Emily ◇ Cinderella

Chapter 1

Emily's POV 

Ella and I are staying with the maids today. We're just trying to pass the time until Papa comes home. We hope he is safe, after all, he is our Papa, and our love for him should never be in doubt. Ella, my sister, is a whole 2 years younger than me, and gets a lot of attention. 

She's blonde with blue eyes like the sky, and rose red lips and perfect skin. A slim, slightly curvy figure, and the air of kindness and compassion. Her eyes always remained bright and happy, the huge doe shape twinkling in the sunlight and providing happiness to all those who gazed into them. She was so beautiful; pleasant to look at, as the villagers would say when we walked by. 

And I, well, I'm the total opposite. With pale skin and dark hair, dark eyes that can't decide if they want to be green or brown, dark pink lips and a slightly annoyingly curvy figure. I was never the one they whispered about on the streets, unless it was to comment on how "unruly" I was in comparison to my sister. Where her eyes would sparkle with oblivious and untainted happiness, mine glistened with mysterious education, facts and figures randomly stored in the back of my mind. I was calculated where my sister was spontaneous, careful where she was reckless. The only trait we undoubtedly share is our kindness and forgiveness.

Mamma always told us to have courage and be kind; she made us promise, as she lay dying, to remain gentle and valiant, to live life with the utmost of positivity. I fully intend to keep to my word. 

I'm waiting at my piano, awaiting my new piece to be brought to me all the way from France, while Ella and Mamma are reading in the drawing room. Another opposite; Ella liked to socialize, I liked to be alone, especially if it meant I could teach myself all kinds of different information you'd only be told by great philosophers and ancient professors. I sigh, turning back to my piano.

Ella is definitely the favourite child. She gets more attention, love, gifts, even the looks of strangers. When I was younger, I was oblivious to such inequalities; now they are everything I see. A day doesn't pass where I do not feel inferior to her, however unintentionally that feeling may occur. 

I hear the hooves of horses and immediately understand that my father had returned home. I ran to the door, although I clearly wasn't the only one thinking to do so. Ella got out before me, and of course, was whisked up into my father's arms. As he set her down onto the garden piece, before pulling his hand out from his back, presenting a box to Ella. Ella squealed and father undid the clasp holding the box together.

A paper butterfly popped out on a piece of wire, and Ella gasped. "Oh it's beautiful!" She said in awe. Her fingers fluttered gently over its painted wings, staring at the kaleidoscopic colours. 

"Now in French, this is called 'papillion.'" Said Papa, patiently meeting her eyes to suggest she say it aloud. Papa had been teaching Ella French, where Mummy had been teaching me to play the piano. I didn't like languages much, too many complex words that would fit into one sentence but not in another. 

"Papillion." Ella copied. Papa replied in French, before holding his hand out to a giggling Ella.

"Care for a dance, mi'lady?" He asked. She clearly agreed because not a moment later her feet were on his and he was dancing around the courtyard. My mother and I were just standing in the doorway, watching. When Papa and Ella reached the door, he finally saw me.

"Emily!" He said to me holding his arms out before him. I forced a smile, bitterly recognizing that I was merely the second daughter, the second priority, unimportant. 

"Welcome home Papa." I said walking into his arms. When Papa went on trips for business, he would always come back with something he knew we would love. I had told him I wanted a music piece, although I didn't mind which, while Ella requested a new toy.