Introduction
From the day she was born, Fleur had been beautiful. She was a star, a rose, an angel, a butterfly, a perfect picture. No one had been surprised; Max Delacour's mother had been a veela, and her mother, Rebecca was beautiful also. She was born, as they say, "with a silver spoon in her mouth." The Delacour family had been rich as long as anyone could remember; though no one knew, not even the Delacour's themselves, where this wealth came from. The Delacour family lived in luxury, they had a mansion in Paris, a beach house in Marseilles, and a winter home down in Italy. They had dozens of servants, and many house-elves. Fleur had it made, she could have anything she wanted without ever lifting a finger.
However, there was one thing she wanted, since she was three years old, that she could never have.
Happiness.
Sure, she could pretend she was happy. She could put a smile on her face and pretend that everything was all right. Her mother had taught her to smile for the camera, to smile for the press, and to smile for the public, even if she didn't really feel like smiling. She taught Fleur to hide her tears, and to keep her feelings buried inside. Locked up, where no one could see them.
Fleur was beautiful. Relatives who came to visit pinched her cheeks and told her she was the most beautiful little girl in Paris. The hair-dresser would sigh wistfully, saying how she wished she had her hair. Everyone loved Fleur; she was indeed beautiful. One could not help but adore her, one could not help but notice her beauty.
Especially her father.
Starting when she was just two, every night, when it was dark, and everyone was asleep, Max would come into his daughter's room. He would touch her. He would kiss her. He would do things no father should ever do to a daughter. In the beginning, Fleur would cry out. After a few months, she started to bear her agony in silence. Her mother said that a Delacour must never let the world see their feelings. They had to remain buried deep inside.
So there it remained. The pain she felt which was never expressed.
If you looked at her, you could never tell how sad and pained she was. You would think that she was a happy-go-lucky little three year old, without a worry in the world. Only if you looked deep into her bright blue eyes, for a moment, you could see beyond the smile and the cheerfulness. For one moment, there would be a flash of pain in her eyes. But as quickly as it had appeared, it would disappear, and you would wonder if you had imagined it. And naturally, you would decide that you had imagined it, because how could someone who has everything be in pain.
Beauty and wealth. Two things everyone wants. Two things Fleur Delacour always had. She had everything. She was the most obvious target for jealousy. Girls often wished that they were like Fleur Delacour. That they had what she had.
For eight years, life went on for Fleur as it had since she was two years old. The same agony every night. Eight long years. Every night, the pain and agony, every day, smiles and joy. This hiding couldn't last forever. She was bound to break someday. But when?
A/N - please review!!! pretty please!
From the day she was born, Fleur had been beautiful. She was a star, a rose, an angel, a butterfly, a perfect picture. No one had been surprised; Max Delacour's mother had been a veela, and her mother, Rebecca was beautiful also. She was born, as they say, "with a silver spoon in her mouth." The Delacour family had been rich as long as anyone could remember; though no one knew, not even the Delacour's themselves, where this wealth came from. The Delacour family lived in luxury, they had a mansion in Paris, a beach house in Marseilles, and a winter home down in Italy. They had dozens of servants, and many house-elves. Fleur had it made, she could have anything she wanted without ever lifting a finger.
However, there was one thing she wanted, since she was three years old, that she could never have.
Happiness.
Sure, she could pretend she was happy. She could put a smile on her face and pretend that everything was all right. Her mother had taught her to smile for the camera, to smile for the press, and to smile for the public, even if she didn't really feel like smiling. She taught Fleur to hide her tears, and to keep her feelings buried inside. Locked up, where no one could see them.
Fleur was beautiful. Relatives who came to visit pinched her cheeks and told her she was the most beautiful little girl in Paris. The hair-dresser would sigh wistfully, saying how she wished she had her hair. Everyone loved Fleur; she was indeed beautiful. One could not help but adore her, one could not help but notice her beauty.
Especially her father.
Starting when she was just two, every night, when it was dark, and everyone was asleep, Max would come into his daughter's room. He would touch her. He would kiss her. He would do things no father should ever do to a daughter. In the beginning, Fleur would cry out. After a few months, she started to bear her agony in silence. Her mother said that a Delacour must never let the world see their feelings. They had to remain buried deep inside.
So there it remained. The pain she felt which was never expressed.
If you looked at her, you could never tell how sad and pained she was. You would think that she was a happy-go-lucky little three year old, without a worry in the world. Only if you looked deep into her bright blue eyes, for a moment, you could see beyond the smile and the cheerfulness. For one moment, there would be a flash of pain in her eyes. But as quickly as it had appeared, it would disappear, and you would wonder if you had imagined it. And naturally, you would decide that you had imagined it, because how could someone who has everything be in pain.
Beauty and wealth. Two things everyone wants. Two things Fleur Delacour always had. She had everything. She was the most obvious target for jealousy. Girls often wished that they were like Fleur Delacour. That they had what she had.
For eight years, life went on for Fleur as it had since she was two years old. The same agony every night. Eight long years. Every night, the pain and agony, every day, smiles and joy. This hiding couldn't last forever. She was bound to break someday. But when?
A/N - please review!!! pretty please!