to shed more blood this morning.  He filled a saucer with Khoshekh's preferred cream, placing it on the floor and backing away before the cat attacked him again.

Head and hand aching, Will slowly climbed the many flights of stairs back to his bedroom, hoping for a chance to relax before lunch.  He heard the mice skittering through the walls, a sure indication that Khoshekh was not doing his job as a mouser.

"Ugly freeloader," he grumbled about the cat.  He was lying on his bed, staring once more at the blank ceiling.  A tiny noise alerted him to the fact that a mouse was sitting on his bedside table, staring at him with fearless curiosity.  Will sat up slowly so as not to scare the mouse.

"Hello, little friend," he said softly.  "What are you doing here?"

For a moment, he almost imagined the mouse could answer.  In fact, he could imagine an entire conversation with this mouse.

"You're better company than the humans who live here," he told the mouse.  Indifferent, the mouse twitched its tail and scampered away.

"Come back soon," Will called.  He found he was disappointed.  That mouse was the best friend I've ever had, except...

An impatient shout from downstairs made him sigh.  Guess the break's over.

Tiredly, despondently, Will made his way back down the thousand stairs to continue his grueling routine.

-----------------------

"Bill, this is horribly depressing."

"You asked for a story."

"Not like this.  You know what?  I'll take over and tell it from now on."

"Great!"

"Wait a second... was that your plan all along?"

...

"How do you do that?"

"'Reverse psychology.'  You're not the only one who can play this game."

"Why did I think I could outsmart you.  You're always ten steps ahead."

"Yes I am, and don't you forget it."

(A/N: There's no way Cindy isn't a bit schizo.  Talking animals or bizarre hallucinations?  I THINK THE LATTER.

After watching the movie again, I've come to the realization that although this is a beloved Disney classic, it's seriously about 90% mouse antics.  I'm not fond of Gus or Jaq, and I don't care much for any of the modern Cinderella adaptations, so I'll be throwing my own spin into it more than I thought I would.  

I've planned for this to be about ten chapters, after which I'll jump right in to UnWilling 4. After that, who knows? NOT ME.

Quick promo for my other book:  It's a choose-your-own-adventure with the potential to be awesome!  The more people I have voting on the decisions, the more fun it will be for everyone!  So thanks in advance for playing along!! :D)