Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. cries
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Prologue
There is no such thing as a Cinderella story.
Sometimes I wish there were. Then maybe I could be Cinderella, and I would meet a charming, sweet, kind young man who loves me with every fiber of his being and thus live happily ever after.
Even if Cinderellas were real, I could never be one.
Why?
Cinderellas are supposed to be beautiful girls who are overworked but don't think anything about it. They're supposed to be sweet, kind, loving, and extremely optimistic. They are the epitome of what the ideal girl is. That is why they can get the most ideal guy in the world.
I'm nothing like that. Even I know I'm nothing like that. I'm not thin as a stick. My eyes aren't a "piercing emerald green." My hair isn't "ruby red falling down my back in soft waves." I'm not very sweet, I'm not overly kind, and I have to admit that I can get pretty pessimistic at times. I also know for a fact that I can get very selfish. If there was something that could ruin my reputation, I would do anything in my power to avoid it. If someone asked me to do something that could get me in trouble, I wouldn't do it. I always thought of myself. Well, not always. I do sometimes go out of my way to do things for people-little things, like sending something through owl post for someone, picking up someone's homework. Even so, those little things cannot really amount to all the things I don't do. I guess that kind of includes other people's feelings sometimes.
I'm not a perfect person. End of story. I am actually Hogwart's secret residential bookworm who tries to get by unnoticed. I hate talking to people. It takes so much energy to keep up a fake facade of cheeriness and kindness.
Did I mention that I'm a complete fake?
In public, I'm a happy, sweet, and thoughtful girl. I'm optimistic and bubbly and very loud. That description of my just makes my heart sink. I hate feeling so fake-so empty-but even I know that if this facade drops, I could kiss my social life goodbye.
Oh wait. What social life? Ha, I forgot that I didn't have one.
I have acquaintances and "homework buddies." I have a few friends that I hang out with sometimes. That's it, really. I don't have anyone I could really talk to about just anything.
Perhaps I don't let go of this mask I wear because I'm afraid. Of what? Even I don't know, really. Maybe I'm afraid that people would look down on me if I became silent and morose. Maybe I'm afraid that I'll be forgotten and just be another face in the crowd.
That kind of makes me a hypocrite, doesn't it? I want to go by unnoticed, yet I don't want to get lost in the crowd of students.
Maybe what I really want is just simple recognition that I exist and that I'm intelligent. Maybe what I really want is just to be loved.
Yes, that's it. I keep up the facade so maybe...maybe someone will somehow fall in love with me and whisk me away on a gleaming white horse to a kingdom far, far away.
But that will never happen. I'm no Cinderella, and there's no such person as Prince Charming.
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x Ten Years Ago x
"We are here to commemorate the death of Rosetta Evans..."
The pastor droned on and on. He just wouldn't stop. It was so emotionless, endless, and so...final. There is no other way to put it. Mum's never coming back.
Her face is so white and pale compared to what it was. She was so lively. So very lively to the point where she made me want to be lively. I could never imagine her dead. I still can't see her dead now.
Breathe, Mum. Please, start breathing. For me, Mummy? I promise I'll pick up after myself, Mum. I promise I won't pick fights with the other kids in the neighborhood, or eat my ice cream cone from the bottom up. I promise I won't chew at the ends of my hair. I promise I promise I promise.
I'm sorry I didn't go and take a walk with you outside last week. Is that why you left me? Because you were mad?
I'm sorry, Mummy.
Just please come back to me, Mummy. I need you.
You are everything to me.
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Dad met someone at Mum's funeral reception. Her name was Nicolette White. I will always remember the first time I saw her, just like how I would always remember my mother and the vibrant person she was.
Nicolette was dressed in black like everyone else, but she stood out. Her naturally blond hair was pulled up in an elegant French twist and her eyes were a brilliant blue color. Dad was captivated immediately. I could see it, and I was disgusted. That woman looked like she belonged at a cocktail party, not at a funeral reception.
She was beautiful, I'll give her that much. She was sympathetic, kind, and everything a grieving man could ask for. Dad was tied around her finger the moment he met her.
He sent me up to my room to change into something else, since my dress was muddy and filthy. I just couldn't stand it anymore, sitting in those uncomfortable folding chairs watching a pastor butcher my mother's memories with false words.
In short, I ran as far as my little stubby legs would take me.
Those short, stubby, little legs propelled me under a weeping willow on the far side of the cemetery where I plopped down and cried. I cried for the mother I lost, for the unfairness of life, for the words falling out of the pastor's mouth that dirtied my mother's life. I cried for everything.
It started raining after a while, but I didn't care. Even to this day, I find the rain soothing. The heavens were crying with me that day, and I guess knowing that angels were bewailing my mother's death made me feel better.
I remember hearing footsteps approach me after a while, but they weren't my father's. Dad had this distinct sound when he walked, and I could always pick it out from the crowd. No, this one was soft, almost timid. I could tell from the short, quick steps that whoever it was would probably be around my age.
"Hey," said the voice from behind me, "they're looking for you."
I looked up and did indeed see a bunch of people walking around calling my name. I didn't say anything and put my head down on top of my drawn up knees again.
"I don't care," I said, still not looking at the boy. He didn't say anything for a while. When Dad finally found me, he saw me on the ground, head buried in my knees, and the boy standing awkwardly behind me, not really knowing what to do or say.
"Thank you for staying with her," I remember my dad saying.
"It's nothing," was the boy's response. My father picked me up, dirt and all, and carried me back to the car to go home for the small reception we had set up earlier that morning. When I looked back to catch a glimpse of the boy who had stayed with me, all I saw were sad hazel eyes and a head full of messy, dark brown hair.
When we got home, I had changed into a dark green dress my mother had made me a month before for my birthday. Her favorite color was the green; it was the color of life and growth. It suited her well.
I saw Her when I came down the steps. She was talking to Dad, and he fell completely for her charms. I was upset at the sight, and hid behind the stair railings. They never noticed me. They were so lost in their conversation that I was but a mere forgotten memory.
I had never felt so betrayed in my life when my father looked my way and turned back to talk to her, not even acknowledging my presence. I had never been the same from then on. I had finally discovered what the feeling of hate truly was.
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Dad married Nicolette half a year later. She and her daughter, Petunia, moved into our house soon afterwards. They seemed so nice at first, especially Petunia, who was only two years older than me. We were almost like a real family then, and it felt nice to have a sister, I suppose.
Another funeral was held a year later, except instead of Mum lying motionless in the coffin, it was Dad. No one knew how he died; it was so sudden that no one expected it.
Except for me.
Dad was sick all the time after he married Nicolette. He'd throw up, have headaches and all that to the point where he just couldn't get out of bed. Sometimes he would get better after we took him to the hospital, but then he would get sick again once he came home.
I started pointing fingers at Nicolette. Dad was almost never sick before.
Nicolette always made this banana pudding that Dad loved. He loved bananas because he and Mum had met under the banana trees in Hawaii one summer. I, unfortunately, was allergic to them. This seems like a very trifling detail, but now, looking back, I could smack myself for not seeing it. Nicolette ALWAYS made the pudding, but she herself and Petunia never ate it-ever. I thought it was weird, but then again, I was allergic so I thought they were allergic too.
Life doesn't work that way though. I was too trusting.
The doctors at the hospital got suspicious of the whole ordeal. I mean, here was a man who had been healthy all his life, but he suddenly comes into the hospital at least twice a month. They ran every test they could think of, but they couldn't find out why he was like the way he was.
Finally, they ran a toxicity test on him, but it was too late. By the time the results came in from the lab, Dad was already dead. There was a high amount of arsenic in his body, and it could only take a cruel person with no conscience to poison him.
Nicolette White.
Arsenic was clear, odorless, and virtually undetectable. It was all in the banana pudding-and Dad always ate it. The doctors tried to press charges and get me out of her custody, but she was officially my stepmother and they couldn't prove it was her.
My dad died because he fell under a woman's charm.
He always swore he would never do that-have a woman manipulate him to the point where he was so narrow-minded that he was as small as a burrowed mole.
Ironic, isn't it?
Love is like suicide for the heart, and in this case, the body.
I swore then that I would never fall in love.
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A/N: Eh, I bit short, but it's a start! I'm fond of Lily/James stories, so I thought I'd try my hand at it. This is kind of like a cross between Ella Enchanted, the original Cinderella, and some other fairy tales. :) Please leave me a review. I would really like to know what exactly you think of this fic-whether it should be continued, rewritten so Lily isn't so sadistic, corrected (I'm trying to stay in canon), or explained better. Thanks!