Rosy cheeks, a corset, and shiny metal

Rosy cheeks: act one

A lipstick held tightly in her grasp, smeared over her cheeks and small lips; before it clattered to the ground. She looked in her reflection, her own bright green eyes staring right back at her. Disappointed with her handiwork, she felt tears pierce her eyes, but she was nowhere near as much as a crybaby as her brother, so she only let them run down her face for a moment, red trickling down her neck, before wiping them away with the back of her pale hand.

A small towel, choked in the palm of her hand, ran under the warm water for a moment before pressing up to her face. She wiped away, getting as much of the makeup off of her as she could, before just staring at her own reflection again.

I need to figure out how to get Daddy's approval, she thought. She looked down at the bright pink wristband still situated on her wrist, that was given to her by that brat Charlotte. Elizabeth didn't care for nicknames, much like her father, because she had to be as much like him as possible, because if they were the same, maybe he'd care, seeing him in her, and she felt Charlotte didn't deserve one.

She didn't think Micheal or Evan-terrance deserved nicknames either. She was the only one who was ever called a nickname by her father, Beth, he had called her once. Beth. He had called her Beth. She knew that this was special between him and her, that only he called her any nicknames, and that she was the only one who was ever called a nickname.

And stupid, dumb, n̶i̶c̶e̶, a̶l̶t̶r̶u̶i̶s̶t̶i̶c̶, bratty little Charlotte had never been called a nickname, because she wasn't special enough. Not special like Elizabeth was.

But for some reason, a reason that Elizabeth, calling herself "Beth" in her mind, never, never understood, Charlotte was still so nice to her, and she hated her for it even more. Why can't she be angry like me, Elizabeth constantly thought, and she was so jealous of that little three year old. She hated stupid Charlotte Emily.

Why was she so nice to her? It didn't make sense, if she's so nice to me, why am I so mean, she's too good, if I treat her how daddy treats me, and she's still so nice then why do I have to suffer, why do I have to do this, why am I like this, maybe, maybe daddy, maybe he likes.. Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock at the thought; what if her daddy, her daddy, liked stupid bratty Charlotte more than Elizabeth?

But Daddy never called her any nicknames, right? So obviously, he loves me– but then, Elizabeth Afton realized something. Nobody heard Daddy call me "Beth", maybe, maybe I just didn't hear Daddy call Charlotte charlie– her mind wandered further and further, and soon enough, she felt her little hands ball up, and she raised her fist.

Just as soon as she raised it though, she put it down. Because that's what Micheal did. He punched and he balled up his fists and hit the walls and things until his knuckles bled. And Elizabeth was much better than good-for-nothing Micheal. She was much more special, she was much more prized, Daddy liked her so much more because Micheal was good for nothing, Micheal was stupid, Micheal hated Daddy, or at least he acted like it sometimes, and to Elizabeth, hating William Afton is the worst crime in the world.

She stepped down from the stool in front of the sink. Tomorrow was Evan-terrance's birthday, that stupid crybaby, and she knew Micheal would make it terrible for him. Obviously, she wouldn't pay any mind to her useless brothers, as that's all they were, useless and stupid and Daddy's least prized possessions.

Honestly, she didn't even notice she was in her room now, she guessed she had walked out while thinking. She sat down next to her little project. Micheal had ripped the foxy head off of one of Evan-terrance's foxy plushies, and Elizabeth had found it. She'd also found small scraps that were thrown out by her father outside, and she had gotten to work.

A pink and white colored foxy, which she thought was a much better color scheme for foxy. Foxy wasn't good enough for Daddy's second favorite color, (since Micheal had basically claimed him as his personal mascot, despite him only being a stupid cartoon) she thought. She was fixing it, making it good. That's what daddy did, he fixed things. She was just like her Daddy, in this instance.

Elizabeth glanced at the analog clock on her bedside table. 10:32 PM it read, and Elizabeth sighed a bit. If her Daddy hadn't come back yet, he might not be home until like, 7am. She yawned, deciding she might as well get ready for bed. She'd already eaten some of the leftover pizza and brushed her teeth before deciding to paint her face.

Why did she paint her face in the first place? Well, when she had snuck down to Daddy's workshop in the basement, and she did not think about the cold slap against her cheek, leaving it more rosy and a bit bruised, she had seen some designs for a clown robot, and she saw the label with something along the lines of "Greatest Creation Yet", (she already excelled at reading, even if she was only in kindergarten) and she knew, she saw that Daddy adored it just from that.

Maybe, if she looked like his greatest creation, he would care.

Obviously, she had realized how stupid she looked, so she washed it off and saved herself from embarrassment, but that was her reasoning. And as she thought of this, she was already changed into her nightgown, and then, she heard the sound of the front door opening. She grinned, opening back up the door giddily and racing towards the front door, standing just a few feet away.

And there he was, the greatest man in the world, her daddy. Her favorite person, (and in her opinion, the best person) who was clearly amazing in so many ways. She almost started with an excited "Hi Daddy! I missed you!", but she figured that wouldn't elicit the response she'd want from that, so she instead went with a different approach. "Hello, Daddy." she said, trying to sound as polite and elegant as humanly possible.

She could've sworn she heard him laugh under his breath, but instead he just crouched down a bit. "Hello, Elizabeth. You should be in bed, you know that right?" he sternly remarked, putting his fingers through the back of her hair. She looked down. "Make eye-contact when you're speaking to someone, Elizabeth. You're an Afton." he said, tilting up her head with his thumb. "Yes, Daddy," she started, before waiting for him to continue.

He looked expectantly with his cold, gray eyes. "There is actually a favor you could do for me, Elizabeth." he said, putting one of his hands on her little shoulder. She nodded, clearly accepting of the idea of doing something for her father. "Well, it's more so a secret, you know.." he trailed off, before continuing.

A secret? With her? And of course, Elizabeth was absolutely enamored with this idea, of a secret. Between Elizabeth and William Afton. "Charlotte hasn't been good, you know." he started, which Elizabeth silently agreed with, before going up and down on her toes, wanting to know the rest.

"Tomorrow, on Evan-terrance's birthday, if it's raining out–which I can assure you, it will be– push her outside in the cold, yes? Don't tell Uncle Hen of course though." he said, whispering this info into Elizabeth's little ear. She gasped a bit, as this was basically direct confirmation that her Daddy didn't like Charlotte, and that made her so, so happy. "Oh, and, remember, put some boxes on top of that stupid security puppet's box, it'll want to stop you." he said, clearly annoyed with the thing. She nodded, taking in all this information.

"Don't tell, Elizabeth. This is just between us."

Elizabeth quietly nodded again, before her father stood up, cracking his back. "Go to sleep now, Elizabeth." he said, shooing her off into her room. She trotted into her room, pretty happily. Her daddy had shared a secret between them, and not with Elizabeth's stupid bastard brothers, because Evan-terrance and Micheal were bloody (Elizabeth was trying her darndest to speak like her Daddy did, too) useless in their own rights.

She curled up under her pink blankets, her cheeks just as rosy as her blankets themselves.