Want.

Like so many girls growing up in a high-class society, Éclair always got whatever she asked for.

Unlike those girls, Éclair never really wanted any of it.

Even as a child, she thought herself as unworthy. The princesses her in storybooks had always struggled and gone through some sort of hardship before receiving their crown. Éclair was born into her role. No strings attached. A life of elegance and bliss was simply handed to her.
She was never scolded. Never disciplined. There were no 'rags' before her 'riches'.

It was just there for the taking.

And she was required to take it.

For a while, the young Tonnere would demand the most outrageous things, hoping that her requests would be denied. Horses, French acrobats, her own private ballet, mountains of chocolate, rooms filled with toys, and a priceless porcelain doll made in her likeness.

She got it all.

Then, at the age of thirteen, an unfamiliar word reached her ears.

"No."

The small girl had blinked. Once. Twice. Her large blue eyes stared at the unflinching figure of her grandmother, not comprehending. "What did you just say?" she had questioned with a quiet sort of coldness in her voice.

Thin lips set in a face carved out of stone began to move once more, forming a forbidden phrase.

"No. You don't need them."

It had echoed through the mansion for what seemed an eternity.
The letters bounced off of each other, occasionally hitting Éclair with edges like knives. She could almost feel the blood trickle down the soft flesh of her arm, marring the perfect skin.

For the first time in her life, she was denied something.

She had been furious. Tossing her golden hair indignantly, Éclair ran to the safety of her bedroom, securing her castle with a 'click' of the lock.

Yes, she was angry.
But it felt good, because… she felt.

When her parents had arrived from their outing, they had tried to bribe her out of the room with various promises, all to no avail. Only until the elder Madam Tonnere whispered something through the door, did the princess lower the drawbridge.

There, resting in her grandmother's frail hands was what she had asked – no, demanded – for.
A dainty pair of opera glasses.

Silently, Éclair took them, her slender fingers moving them slowly so that her face was reflected in the soft purple lenses.
It was a beautiful face. Perfectly sculpted. Flawless in every sense of the word.

She hated it.

It was lifeless.

Her anger had receded, leaving a blank canvas in its wake. The reds and blacks had been erased. But for a moment, they had been there. So Éclair clung to the glasses as her only shred of proof, that for a few minutes, she had been alive.

Three years later, the girl had found something new. Something she actually wanted. Truly needed.

This desire was a boy.

Handsome. Charming. Polite. He was a prince in every way.
He deserved his title.
She knew of his past, of his unwelcome birth. His mother in France. Their separation.

It had started as payment to the wonderful woman. A kind gesture that had stemmed from the dregs of love left in her heart. At least someone would get a fairytale ending. A "Happily Ever After".

When she met him, she didn't expect to want him. She didn't expect to feel. It overwhelmed her, stuffing itself into her mouth, her nose, her ears, her eyes. It was everywhere. And for once, the princess fought for it. She had never had to do that before, as there was usually nothing in her way. No dragon or witch.

This time, there was another girl. A commoner named Fujioka Haruhi.

She had taken Éclair's story and ripped it cleanly in two. It wasn't right! The prince never fell in love with the pauper! It wasn't supposed to be that way!

So the princess did everything she could to continue writing the correct ending. It would be a work of art. People would stand and applaud. Happily ever after…

As she and the prince rode away into the sunset, off to rule their kingdom, Éclair didn't feel the way she had anticipated. Every time she closed her eyes, Guilt would shove the picture of a pure, brave heroine right into her mind. Every time she glanced over at her prince, she could see a name forming on his lips.

Haruhi.

The pauper arrived heroically, altering the world of fairytales again. The heroine wasn't supposed to rescue the hero.

"Tamaki!" she shouted, reaching toward the prince. When he started to try and close the gap between their fingertips, Éclair panicked.

No, no, NO! Without thinking, she put a trembling hand on his arm in an attempt to stop him from leaving. His mother, her carefully planned-out story…

Then she saw the pauper's face.

Haruhi wanted him more than Éclair did. There she was, on a horse-drawn carriage in the middle of a freeway, with brown eyes that burned with love and determination.
She was every inch a storybook heroine. Pauper turned princess. She, like Tamaki, deserved her title.

She also deserved her prince.

For the first time in her life, Éclair Tonnere had wanted.

And she promptly let it go.