Careful
Summary:
She was everything her parents had wanted her to be. She did as she was supposed to because, in her tiny child's mind, she had worked something out: if she was 'good', her parents would spend time with her and she would be happy; if she was 'bad', she would be scolded by the nurse maid and she would be sad. It was simple enough. However, once the little girl grew up, things weren't so simple anymore.
A/N:
This Fanfic is based around chapter one of my Fanfic Brand New Eyes. So it's a prequel, a sequel and everything in between.
1: The Little Darling Girl
When she was born, they felt sure that she would be everything they wanted. She was the perfect weight; she was born on her due date: everything was going right. They were sure that this baby could fulfil all of their desires and achieve all of their aspirations.
The second they saw her face, they felt certain that she was everything they'd planned for a more. They were what you could call social climbers: they spent all their lives perfecting their appearances and thinking carefully about what they said, because they wanted to be invited to all the big parties; they wanted to be the centre of the innermost circle of aristocracy.
So a baby, of course, was essential. A girl was even better, because, though everybody melted at the sight of any small child, little girls were even cuter. And their baby was by far the cutest they had ever seen: she had round, pink cheeks; big, unusually blue eyes; and a single curl of golden hair on top of her head.
They named her Rosalie, because her tiny lips were the colour of the red roses in their garden, and because that name had the perfect amount of refinement, with just a touch of sexy. Because, even though their daughter was barely born, they knew she had to be sexy, because she had to marry a rich man from a respectable family. And, in the world they spent their time living in, a name was everything. Not just her surname, which was quite special: Rosalie had been born into the Hale family, who were well known in the area, because her father was very, very nearly the head of the bank. They also happened to be rolling in riches that they had inherited from her mother's Aunty Geraldine; riches that they planned to spend on pretty dresses and shoes and hair ribbons for Rosalie, because no little blonde baby was complete without beautiful clothes.
So, just days after Rosalie had been born, she was left alone in her parents' big manor house with the nurse maid caring for her, whilst her mother went out shopping and her father went to work. After all, he couldn't afford to miss a single day: he was very, very nearly the head of the bank, as he kept telling everyone.
It wouldn't unfair to say that Rosalie wasn't cared for. She was looked after, of course; she was fed and washed and dressed and tucked up in bed. She had no physical wants; that was for certain. However, emotionally, Rosalie was the most neglected little girl in the entire town. Her father never visited her in the vast nursery; her mother only visited once a day for about half an hour, maximum. And the nurse maid who looked after her, well, she wasn't exactly the nicest woman around. In fact, she was formidable and strict: she wore her thin, stringy black hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, and there were wrinkles beside her eyes and lips from years of glaring.
If little Rosalie cried, she would stuff a bottle in her mouth or change her nappy. She barely ever held the tiny baby, and, to anyone watching on, it would seem that the nurse maid despised her job and all children even more. That wasn't the case: Mildred, for that was her name, had merely hardened into a bitter woman after losing her whole family – which consisted of one loving husband; one set of young, bubbly twins; one little blonde five year old daughter; and one seven year old black haired boy – in a fire.
So it wasn't that she disliked children; it was just that she couldn't bear to let herself love them.
Rosalie's first party was two days after her first birthday. Her parents had Mildred comb the little girl's hair, which had grown almost to her shoulders in gorgeous waves, and tie it into two plaits with blue ribbons to match her eyes. Then, they had 'the little darling girl' (for that was what she had come to be known as) dressed up in her best dress, which was white with a delicate blue floral pattern all across it. On her feet they placed shiny blue shoes, and Rosalie was ready to be used as a conversation starter.
She was everything her parents had wanted her to be, and they couldn't stop beaming. She spoke the few words that she knew ('hello', 'please', 'thank you' and 'goodbye') at all the most appropriate moments, and she soon had every respectable man and woman at the party gushing over her. Rosalie couldn't walk yet, but she knew how to shake hands and which food utensil should be used when. She picked up names quickly, and her gaze never wandered around the room like she bored, which she most certainly was.
She did as she was supposed to because, in her tiny child's mind, she had worked something out: if she was 'good', her parents would spend time with her and they would smile and they would talk to her and she would be happy; if she was 'bad', she would be scolded by the nurse maid and put to bed early and she would be sad. It was simple enough.
However, once the little girl grew up, things weren't so simple anymore.