This style is a bit different from what I usually do. Tell me what you think.
My mother is a jealous creature, driven by vanity and a lust for power like no other creature I had, or ever would meet again. She had every right to be vain, she was beautiful. Soft features, wide green eyes, delicate curling blonde hair. Oh yes… she had every right to be vain. When I was a very young child I was pretty and charming, the people adored me. I had a beautiful set of eyes, green and blue at the same time, a friend of mine would later name them “sea foam”. I was a beautiful child, and my mother showed me off like a precious gemstone rather than a young daughter.
As I grew older my adorable charms faded, my body grew too tall too quickly; stretching me out so all of my childhood curves became nonexistent. My head became too large for my pencil thin neck, my teeth didn’t grow in quite right, and my body was lanky and grotesque. My mother had always told me that curves are beauty, and beauty is power, I took that state of mind with me for far too long. As these changes took place my mother smiled, she knew her position of power was secure.
I had three older step sisters, each very pretty in her own way. All three were modest girls, covering what little curves they had with over sided sweatshirts and jeans. Jeans so big on them that sometimes they had to roll the bottoms and pin them to keep from tripping. My mother never saw them as a threat; they would never have the confidence to threaten her.
But there was me, I was the child that went to bed a swan and woke an ugly duckling (ahh but we all know how the story of the ugly duckling ends). She paid little attention to me after I grew out of my child hood beauty, for I was not worth the attention any longer. I kept to my room, preferring to read than be ignored. I lost myself is stories of beautiful women losing their hearts to beautiful men. I became infatuated with the idea of love, almost obsessive. I watched the pretty girls in school as the boys drooled for them. I watched them, and I learned the art of jealousy.
I sat before the mirror for hours studying my sharp angular features, my flat stomach, my pale skin, my jagged smile. I was still missing a few teeth from when my baby teeth fell out; my father promised me that when they grew in, my smile would straighten itself out again. I held little faith. My father was a good man, strong and sensible, and always smiling. He always had a kind word for his daughter, and I was in his eyes at least, the most beautiful creature that ever lived. My father loved me very much.
As lovely as my father’s adoration was, I wanted more. I wanted her to see me and love me for who I was, an intelligent blossoming young woman. Still she did not look, choosing to close her eyes over than seeing her hideous child. No, she would not claim me, at the time I did not understand. I would learn.
Beauty is not only power, not to my mother. My mother saw beauty as everything, the only truly important aspect of life. In time I would share her opinion. In time, her opinion would rule my life.
