A/N: I seem to be doing a series of villainesses lately. I suppose I should be working on my chapter stories instead. Oh well.
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They called me the evil stepmother, and, oh, how I hated that. No, hated is too soft a word for the emotion it fills me with today. I despise it. I loathe it. I abhor it. I abhor her. That blasted girl.
She took everything away from me, you know. Everything I had fought for. Everything I had worked for. Everything. She stole it all away in her selfishness.
Oh, but of course I was the selfish one. She became their darling princess. They never saw her as she truly was. They never saw her as the peasant girl dressed in rags, covered in ashes and mud. Cinder girl became an endearingly false pet name for her, rather than the true insult it was.
Then, she disgraced me. That good-for-nothing, ungrateful slut stabbed me in the back and left me to a life of disgrace. She ran off happily with that foolish boy, leaving me in the filth without any consideration.
It was not my fault. None of it was. It was not my fault that she was below me, nor was it my fault that she did not deserve the luxuries I had at my disposal. It was not my fault that I hated her. It was not my fault that she was fatherless.
He lied to me, you know. I doubt that part of the story was ever told. Some would argue he never lied, but he did. He did, and it ruined my life. When we were engaged he never, not once, mentioned a daughter to me. Then, I arrive at my new home, the place where I plan on living in contentment with my new husband and my beloved daughters, and there I find out that I do not own his heart. His precocious little brat had stolen it away from him long before I got there.
See? How can that be my fault?
Still.
I cannot claim I am innocent. I never truly have been. Maybe when I was a very young girl, before my mother knew I existed. She robbed me of that innocence, bit by bit, without the mercy of tearing it all away in one felling blow. A cunning comment her, a manipulative remark there, and soon I was just as bitter and disillusioned as she was.
Maybe it is my fault. I was supposed to be her mother when her father was gone. I was supposed to comfort her, support her, treat her as one of my own. I was supposed to be the mother to her that I never had.
But, she was not one of my own. And, I did not know how to be her mother.
I barely even know how to be a mother to my own girls.
I suppose I did not have to be as harsh as I was. However, I was hurt as well. I have never been a selfless enough woman to look past my needs and take care of someone else. I see no reason to. A woman is only remembered for her misdeeds anyway.
I might as well make a strong impression.
A/N: Well, what do you think? I know it is dreadfully short. Review, if you would.
