Journal entries from a (Fashion) Princess
Marinette always knew she had two sisters. She also knew her a dad was a bit of slut, so she probably had more.
Phillipe, that was, her birthfather. Not Tom.
She had an older sister name Mia, who was almost thirteen-years-older than her. And she had a little sister named Olivia, who was just two years younger, at just twelve-years-old.
Each of the three girls had a different mother; born in different cities or countries, and had grown up mostly without each other. Mia and Oliva had met over a year ago, and immediately Olivia’s life had changed. She didn’t know if either knew about her but she was happy to know she had sisters.
Something Marinette wasn’t sure she wanted or was even ready for.
Her Papa, Phillipe, made it clear that whatever happened would be Marinette’s choice. There was no pressure.
However, that turned out to all be for naught when King Phillipe of Genovia is doing a conference on his go-green plans. Marinette had just gotten ready to go a party, her best friends: Chloe, Aurore, and Kagami were taking her too. When she stopped to watch the televised coverage. Then someone asks him about his daughter.
To which King Phillipe laughs, “Which one; I have three!”
Dead silence from the reporters.
It was a slip. Marinette knew it was a slip. But unfortunately, one little slip would have massive fallout.
Then a brave reporter asks, “Did you just say three?”
And was when Marinette knew her life was over.
“Yes,” The king nodded, his face a bit red, knowing all his daughters were planning regicide for different reasons. “I have three daughters. Mia, Oliva, and Marinette. Marinette is fourteen. She is beautiful and has my blue eyes. She lives with her mother in France. And if she is watching this, she is not happy right now.”
There were nervous laughs.
Within an hour, her picture was on the news. Turns out, there weren’t many fourteen-year-olds with named Marinette. Why couldn’t her parents name her Sarah or something?
And then it was official…
Marinette Madaeline Mignonette Dupain-Cheng-Renaldo was a princess. And everyone knew it.
Her parents assured her that everything would be fine. Marinette didn’t think so, not with the way her phone was blowing up. Most calls and texts were from people who hadn’t been her friends in over a year.
Security showed up before the paparazzi could. Her Papa showed up not long after, followed by three irate look females.
The oldest was a grey-haired, severe woman, Marinette knew from picture to be her Grandmere. A queen and a renowned snob.
Mia, a pretty fair skinned woman with high cheek bones and a soft smile on her face when she looked at Marinette was the ideal of look of what celebrities everywhere deemed effortless high-fashion.
Olivia, a brown-skinned girl with a lovely heart-shaped face and the same cheekbones of her sister, had the most beautiful hair Marinette had ever seen. It was all soft curls that seemed wild and tamed all at once. She wore a deep purple sundress and a hopeful expression on her face.
