"You're always reading princess stories, aren't you?"
Avianna remembered one time when she was around seven or so and one of her year mates asked her that one day. His name was Henry and he was new, and hadn't been scared off by Dudley to stay away from the freak. It's the only thing she could clearly remember about that day—well the only good thing; broken ribs curtesy of Vernon were always memorable.
Avianna would read this one book so often the pages would be dog-eared, the binding broken. She loved the princesses who wore worn-out clothes all the time and had bad luck, it reminded her of herself. Unwanted. Orphaned. A burden. At the end, these girls who started out so pitifully had become more beautiful than anyone, and loved the most by all.
Living happily with their prince.
It was a nice thought.
Yes, those were her favorite stories.
Avianna often suspected that someday she wanted to become like those princesses in those books. She wanted that kind of life. A happy one, the kind where a magic fairy would wave around a wand and turn her life around. But magic wasn't real- the Dursleys' always drilled into her head.
A small part of Avianna was probably still waiting for that childish dream to come true. It was a nice thought, definite a captivating one. Everyone wishes to be swept off their feet, wants their problems to disappear. That never happened.
Avianna guessed herself to be too unloveable for any storybook character to come and take care of her—fix her. She couldn't wait around crying. Avianna needed to learn how to stand up and be strong by herself, because not everyone gets lucky enough to have a fairy godmother.
After all, she was never good enough to be saved. She was a freak, an outcast of society who had a drunk of a father and a whore of a mother. At least that's what Aunt Petunia told her about them.
She would get a hard smack if she asked too many questions about them.
Instead of wishing, Avianna prayed to whatever God was listening.
Her future was coming and he was dressed impeccably in black.
