Hey guys (: This is my first Fanfiction story, and I'm pretty excited. Please please please read and review it-- I'd appreciate your thoughts so much. Umm. Yeah.
Basically, it's a rewrite of the Princess and the Pea. ;D enjoy!
Chapter One: There are no such things as Fairy Tales
I am a princess. I always knew so, though I was born and lived in, for all my life, a humble home with parents of a humble class. My mother was like most others: cleaned hard, cooked hard, and did what her heart consented—hardly. My father was once quite similar. He had been a shoe maker for all his life, though never quite succeeded at making two identical boots. The elves, whom my father's father had once done a great favor, decided to help him one night and made fifty pairs of shoes. Our neighbors were quite amazed: not only were the soles properly sewed on and the buckles accurately placed, the right and left shoe were, for the first time, tailored to fit a human being with same sized feet. Nonetheless, the shoes sold like hot potatoes and we prospered for a short two weeks until there were none to be sold. Again, my father attempted his trade, but all to fail. And so, again the elves came, this time making seventy five pairs of shoes. My father, giving solely himself the credit, angered the elves. When at last the batch of shoes had sold out a week later, so had the last of the elves' help.
Three months later, it was certain the elves would not come again. My father, now lazy, resorted to stealing the boots from a competitor's shop two kingdoms east. His money was hardly put to use for the whole family, but rather his liquor and new hobby. The past-time was rather expensive, for what it was worth. Simply a game of get-drunk-and-feel-cruddy-after-you-pass-out, and yet it quickly drank up our new income. A year later he was caught stealing and thrown into jail.
My mother never deserved any of the embarrassment my father had caused the family. He was released from jail fifteen years later and ran off with an inmate to a nearby kingdom. When the girl had left him for a younger lover he came back to my mother, who had been doing well by singing I will Survive by Diana Ross for some time now. Needless to say that when he begged for forgiveness on our front porch, she merely replied, "Go now, Go walk out the door; Just turn around 'cause you're not welcome anymore."
And then, you ask, what had she done in those fifteen, idle years? Eight months after my father was dragged away to the cold house, she had given birth to me. My mother loved me, more than my father ever would have been able to. He was, after all, in jail. She had always reassured to me that I was a princess, and I always believed so. After all, what kind of mother would lie to her daughter? That only happened in fairy tales, and the only fairy tale thing in my life was Prince Henry Otellis Tren Torville. I liked to call him Prince H.O.T.T. Mother disapproved.
It was the most appropriate name for the prince, as he was certainly the most gorgeous man I had ever laid my eyes on. He was also the most athletic, most well-rounded, and this year's most eligible bachelor, according to the various competitions held by the King and Queen of Devalon: his parents.
The other girls of my age and I giggled over him constantly, and anyone of the female gender who did not keep a poster or picture of him in their bedroom was immediately excluded from all social events such as dances and slumber parties. It was long heard that the King and Queen were looking for a suitable bride for Prince Ot (as he was known amongst the teenagers). We would dream of the wedding with romantic and dangerously wishful dreams, but we all knew that there was no chance. Prince Ot was only allowed to marry a princess, which was the obstacle that barred every single girl in my class from becoming is Queen. Except for me—after, I was a princess, was I not?