PRETTY, UNPRETTY

Chapter 1: 1923

"I lived in a different world than you do, Bella. My human world was a much simpler place. It was 1933. I was 18, and I was beautiful. My life was perfect."

– Rosalie (Eclipse, by Stephenie Meyer)

1923 – 8 Years Old

"Katarina, why is there a smudge on my floor?" Mother's voice, a constant promise of a lashing in it. I could see her shoes from here. The hem of her dark blue dress floated over the brown leather.

"My apologies, madam." Katarina's voice, quieted to hide the fury. She'd cleaned the floors three times that day. Three times my mother wasn't satisfied, and Katarina and I both knew who'd caused the smudge—but only she would be punished.

I saw Katarina's feet now. There was a hole separating the sole from the side. Her tanned skin showed through. Mother wouldn't waste money on servant's wages, so Katarina got the minimum amount for her work. I couldn't understand why she continued to improve only to receive the same wage. Whenever I worked with the same vigor she did, I always ended up disappointing Mother. So for now, for today, I had given up.

No. Not given up. I'd smudged her floor. I hadn't wanted to admit it, but I knew that I wanted Katarina to finally break, to confess that she knew it was me who'd smudged the floor.

But she wouldn't.

I heard Mother's heels click against the wood. Once the steps were far enough to be in the next room, I heard Katarina exhale. She bent down; so that I could see her knees touch the floor. With a sharp flap of a cloth, she hovered over the mud smudge I had made, and then pressed the cloth over it, wiping it away. Mother wouldn't notice if Katarina didn't clean the whole floor again. Mother was too busy in the kitchen by now, overseeing what tea was to be prepared, what food, and how soon it would be ready.

I would go unnoticed.

Or so I'd hoped.

The tablecloth was lifted and I scrambled backward, but it was no use. Katarina popped her head under the table and her eyes found me. And when she realized the state I was in, her eyebrows bent together grotesquely, her thick lips opened and scowled.

"Miss Rosalie!" She used both hands to lift the tablecloth out of the way, invading my space. "What have you done? Isn't enough that you muddied the floor—but you've muddied yourself! Is there no end to the trouble you case me?"

I put on my best 'I don't care' face. I refused to look at her. I crawled out from under the table. Katarina nervously ordered me not to accidentally touch the white cloth and pass on my dirtiness. As soon as I got to my foot, she grabbed my shoulders and knelt in front of me, scowling more than ever.

"I just gave you a bath this morning!" She scrunched her nose. "You smell awful. Were you playing with the boys again?"

"Of course," I told her, unashamed. "I always do."

"That Vera is a bad influence," Katarina decided. "I should tell your mother to forbid you from seeing her."

"Do that and I'll tell her about that black boy you met with last week," I warned. I pushed her away and headed for the stairs.

Katarina didn't say a thing. She had to keep her poor boyfriend a secret from Mother. Secret rendezvous in the stables were definitely something mother would punish her for. As a child, I couldn't imagine why a couple would meet in the stables, but Katarina had always confused me.

We hated each other equally. From the day she first started as a servant in my house, I found her way of speaking irritating. She was quiet and obedient when my parents spoke to her, but she was absolutely horrid when they were out of sight. She treated me like I was a sister she'd always hoped to strangle in my sleep. Some days her hatred was flattering, it meant I was very important.

Katarina stood. She had to give me another bath even if she hated the extra work. She couldn't let my mother see me like this. Katarina wasn't on my mother's good side all this week, and she was heading for a dock in pay.

I was only half way up when I heard the shrill, furious rumble of Mother's voice.

"Rosalie Lillian Hale!" Each syllable was said with disgust and shame, like my name was actually a bad rash or spewing puss that she didn't want to get near. "What have you done?"

My hair, my dress, my shoes, and blotches of my skin had been dyed brown. "I had a brawl in the mud."

Mother's eyes almost rolled into the back of her head. "I can see that. Let me amend my question to WHY have you done this?"

I shrugged. "It was fun."

Mother's finger flung forward, her eyes wide. "What was that? That action? Young ladies have better mannerisms than that. Try it again."

I restrained the urge to glare. I squarely faced her, one hand on the banister, and this time spoke without shrugging. "It was fun, Mother. I was having fun with my friends."

"A young lady doesn't have fun," Mother scolded, "except behind closed doors without mud. Read a book if you want to have fun. If that's too dull for you, perhaps you can be a maid for a day and then perhaps you'll see how fortunate you are to be a young lady."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Mother had already said this speech three times since I woke up, except this time she had a reason to say it. I had been asking for a scolding by coming home covered in mud.

Mother's anger faded. She approached the stairs, reaching over the banister to take my hand. Even covered in mud, she took my hand and held it tenderly.

"I know you're young and you don't understand yet," she spoke, her voice softened. Her dark hair was bound in a tight bun, her blue eyes like an ocean storm.

"Understand what?" I asked, pouting. "That girls shouldn't have fun?"

"Of course not, my sweet," she said with a short laugh, squeezing my small fingers. "Girls always want to have fun, it's human nature, but to hide that nature behind charm and manners and wit and grace, that"—she narrowed her eyes—"is what being a young lady is all about. That is everything a woman can hope to become."

"I want to be more than charming," I said with a sneer.

"Of course," Mother agreed, patting my head. "You also want to be graceful, polite, punctual, and never ever covered in mud."

I bowed my head. How little I cared about my Mother's ideals didn't matter to her. She only cared that I became a perfect doll.

"Rosalie," Mother said, her voice more serious and more worried now. "Listen to me."

I raised my head. Her eyes were sad.

"You were born into a life some can only dream of," she told me. "We may not be the wealthiest, but your father has worked hard to move us up in the world. We've achieved so much."

Mother wiped the mud from my hands and kissed my fingers. Her lips were warm and soft. It reminded me of when I was so little I tripped over myself so much because I was constantly growing…Hm, little? Maybe that was only a year ago? It felt like a like time ago. Mother was so much easier on me then. But maybe because that was when I asked her to braid my hair to get attention, rather than play in the rain and the dirty puddles to make her look at me.

"You are so beautiful, Rosalie," she whispered. "That is your greatest gift. You will be loved—but you must always show people that you are beautiful. Hiding it like this"—she gestured to my brown-stained hair—"isn't helping you. Rosalie, my sweet one, I promise you will be happy if you always work to look your best and act your best. Beauty will bring you happiness."

Mother kissed my hand again…then let me go. She turned to Katarina. "She needs a bath."

Katarina bowed her head quickly. "Right away, madam."

Mother swept out of the room without a second glance back at me. Katarina waved me up the stairs, careful that I didn't brush up against anything.

I became an obedient child, now that Mother had scolded me. I'd gotten the attention I'd wanted, so I'd be nice, be a little angel when attending Mother's party later that afternoon. The neighbours and guests would tell me I was pretty and charming, like they always did. That would make my parents happy. Father loved boasting about me when the little girls of his colleagues were mentioned.

Katarina worked hard to scrub all the mud off me. There was a slight look of horror on her face when she examined my dress. I'd worked hard to make her job miserable that day.

"Katarina?" I asked. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," she scolded. She rubbed soap into my hair, possibly trying to get it into my eyes. "You are one lucky brat, Miss Rosalie. Don't you ever forget it."

"Does being pretty make someone happy?" I asked.

"Your Mother said so." Katarina rubbed her arm against her nose, trying to itch it. Her hands were wet and soapy.

"You're fairly pretty," I admitted, scrunching my nose. "Though, your grace needs work."

Katarina laughed, loudly, and a blush touched her cheeks. "Fairly pretty? Miss, you have a talent. You have insulted me and complimented me at once. Still, I'll remember the compliment half."

"So, as someone who is…somewhat pretty—"

"Only somewhat now?" Katarina raised an eyebrow. "The compliment is lessening."

I continued, ignoring her interruption. "You must, at least, be somewhat happy. Yes?"

She shrugged. "Somewhat."

"What would make you happier?"

"Money, of course."

"Money?"

"Money always makes people happy. The wealthier, the easier your life is. So you're happy."

"So, what you're saying is, beauty and wealth are the keys to complete happiness?"

"Of course."

I considered this carefully. Rich people tended to smile more than servants, like Katarina. People smiled at Mother often too, and she was pretty. Perhaps there was truth to this theory, that beauty and wealth were the two halves that made up happiness.

Now, I wasn't stupid. I knew there were more than just pretty girls and handsome men to what made up the definition of 'beauty'. Beauty could be art, and that was why people bought art. Beauty was also poise and wit. That's why Mother told me to value those things.

"So if I am pretty and Father's work makes us wealthy," I wondered, cupping water in my hands. "That means I should be happy?"

Katarina laughed, almost choking. "You mean to tell me you're miserable? You're a fool, Miss Rosalie."

"No." I watched the water pour out the invisible cracks between my fingers, my cupped hands. "I am happy. I am…"

Katarina's body stilled. She frowned. "But?"

I tried again to cup the water. It was the same result.

"I feel as though I am missing something," I explained. "Not now, but in the future, when I grow up, will beauty and wealth really be so important? It feels as though I don't have enough of those things to last forever."

"That's why people don't live forever, Miss Rosalie," she answered. "Beauty and wealth run out."

I met her eyes. I believed her words. "And that is why they are valuable, why people seek them out. That is why they make people happy?"

She nodded. "But not to worry, Miss," she said, a small smirk playing at her lips, "the reason you don't feel you have enough now is because you are a child. You will grow and you will become more beautiful. I'm sure that will please you." She reached into the water and splashed at me. "Brat."

I laughed. "Good. Then if becoming prettier is happiness, then I'll be the prettiest there ever was."

Author's Note: Hey. So, Rosalie. I never felt she was explored enough in the books. She was always against Bella in the first three books, then when she's finally on Bella's side, the narrator is Jacob - so she's the enemy again! No fair for her!

Alice was always my favourite character, so I did a story about her, which I thought turned out fairly well. So, Rosalie, who is my least favourite Cullen clan member, next to Emmett, is the centre of this story. I'm going to try to convince everyone who reads this - even myself - that Rosalie is not the vain villain we think she is. Enjoy.