Cinderella is whirling like a dervish on the dancefloor as midnight approaches, her cheeks ablaze, her heart afire, her loins asmouldering. Her beautiful slippers are becoming loose as the glass expands in the ardent heat of dancing toes and scalding passion. The clock strikes! One last scintillating glance at the prince and she must run, run swiftly. Her shoes are sparking on the marble floor, they are white-hot and getting larger with every step. One falls off. It is too late to turn back and pick it up. She feels the lace of her gown crumbling into rags.
Holy smoke," says the Fairy Godmother to the last remaining footman before he turns back into a lizard. "I should have used borosilicate glass. It has a much lower coefficient of thermal expansion