Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Anything you recognize is probably not mine.
When you were small, were you allowed to cry?
I was brought into the royal household at the age of six. I still remember every minute, every second of my tearful departure from home. My mother demanded that I stop crying, that I be strong, that I not bring shame to the family name. My father merely watched from the sidelines, face set in a stoic mask, but I swear that I saw a faint shimmering of tears in his eyes.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt this was wrong. Shouldn't it be the father who would gruffly tell me to keep my head high, to do him proud? Shouldn't it be the mother rambling effusively on with tears brimming in her eyes? That was what all the stories said...
"Farewell, Mother. Father." I say, polite as ever as I step into the limousine and settle into the plush interior.
The servant shuts the door and I swing my legs slightly before remembering I shouldn't and stilling them again.
Faintly, I feel this is wrong too. As the daughter, shouldn't I be entitled to a few tears? I was never going to see them again...
Suddenly gripped by this thought, I crane my head around to stare out of the tinted window, eyes just barely able to see through the tinted window. I was safe here. They couldn't see me here. I watch their faces, hungrily drinking in every detail. I hadn't really looked at their faces much before; I'd been instructed to look demurely down in respect whenever someone of a higher rank talked to me. This didn't happen often, given my pureblood background, but as soon as I arrived at the royal palace, things would be different. Very.
Had my father always looked this tired? Had those wrinkles always been etched in so deeply? And my mother... those white hairs. Had they always been there?
Prior to this, my parents had seemed like godlike figures to me; untouchable, like Zeus and Hera in one of the books I'd read.
Now, they seemed human. Fallible. Vulnerable, even.
I bite back a whimper of fear (for them, not myself), and blink the welling tears back fiercely. I would do them proud. I force myself to sit up, back ramrod straight like the tin soldier.
I am brave, I tell myself, I am steadfast. I will not break.
I was off to meet my prince now. The Prince Charming of my dreams.
This was no silver pumpkin carriage, and I was no Cinderella, but I was off to finally meet him.
I beam, happily dreaming up fantasies gleaming with splendour. We would be married, and I would get to wear a beautiful dress. He'd be handsome, and look at me with smiling eyes, and we'd both be in love. We would have children (I was not quite clear on the details as to how, but I knew that that was the proper thing to do), and they would all be little princes and princesses.
And I would be the Queen, and I would wear a tiara.
A fairy-tale ending.
It was beautiful, it was perfect. I had everything planned out.
Well.
Almosteverything.
There was one thing I hadn't counted in on my calculations.
The real world does not particularly like happy endings, does it?
A/N: New character! Hope she's not Mary-Sue… don't be afraid to immediately tell me if she's getting those tendencies. I assure you I am not trying to create one. God forbid.
Thank you to all my lovely reviewers. You are all beautiful and deserve much love (which you are definitely getting from me, believe me).
You guys motivate me to keep going. Thank you.
