Chapter 1

From the moment I was born, I was marked, unfit for anything but scorn and hate. My father has been away at war for three years when my mother gave birth to me, and the court whispered that I was, in fact, not of the king, that my mother had had me with another. I was born, pale and little boned, sniffling, unlike my sister, or, half sister, as I later learned, who was born a perfect little baby, with plump rosy cheeks and blue eyes. I was the daughter of the queen, but not the king. 

 

            I was born three months before I was expected, and my mother, exhausted and weak, sank back into her pillows. For a few moments, the servant thought she was sleeping. Then the physician announced that my mother had died in giving birth to me. They sent a messenger to inform the king of this unfortunate event. Odette was two years old then.

 

            We were forced to forfeit the war with Arcynias, and my father, the king, returned to his kingdom to grief for the loss of his wife and to take care of the children she had left behind. I think that all along, he knew I was not his, and that was why he never loved me, or even tried to pretend he did.

 

            So it was we grew up, the Princess Odette and the Lady Odile, much different from each other, and I realized it during my childhood years. It was then that my story started, and there shall I start my tale.

 

            There’s just so much I can’t do! I looked out the window, musing as I stared at Odette performing pirouette after pirouette. I envied her freedom. Father would never let me take ballet lessons!  Unconsciously, I pulled my shawl closer around my shoulders as my thoughts strayed to my father. What are you doing here, staring out the window, I scolded myself as I stood up and returned to my writing desk, You ought to be studying! And truth is, I ought to be. I shouldn’t be sitting there, doing nothing. If Father saw, he would say that he’s wasting money on my education, and it won’t be the first time I’ve heard those words. We sent Master Farthenwall, who taught me Corilonian, away last year, since he had taught me all he knew in the span of an year. Father refused to find me a master to teach me Aquenorean, since I already speak Erovian, Parynovian and a little bit of the fairy language. He had told me that languages were useless things and there was no way whatsoever he would spend a single coin more on me. He told me to learn my place and keep out of his sight.

 

           

I don’t see why Father hates me, really, but I’d gotten used to his harsh words and his generally cold demeanor. I am told that it is not entirely my fault that Father hates me. It is also because of my Mother, the deceased queen.

 

            I sighed, running my fingers across the old, leathery bound books stacked neatly near my writing desk. These were the books that documented the history of our country, Escanthya. They were in forms of poetry and rhyme, telling tales of the old kings and queens. All of these books I had read at least a thousand times, memorizing each and every sentence, each and every word. Often, I would be asked to recite poems at parties and weddings, and even though I was afraid of most of the court, I would do so, if only to try to impress my father. And yet he was never moved. He stared ahead with a bored expression, not even looking at me as I performed. It has been long since I gave up the impossible task of trying to please him.   

 

I gave up. I resigned to the fact that I can only hope that one day he might look at me fondly and retreated back to my own world of endless studying. I was fourteen years old then, and not stupid. I knew whoever's fault it was, my father wasn't going to start liking me any time soon.

 

"Odile!" Odette pranced in happily, her blonde curls bouncing across her shoulders as she danced around the room, humming, "Oh, the dance master is so wonderful! And the ballet! Oh! I think I shall die of happiness!"

 

I said nothing. Odette was well meaning, and she probably only wanted to express her joy and share it with me, but her words stung nevertheless.

 

"I think I may be able to dance this during that ball next week!" She went on, not noticing my silence as she twirled around, inspecting her bouncy white tutu.

 

"I bet you would be able to," I muttered as I straightened my skirts. One of the differences between Odette and I was the color of our wardrobes. Odette's gowns were nearly all white, and mine were nearly all black.

 

"Oh, it would be splendid, wouldn't it?" My half-sister cried dreamily as she grabbed my hands and pulled me up, dancing me around the room, "Just imagine! The splendid ballroom, wonderful music, people dancing! Oh! I'm so displeased that it doesn't occur today or tomorrow but next week!"

 

"Would it please you if it did occur tomorrow?" said a low, rumbling voice from the doorway. I jumped. It was Father.  Odette let go of my hands and flew to the doorway, laughing as she embraced him.

 

"Oh, yes indeed, it will please me greatly! But think of the guests. They will be displeased!" Odette laughed as Father smiled down at her warmly. I felt a pang of jealousy. Odette always got everything she wanted.

 

"But I will be displeased if my favorite daughter is," Father said, "And I am a king. They dare not displease me! So? Do you wish it, my dear?"

 

Odette clapped her hands, delighted. "Yes, I do!" She leapt up and threw her arms around me, squealing and giggling. "Can you imagine?" I pried her arms from my neck and told her to calm down. She grinned at me and then flitted back to Father again and threw her arms around him.

 

"Oh, thank you, thank you!"

 

Father said nothing, but smiled warmly at Odette and strode back out of the room, saying that he was going to "make the arrangements".

 

While I suppose I should be glad Father didn't see me and thus, did not scold me for my idle-ness, I didn't like the present situation one bit. Tomorrow was the ball, and I don't even know how to dance!               

   

           

Author's Note

Agh... Sorry if I made Odile sound whiney when I put the beginning part...

Reviews

[A. L. Allen]

This is really good. Odile and Odette remind me of Marianne and Elinor from "Sense and Sensibility", although in reverse. Even though Odile is two years younger than Odette, she seems to act much more mature than her half-sister.

Amazing job! Get the next chapter up soon!

[rae52]

no its amazing why do you doubt yourself so much
get it into your head
YOU ARE AWESOME