The "Princess" and The Pirate

Chapter One: Playing the Princess

Eliza Brooke was brunette, her hair flowing and soft with gentle curls if washed and brushed properly. She had bright hazel eyes that could light up a room if filled with happiness and joy. She had beautiful porcelain skin that, if washed and tended to as it should have been, would seem as fragile as glass. Her almost petite yet strong frame would curve perfectly in dresses, complimenting any color or shape. If she lived properly. If she was tended to and fed properly.

But she wasn't.

Her mother had died when Eliza was just a toddler, not yet used to the world around her. They'd lived in a large and beautiful house, the scent of fresh flowers and laughter and sometimes singing floating in the air. That was before her death. After, the house was sad and lonely, the only sounds being a door shutting or footsteps padding around the spotless tile floors, leaving an echoing emptiness thundering under the silent ceiling.

Her father, Marcus Brooke, was lonely. Extremely lonely. A year or two following Emmaline Brooke's death, he'd found another woman. A woman of whom he claimed to bring back the light with the loss of his wife. The light he didn't realize his daughter, his own flesh and blood, could replace. No, although they had a loving relationship, she seemed too much like her mother for her father. She was a constant reminder of their loss, and although he should have moved on, should have continued giving the young girl with care she needed, he didn't. He mourned until the other woman came into the picture.

Angelique.

Angelique Méchant.

She seemed sweet and kind, complimenting even the maids and butlers as they passed in the halls or at meal time. That was, in front of Marcus. What he saw was a kind woman, who loved him. When he was watching, anyways.

Don't judge a book by it's cover.

Inside, she was evil and rotten. Wicked and mean, as if she were a witch. Away from her love's eyes, she was rude and picky, spitting demands and insults right and left to anyone to come across her path. Especially Eliza. At six, she herself seemed as a maid for Angelique. No. She seemed as a slave.

Making matters worse, Marcus asked for Angelique's hand in marriage. She, of course, said yes. They had large and too expensive wedding, Eliza being the flower girl. Her father hardly noticed her, his eyes beaming at the evil witch saying her vows.

Married. It couldn't be true, it simply couldn't to Eliza.

Married. A word she'd reserved in her mind for her true and kind mother, and her dear father. She knew he was blinded by what he thought to be love, and she'd forgive him for everything. Falling for her. Allowing her into his home. Marrying her.

Married. She couldn't, wouldn't accept her as her mother. Never. Not when she was cruel to her, with her words and actions.

Though it wasn't only her step-mother, no, it was her daughters as well. Josette and Elizabeth Méchant . They were the ugliest girls you'd ever lay your eyes on. They preferred wearing a mask of makeup, improving their appearances by one hundred and ten percent. And, as their mother, they were rotten to the core, yelling and spitting and slapping Eliza until she cried.

But she never did. She'd learned to harden her heart, her eyes. Nothing got to her anyone, not the hot flesh that whipped across her face if he spilled something or cursed under her breath. Not the words that spat from their mouths, pulling and yanking on tears that never came. No, nothing would find it's way into her heart. Nothing.

Nothing except her father and mother. They were her only weakness, the biggest reasons she'd be smacked or gripped by her throat. Angelique, Josette, and Elizabeth enjoyed taunting her with horrid words of her mother. Words of hurt and hate that would send Eliza over the edge into hot anger that turned into her screams of defense.