A/N: This is my look at Edith. I know there are lots of stories like this on here and yes I have read them all so I hope I haven't ripped any of the ideas off unintentionally.
Hope you like it. Thank you for reading!
She trailed the shelves of her father library with her fingers. The books carefully placed on each shelf. She pulled one out, an old fairy story and she couldn't help but laugh bitterly. Her life was not like that of Pride and Prejudice, the fairy stories she had been read nor had it even had the love of a tragedy like Wuthering Heights or Romeo and Juliet. No she was not pretty enough to be considered a Juliet, one a man would cross her family for. Much like Branson for Sybil. Nor was she stubborn enough to be hated than loved like Elizabeth Bennet. Much like Matthew for Mary. She had been left asking her self why no one wanted to love her, to be nice to her. Yes, she knew she had her bad points. She had made mistakes. Hadn't everyone? Why must hers always be her only attribute?
First it was the fact that she got given piano lessons when Mary got singing and Sybil...well Sybil got whatever it was she had wanted. Was she Juliet? For that had felt like a dagger in her heart. She had been pushed into the shadows while Mary danced in the spotlight. She had been upset but concluded everyone loved the piano more, didn't they? Besides surely soon she would have her time to dance, wouldn't she? Then of course it had been more than that, Mary had always gotten invited along to the grown up parties and Sybil got the best presents. Everybody was always hearing about them but never her. Never her. She knew she was sounding whiny and always expected that once she had grown it wouldn't matter and she would find something her parents would love her for, whether it be a good home or even a talent. Somewhere though she noticed that her smile became less happy and her laugh less real but no one else noticed. No she would not compare her self to some silly fatal character but that had definitely felt like a dagger in her heart.
Then Patrick was cruelly taken...no he was never hers to have but of course she could dream. The way everyone would tut and look away when she spoke so lovingly of him, the way she was told off when Mary was the one being nasty, playing games. Mary would take this new dagger that was in her heart and twist it ever so slowly until one day Patrick had disappeared never to return. She had cried so many nights about him already and she wasn't sure she could face anymore and had decided not to think about it, let it be. She was ready to accept that and move on to maybe the hope that was why she couldn't find a husband because she was too caught on Patrick. No even that was a failed hope. When Mary had cruelly taken Anthony away from her she was sure her heart was broken in too many pieces that she had done her a favour. Anthony would never be able to take all the broken pieces and hold them so carefully they would never hurt again. Well it didn't matter if he could he was never given the chance to try.
She finally slammed the book shut refusing to torture her self anymore. Maybe after all I am Juliet for there is a greater tragedy in all of this, she thought. Not just her future but her past. Her family never understood her, never tried to and she knew they would never love her as much as Mary and Sybil. And she concluded rather massively to her self, that has, is and always will be the last dagger to my heart.