Once upon a rewrite

Cinderella?

        Long long ago, my older sister Lin and I lost our father to a jousting accident. Unfortunately for both of us, we took after our father in looks. Our jaws lines were too strong, eyes too close together with nothing about us, making either one attractive. Our mother always tried to make Rina and her sister believe that they were beautiful like her. Still, one look at our mother's olive skin, shiny black hair, and sweet smile, it could be seen that our mother was a class all of her own.

When I turned 10, Mother glared down at me. If I could never be beautiful, I would at least be well trained in the fine arts, from painting to dance. I never took to it like Lin. Lin was a capable painter, musician, and dancer. In contrast to me, the only thing I ever seemed to pick up was Sewing and math. Nothing ever seemed to go well for me until.

"Children, meet your new father." Her mother said the man was tall and had a handsome face. Hidden behind him was a young girl. Her hair was a pale blond color close to the kind when wheat was ready to be plucked. Her face was pale, but unlike my splotchy red skin, hers seemed smooth and only had rosiness where it was needed. This girl was beautiful, and I was a beast next to her. All could see it from the way that she smiled to how she hid behind her father. The girl's name was Cinderella, and much like how we had lost our father, she had lost her mother the year before. Still, unlike us, she was no longer crying. Her heart was no longer bitter and broken, and at that moment, I decided I hated her. Why should she be Happy and Beautiful?

No matter how I felt about Cinderella, she was still my step-sister. Being malicious to her would do nothing but cause strife between our families. So I put up with her when she begged me to play dolls. I let her come into town with us. When she asked me to tutor her, I did. Every day she came up and begged me for help with something or another, and I gave it to her because acting evil would only end up with me being kicked out of my home? Or worse yet, marry off at an auction with no dowry to give no I would rather play nice than be on the streets. That is how life went for us until her father went to the docks and never returned. Her father had always had a sweet spot for his daughter. Paying little mind to my sister or I. When he passed, the only people who had cared were mother and little Cinderella.

Cinderella was not a little girl anymore; her hair was draped down long past her waist when not braided into a fancy knot tied upon her head. Her chubby face had morphed into a heart shape. Her childish tendency to hid behind her father had changed into a love of people. No, Cinderella was all things I was not beautiful sweet, and loved. Cinderella only cried for 3 months after her father died, going right back to her cheerful face.

At first, I had thought it an act Cinderella had always been a weak-willed girl but here she was smiling at the animals and not a tear in sight. Mother had quickly overspent our money. It was not something I had noticed at 1o. How the house had changed from four-course meals to only 1 with primarily vegetables. I also hadn't seen how the dresses changed from embroidered masterpieces sewn by the best of the best from the town square to something slapped together from what we already had. No, I noticed this time as the maids were one by one let go, and we started having to cook and clean ourselves. Cinderella was 15 when we got an invitation to the royal ball.

Mother's face was happy for the first time in almost 2 years. Her excitement when she read that all eligible aristocrats would be attending from 16- 25 so that the prince could find a bride but more importantly, we could find a husband. After that, we worked day and night on our dresses, all but little Cinderella who was too young to go. I saw her sighs, and despite the seed of hatred planted at a young age, I still wished for her to leave the house as soon as she could. My sister and I, despite being 20 and 22, had never received even one marriage proposal. The longer we sat on the market, the worse our chances would be. We weren't getting any prettier, and we currently weren't getting any richer. If anything, we were losing whatever dowry we had left day by day.