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Cinderella In 2025
The year was 2025, and the world had gone completely bonkers. Flying cars were a thing, but mostly just for annoying influencers. Self-lacing shoes were a reality, but they always seemed to lace themselves while you were trying to have a romantic dinner. And dating apps had evolved into terrifyingly accurate AI matchmakers that basically chose your soulmate for you.
In the heart of this chaotic tech-topia, nestled amongst towering skyscrapers that shimmered with holographic advertisements, lived a young woman named Ella. Now, Ella wasn't your average millennial. She didn't have a curated Instagram feed showcasing her perfectly filtered avocado toast. She didn't even own a pair of those fancy noise-canceling headphones that everyone raved about. Ella, bless her soul, was stuck in a cubicle at MegaMart, the retail behemoth that had somehow managed to corner the market on everything from sentient toothbrushes to personalized cryogenic freezing pods.
Her days were a monotonous symphony of customer complaints ("My sentient toaster keeps trying to have existential conversations with my pet goldfish!"), software glitches ("The self-folding laundry machine seems to have developed a peculiar fondness for my underwear."), and the constant drone of her boss's robotic laughter. That boss, of course, was none other than the infamous Madame Maleficent, CEO of MegaMart and a woman who could make even the most hardened cyborg weep.
Madame Maleficent, a creature of pure, unadulterated ambition, had clawed her way to the top of the corporate ladder with a ruthlessness that would make a piranha blush. She'd backstabbed colleagues, sabotaged competitors, and even once accidentally unleashed a swarm of sentient shopping carts on the unsuspecting populace (a minor PR disaster, but ultimately a valuable marketing experience).
Ella, unfortunately, was caught in Madame Maleficent's crosshairs. She was treated less like an employee and more like a human-shaped stress ball. Her stepsisters, Britney and Kayleigh, were equally delightful. Britney, a walking advertisement for excessive plastic surgery and questionable fashion choices (think holographic miniskirts that changed color with every mood swing), constantly mocked Ella's "vintage" clothing ("Vintage? Darling, that jumpsuit is older than the internet!"). Kayleigh, meanwhile, was a social media influencer extraordinaire, her life a meticulously curated montage of exotic vacations, sponsored...
In the heart of this chaotic tech-topia, nestled amongst towering skyscrapers that shimmered with holographic advertisements, lived a young woman named Ella. Now, Ella wasn't your average millennial. She didn't have a curated Instagram feed showcasing her perfectly filtered avocado toast. She didn't even own a pair of those fancy noise-canceling headphones that everyone raved about. Ella, bless her soul, was stuck in a cubicle at MegaMart, the retail behemoth that had somehow managed to corner the market on everything from sentient toothbrushes to personalized cryogenic freezing pods.
Her days were a monotonous symphony of customer complaints ("My sentient toaster keeps trying to have existential conversations with my pet goldfish!"), software glitches ("The self-folding laundry machine seems to have developed a peculiar fondness for my underwear."), and the constant drone of her boss's robotic laughter. That boss, of course, was none other than the infamous Madame Maleficent, CEO of MegaMart and a woman who could make even the most hardened cyborg weep.
Madame Maleficent, a creature of pure, unadulterated ambition, had clawed her way to the top of the corporate ladder with a ruthlessness that would make a piranha blush. She'd backstabbed colleagues, sabotaged competitors, and even once accidentally unleashed a swarm of sentient shopping carts on the unsuspecting populace (a minor PR disaster, but ultimately a valuable marketing experience).
Ella, unfortunately, was caught in Madame Maleficent's crosshairs. She was treated less like an employee and more like a human-shaped stress ball. Her stepsisters, Britney and Kayleigh, were equally delightful. Britney, a walking advertisement for excessive plastic surgery and questionable fashion choices (think holographic miniskirts that changed color with every mood swing), constantly mocked Ella's "vintage" clothing ("Vintage? Darling, that jumpsuit is older than the internet!"). Kayleigh, meanwhile, was a social media influencer extraordinaire, her life a meticulously curated montage of exotic vacations, sponsored...
