Once apon a time is how most fairy stories start, yet mine is not a story of magic, princesses and toads who are really handsome princes. Mine is about dark secrets of the world which are ment to be kept secrets.
My name is Esme Anne Cullen and my story started in 1895. I am ashamed to say that I do not know the exact date of my birth; I suppose that was considered unimportant for the likes of someone like me. My childhood was a happy one in Ohio; my parents were firm yet fond with me. I was an only child and lacked company of others. I was slightly more mature than the rest of the children I knew yet I played with them none the less. I never complained about my simple life but I knew that my heart and mind yearned for something more out of my life.
It was a hot summer when I was sixteen and one day, when the sun was high in the cloudless sky I wondered into the woods and had an urge to climb a large, luscious oak tree. A branch snapped beneath me and I tumbled to the ground. All I can remember of that event is lying on the forest floor and a man with blonde hair, a sweet smell and sparking skin leaning over me.
I never saw the man again, after my leg healed my parents set about finding me a husband. His name was Charles Evenson, a godly man who had a fair amount of money and a good estate. I remember first meeting him when he came over to our house when I was 22 years of age. He tried to charm me and he won over both my parents with his manner but I still thought of the sparkling man. His face was so beautiful and he had never even said a word to me, I had only met him once but the memory still remained with me. Once we had our meal my father sent me up to my room and that was when Charles asked him for my hand.
We were then wed two weeks after. The marriage was simple and only close family and friends were invited. In the evening we spent our first night together and after he had touched me and fallen asleep I remember crying, it hurt and I knew that I didn't and would never love him. However, I knew I wanted to make my parents proud.
Only after three days of our marriage, cracks begun to show. Charles came home from the gentleman's club one day, his breath smelling of beer, and he beat me for stupid things like serving him two sausages instead of three. That evening he touched me again, but the only passion was hatred. My body was bruised and scarred. After a month of his continuous beating I fled to my parent's house, however they were powerless and sent me back to him.
The only relief was when he was sent away to war, I was free and nursed my wounds. I began to ear more and at first I only thought I was putting on weight because of that reason but when it became clear I was pregnant; I didn't know what to think. I was joyful for weeks, I was finally going to have a baby of my own, a child which I could protect and care for. But then, when Charles returned and my joy ended. He told me that the blessing of a child was a cure. He spat upon me and whipped me with his belt from his trouser.
I left him the next day whilst he was sleeping, I packed my bags and fearing the life of my child, I moved.
I liked my new life; I grew rounder every day and found a job as a teacher. I loved looking after and teaching children and soon I hoped that I could teach my own, but it was not to be.
Three days after, my little son was born he was taken from me with lung infection. I watched him grow weaker everyday and I was helpless. And minutes after he had his last breath I jumped off a cliff, I wanted to put an end to my sadness and pain; an end to my story.
Yet it was only the end of the first chapter for the next days to come would be painful burning and then full of love and happiness.
So, in a way, my story was a fairy tale. For in the end I got my sparkling prince and beautiful children and I could have them for all eternity.