This is my "Once Upon a Now" contest entry. It's where you have to post a modern original version of a fairy tale. What I did was mash up two fairy tales and set them in a modern time. I used Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast with traces of other themes and tales. I worked really hard for this. If I win, I could get published and THAT would be EVERYTHING to me.

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Midnight Beast

"No matter what you do...Don't lose the shoes."

I was told at least a million times. Probably more than that. A billion. It was said by everyone in the office of Kingdom Magazine, the #1 most popular lifestyle magazine in America and the entire globe. It was said between breaks, in the bathrooms, across the entire penthouse floor of the headquarters in New York.

And yet...I lost the shoes.

I began to breathe rapidly, the rainfall heavy on the sidewalk outside. The city looked wet and dark. I was in the lobby of the Gaston Hotel, a couple hallways down from where our annual ball occurred. I hoped nobody came out to find me here.

Every year, our ranking or sales would rise and the president of Kingdom would throw a giant party. Every celebrity, writer, editor, and everyone famous in between came. This year's theme was masquerade, one of the more popular styles our guests liked. It was incredibly hard to convince my team manager to let me go. As an intern, I was the bottom of the bottom. I was a nobody.

Priscilla and Dorlene, the other two interns who managed to get a position here like I did, were the manager's favorite. They were flawlessly perfect at everything they did for our marketing team and also impossibly snobby. Since their ideas sold well, they somehow bossed me around everyday, despite the fact we were all on the same level technically.

They barely even had to ask for invitations. It was as if they were guaranteed an entrance. I, on the other hand, had to pick up clothes for the next photo shoot, go through all our daily reports, calculate the next sales, and more to impress the manager. I was close to fainting from exhaustion before the manager simply rolled her eyes and shrugged half a centimeter as a permission to attend. The only condition was I would be "working" and not just attending.

And now I had lost the shoes. The shoes.

Kingdom's newest hype and the center of attention from the entire planet, the Glass Heels were the most beautiful pair of shoes anyone had ever laid eyes on. Crafted by hand and made to perfection after an entire year, they were the only pair in the whole world that all top designers had collaborated on. Chanel, Michael Kors, Hermes, Marc Jacobs, etc. No matter what branch of work they did, everyone who was anyone had collaborated on these shoes. It was my responsibility tonight to bring it to the ball to showcase.

And I had lost them.

"Do you need assistance, miss?" I looked up, the voice tearing me away from my own state of panic. It was a bell boy, a smile on his face. "Perhaps...to hail a taxi? It is no problem for me to go out in the rain for you."

I shook my head, braving on a smile of my own. I couldn't show anyone I was inwardly dying. "No, thank you." I began to pivot. "I-I have to go."

I ran down the hallway to where the ball was being held. It had started an hour ago. At midnight, I had to bring the Glass Heels to the stage where our employees would show them off and talk about them. I had thirty minutes left.

I barely remembered where I put them. I had set the velvet red box that held them down for one second on a table when I had to go fetch a drink for my manager. When I came back, they were gone. Nobody could have taken them since this happened before the party had begun. The staff wouldn't have moved it since they're not allowed to touch personal belongings. It made no sense.

However, I didn't give up.

"Have you seen a red, velvet box?" I asked at least a thousand of the waiters and servers. All of them shook their heads and offered a sympathetic smile before they left.

My throat began to dry and I was beginning to sweat as I ran around asking people. If my boss found out, this would be the end of my internship and future career. I would stay in debt of my student loans forever. I would wallow and die. And then I—

"Miss, is it you that is looking for a red, velvet box?"

It was a pretty waitress, hair tied back as she held a silver tray full of wine.

"Yes!" I exclaimed and then responded in a calmer, "Yes."

"Well, I don't know if it's the same one you're looking for, but there is one in the main kitchen down the hall."

My eyes widened. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Miss—" But I was already racing out of the room. I found the kitchen quickly. It was giant and had at least ten doors leading different ways. I searched, glancing from area to area. Cooks were chopping and tossing and pouring. The smell of chicken and soups wafted in the air. My eyes were on the sole lookout for the color red.

And then I saw it.

The box. Where the Glass Heels were.

It was on a cart near one of the doors. I sighed in relief, squeezing my eyes shut and jumping in gratitude. My life was saved! I was going to be okay! I wouldn't be thrown out of Kingdom!

I opened my eyes again...only to watch a waiter push the cart out of the kitchen and past the doors.

"Hey! Wait!" I yelled, beginning to run. The kitchen was expansive and it was harder to get by than expected. Cooks with big, hot pans got in the way along with spilled liquids on the ground that I knew I would trip on if I didn't go the longer, cleaner way. When I got out, the waiter was in the elevator down the hall.

I ran faster than I ever had. "Wait!" I yelled. The waiter looked up just as the doors shut. For a second, I just stared. I had no idea what to do now.

Get it together, I told myself. I took five deep breaths before watching the number above the elevator to get the floor number. It stopped at 56, the last floor up. And that's exactly where I went.

When I finally caught sight of the waiter again, he was coming out of room #392. I waited until he left before rapidly knocking on the door.

Nobody answered.

I knocked on the door for the next five minutes until the lock shifted.

The door opened two inches, enough for me to only see one blue eye of the man behind it. "What?" he snapped. I looked incredulously at the door. He didn't have to be so rude.

"Uh, sir, sorry to bother you. I think you have something of mine," I said. I scratched the back of my neck. Please let me in.

"What?" he responded in a more irritated voice.

"That red box. It's mine."

"You're mistaken." His voice was deep and his words concise.

"No, please, sir. I promise it is. Could you please let me in? I can prove it."

Ten seconds of silence passed. And then the door shut in my face. My heart shattered along with it. That was it. I was never going to have a future. If I had just put the damn shoes somewhere safer and just watched them and—

Suddenly, the door opened wide.

A man in crisp, dark clothes opened the door. He had a black office shirt that looked like it was silk and dark office pants. He was tall and muscular. And his face was...scarred. A line ran through the bottom of his left eye, over his eye, to the tip of his lips. His eyes were an endless blue and his face sculpted. He was beautiful...but destroyed almost.

I opened my mouth but froze. I couldn't find words.

"Yes, I know, my face is deformed, I get it. Now hurry up." The man rolled his eyes in annoyance.

It took me a while but I finally sputtered back to reality and mumbled ten thank you's before walking inside. And letting my jaw fall to the ground. This was definitely the presidential suite. With its wide spacing and modern furniture, it looked like the inside of a mansion. And apparently he lived here. From the clothes thrown in the corners of the room to the stains on the sofa, it seemed as if he'd been living here a while. Which had to mean he either was either loaded or loaded.

I examined the room once more. The floors and walls were immaculate and perfectly white. Except for one wall full of papers and pinned magazine covers and newspaper articles: Gaston Empire Grows With New York City Addition in 2004, Gaston Hotel Ranks as an American All-Time Favorite, Gaston Hotels Expand Across Six Continents, Gaston Family Car Crash Collision...

It all clicked in that moment.

This was Arthur Gaston, last living member of the Gaston Empire Hotels. Two years ago, a deadly crash had killed two of the most famous and richest people in the world—Arthur's parents. He was the only one who lived through the accident, but he had never made a public reappearance since. And now...he was standing a couple feet away from me.

I turned, pretending like I hadn't seen the newspaper clippings. "I'm incredibly sorry to disturb you! I just need the red, velvet box!"

Arthur stood at the door. He was holding it open in hopes I would quickly leave after a couple seconds. "That would make no sense," he said in a monotone voice as his eyes gazed at the red box on the cart the waiter brought in.

"Huh?" I said, dumbfounded. Why would he need the shoes? And why was he still so rude?

He walked over to the red box, lifting it. I should've felt relief when I saw the shoes again...only...the shoes weren't there. Instead, it was a big white cake with intricate frosting designs and a big "Happy Birthday, A.G." written on it.

I was just about ready to jump off the building with confusion, frustration, and confusion again.

"What?" This time, I sounded angry and snappy. Where were the shoes?

"This is my birthday cake. They deliver it to my room every year right before midnight. It's from Saint Claire's, as you can tell from their signature red packaging." He looked away, eyes on the ground. "My parents started this tradition and now the staff follow it despite my instructions not to," he mumbled.

"Then why did you let me in when you knew it was your cake?" I was just stressed and he was the only person around to release my anger on.

Arthur smirked, the scar crinkling up across his face. "I get bored," he answered curtly.

At that moment, there were a lot of words I wanted to relinquish directly at Mr. Arthur Gaston. And all of the words were definitely not ones that were kind.

His expression sobered. "And I guess I didn't want to spend another birthday alone," he whispered.

He probably didn't mean to say it out loud or loud enough for me to hear, but for some reason, his words struck a chord in me. As someone who's mother passed away at an early age and father shortly after, I knew how it felt to be alone. I knew the hardship and the constant empty feeling. And birthdays were the hardest.

Something clicked in me. I walked over to the cart and grabbed a fork.

Arthur stepped back, a bit alarmed. "What're you doing?"

"Well," I sighed, "I'm basically screwed, and probably going to get fired because I can't find those stupid Glass Heels anywhere so I might as well get some cake out of this. Don't you want some company anyway?"

He looked blankly at me for a second. In that moment, he appeared his age, without all the worry and anger and sarcasm. Quickly, his face shifted again and he scoffed, "No, I don't need your company."

"Then why are you closing the door?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur looked at his hand which was slowly pushing the door. He let go of the handle as if it was on fire. "I-I didn't mean to!" He crossed his arms.

I rolled my eyes. "Can we just eat cake? You're sad, empty, alone and I'm going to get fired so I'm sad, empty, and alone."

"Are people always this straight-forward? Or is it just you?"

"When was the last time you left your room? This is New York City, center of straightforwardness," I informed him in a joking manner, grabbing a seat next to the cake.

"Two years," he answered.

"Funny."

"No joke," Arthur responded in a sad, resigned tone. He sat down across from me, picking up a fork himself as if he was beyond caring at this point. "I'm pretty sure you can tell who I am by now. The rich, orphaned boy. Well, now you know the entire truth. I'm the rich, orphaned, and deformed monster boy."

I began to open my mouth to stop his self-shaming but he continued.

"My publicists and the board won't let me go out into public—not that I want to— to keep the hotels' image in check and it's not like it matters anyway. Who am I out there anyway? I've missed two years of decent communication. I mean, sure, I've had tutors and doctors and everyone come to me. But I haven't genuinely left. Not really. And I mean, look at me. Sometimes, my own face scares me. I wake up and forget I have this face and—"

He stuffed his face with cake and then froze, eyes wide and staring at me in shock. "I can't believe I just said all that. I just met you."

I took a bite of cake myself. I looked at him in that second. Pure emotion, pure shock. As if he finally got lost in the moment for once. His face alone made me double over in laughter.

He looked confused when my laughter resided. His eyes stared intently at me as the silence dragged on. It was like he was intrigued and he was truly looking at me for the first time. The air felt different somehow. Heavier.

And then it was gone. His face went back to scowl. "You're weird."

"Says the one who hasn't gone outside in two years."

He glared.

"Too soon?" I said. Now that I knew my life was going to go down the drain anyway, I felt fearless and spoke without a filter. The cake was delicious. "And it's fine. I mean, if I hadn't had a real person—a real friend—in two years, I'd spill my life to whoever would listen. And I can relate to you. My parents are both dead, too." His face looked sympathetic. "No, it was a long time ago. My pity era is over. But, I guess I've been lucky enough to have good friends and the ability to do whatever I wanted. It sucks for you though."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically.

"I guess I just spilled my life, too."

"I guess," Arthur mumbled, stuffing his face with cake.

"And I don't know if you noticed but it's 2016," I said. I cut out another piece of the cake. "The way you look barely matters. I mean, sure, you got the typical people who follow conventional beauty standards and the ideal image of 'beauty', but the world has grown. Most of us don't care nowadays. Genuine people are harder to find than pretty people. Pretty is boring, anyway. And if you're really scared or angry or whatever and want to change, there's plastic surgery. Makeup. Strange health remedies. You name it. It's your face, you can do whatever you want. So, don't be afraid. And stop waiting around for someone to change your life for you."
He paused, his fork mid-way from his plate to mouth. It was rewarding to catch him off guard for some reason. "You're so...forward," he said again in disbelief.

"Hey, I think it's easier to waste twenty-billion years looking for this when someone who's been through it all can just tell you the message at the end of the road. Gives you more time to actually start living," I told him. "Trust me."

Arthur ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. It barely registered to me his face was a little less normal. After a couple of seconds, you forgot about his scar and you just saw Arthur. I wondered if he knew that.

"What were you looking for again?" he asked.

"A red, velvet box. They have Glass Heels. The Glass Heels, like the one-of-a-kind, worth a million dollars one," I explained. "You do have internet, don't you?"

He rolled his eyes again. "Yes, I have internet. How did you lose them? Where?"

I told Arthur the entire story. Where I left them. How much they meant, not only financially, but to the rest of my career and life. It was strange talking to Arthur. Easy. Like I had known him my entire life.

We talked for what felt like hours. The cake dwindled down to nothing until only crumbs were left. My stomach blew up like a balloon after. Arthur was funny behind the cynical defense mechanism. He just never had the chance or the courage to go out and show it. I didn't think of what would happen once this night was over. Me getting fired, the end of the conversation—I left my mind blank. Whatever happened would happen. It was out of my hands at this point.

A loud chime resounded throughout Arthur's flat.

I jumped at the noise.

He laughed. "I might be a hermit but at least I know what a clock is."

"Very funny," I said. "It's only natural to jump in unfamiliar situations." I sat back down, relaxing. Stupid clocks. "Wait a minute!" I said, suddenly jumping back up. "Is it midnight?"

Nodding, he asked, "Why?"

I stood up abruptly. "Jeez, I'm already dead but if I don't go downstairs and tell them we have nothing to showcase at all, I'll definitely be dead!"

"You're leaving?" He slowly stood, a bit disappointed.

I began to rush to the door, throwing it open. "Yes, I have to go or they'll never let me live!"

"Wait, what's your name? Who are you?" he called.

I was halfway out the door. "Cindy Erbella. Don't fret, you can find me online. Bye! Nice meeting you!"

And then I was gone, speeding down the elevator and down the hallway and back into the hall where the ball was being held. Where my death awaited on a silver platter.

The lights had dimmed as I saw the president stand on stage, the spotlight directly on him. "Welcome to the 50th Ball for Kingdom's success! I hope everyone is having a splendid night!"

Guests cheered and responded happily. I was going to ruin everyone's night. Typical. I stood frozen at the door for the next ten minutes as the president went through his speech about Kingdom's beginning and history and success. Blah blah. I should've been terrified but it was as if I had shut off, like I knew my own doom was awaiting.

"And now, the event you've all been waiting for! The first ever public showcase of the Glass Heels designed by the number one designers in the fashion industry!"

The clapping amplified, the static atmosphere buzzing with excitement. Today was supposed to be a historical day for fashion. And I would've been living to see it. Now, both didn't seem like solid things that were going to happen.

"Can we have the Glass Heels, please?" the president asked in a charming, playful way. "Oh no, did someone forget them?" he joked.

He had no idea.

I spotted my manager across the room, looking me square in the eye with confusion and irritation. With two fingers, she beckoned me over as if saying "get over here and give him the shoes!". Too bad neither would happen.

I sighed, getting ready to admit to her I had no idea where they were. As much as I would've loved to rebelliously run away from this situation at all costs, life wasn't just a joke. If I was going to lose my career, I had to go salvage what I could. Maybe they'd fire me but they wouldn't destroy my whole career. Who knows?

My feet were heavy on the ground, but I began to move one slowly. One step at a time. It would all be okay. Partly, anyway.

A hand suddenly caught my elbow.

Oh no, someone had gotten to me first.

I slowly turned and to my surprise, it was Arthur. Despite his black and white mask, I could tell from the hair and dark clothes. I could only see his vibrant, blue eyes clearly.

In his hands was the red, velvet box.

I knew it right away that they were the shoes.

"Someone just brought this up to my room, thinking it was the cake," he breathlessly explained as if he had ran down here fast as possible. "Now, go! Tell me I did not just throw away two years of fear and anxiety just for you to get fired."

My heart began to beat faster than the world spun. A mixture of emotions enveloped my entire body: excitement, happiness, gratitude, relief. Tears flooded my eyes. I wasn't going to get fired! I jumped, tackling Arthur in a quick hug. I took the box quickly. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere, okay?"

He nodded.

I turned and began walking towards the stage in the most fastest yet calm way I could. As if I hadn't lost the shoes for nearly three hours. Shoes that cost more than anything I would ever own.

I ran up the stage and handed them to the president in all its glory. He gave me a look before plastering his smile back on and opening the display box, putting the Glass Heels on a marble stand where another spotlight hit it perfectly. The crowd oooh'ed and ahhh'ed, flashes going off everywhere as reporters got their first look at the shoes.

Sneakily, I slid off the stage like a snake, trying to stay away from the cameras. Once a couple of minutes and thousands of photos were taken, everyone dispersed. The president announced that it was time to dance and the music turned up as the night truly began.

I had to fight people to get through the hall. Bodies were everywhere, jumping or grooving to the beat. But there was only one person I wanted to see.

When I reached the doors where I had left Arthur, I felt a spike of sadness. He wasn't here. The doorway was empty. I walked closer, looking around. He had left. He had ditched me. Not that he had any obligation to stay for me. I just kind of hoped he would've stayed.

"Psst," a voice whispered. It came from the hallway.

I stuck my head out, looking out of the ballroom. Arthur stood in the corner as if trying to dissolve into the wallpaper. Confused, I headed closer to him.

"What're you doing?" I asked him.

"This is quite literally one of the first times I've left my room. I have no idea how to act. And to be honest, everything and everyone scares me," he admitted. "I thought I wouldn't feel alone if I saw people again. But I still feel alone and sad and scared. And I am spilling my guts out to you again. I don't even—"

"Hey, hey, shh," I said, looking at him. I couldn't see his entire face because he was masking it behind the half black, half white mask, but his eyes held plenty of emotions. "You're not alone. We're friends now, whether you like it or not. I'm proud of you for coming this far. Just for some stupid shoes, too."

"They saved your career. It was worth it."

I smiled. "You're not so bad."

He laughed a little. "I know."

"Okay, you can go back to your hermit crab shell now," I joked, rolling my eyes.

"Shut up," he responded, laughing again. He sobered. "It's weird to laugh again. So easily, too."

"Get used to it. Since we're acquaintanced now, that's going to be a regular," I told him, grinning. I ran a hand through my hair. "You want to go dance?"

His eyes squinted as he winced a bit. "Uh...."

"Or not," I said, retracting my offer. "Hey, baby steps. You'll probably need therapy anyway before you submit yourself into society or something. The fact is it's not going to be easy, but the most important thing is you started. And for that, you deserve a reward."

"And what's that?"

"Going back to your room, ordering another cake, and eating it with me. I'll give you my company as a gift for saving my life."

"Wow, thank you, I am blessed," he replied in a monotone voice. A few seconds later, he added, "Let's go."

I looped my arm with his as we walked back to the elevator. Tonight had been one of the most eventful nights of my life. The thrills were insane and I was ready to get my career torn into shreds. I certainly wasn't expecting to meet Arthur or make a friend. But, in the end, it was all okay. Everything was going to be fine.

Outside, the rain began to slow and then eventually stopped. The elevator dinged as the doors opened.

I looked over at Arthur, the hermit of a beautiful boy. "Hey, Arthur Gaston?"

He looked over, his big blue eyes confused. "Yes, Cindy?"

"Happy birthday."

I saw a trace of a smile from the side of the mask as we entered the elevator, ready to embark in a wonderful ending to a crazy day with the best thing in the world: cake.