The Importance of Being Dainty

By Willow Taylor

Once upon a time, there was a young woman, dark of hair and eye, who was put in charge of her household. Her mother did not think much of her, though she made much of her younger daughters. Cyindaer didn't mind too much. It wasn't that hard in her opinion, though her half-sisters acted like pouring a glass of milk was too much for them.

Her sisters were, for the record, quite pretty.

Esmerelda, the older one, was a lovely vision, with a wonderful bone structure and wide, smoked topaz eyes, skin the color of cream, and thick, rich brown hair, the color of freshly turned earth. People usually commented on her bone structure though, because it was plainly visible. For the sake of being fashionably slim, Esmerelda barely ate. And when she did eat, most of it did not stay in her body where it could do any good.

The younger of Cindy's sisters, Serafhina, was a blonde, blue eyed amazon of a girl, but curvaceous and soft. Her skin was a fine, pink peach, and she practically glowed when she smiled. She spent most of her time in front of the mirror, searching out blemishes. When she found one, she shrieked and moaned, and did everything to try and get rid of it. But despite this, they were pretty, if spoiled young women. And that was mostly their mother's fault.

Now Cindy did in fact, have small feet. But then again, all of her was small. From her tiny size six work boots, to the top of her mahogany-tressed head, she was small. She was pretty too, if you stopped to think about it, or went in for dainty women. But underneath that perfect, doll like exterior was a girl who knew that her mother didn't care for her, and that if she wanted a job done right, or even done at all, chances were, she'd have to do it herself. However, she did know that it wasn't her fault that her mother didn't care for her, and that was probably the only reason she wasn't insane.

Cindy was a bastard, and she knew it. Her mother wouldn't say who had seduced her that long ago night, but she never let Cindy forget that while she was the first born of her body, she wasn't really a child of her mother's heart. It had hurt more, when she was younger, watching her half-sisters get treats and new gowns. Her step-father was fairly kind, considering that she wasn't really his daughter, but she knew he didn't love her either. And anyhow, he was usually busy - he traveled to far lands and arranged trade deals. It was a very important job.

The dainty girl had spent most of her childhood in the kitchen, because the cook was fond of all children, dreaming of her real father, who'd show up, and take her away to be just as pampered as her half-sisters. After a while, she woke up. Her birth father didn't even know she existed. And he, by now, was probably married as well, providing he hadn't been married at the time, and wouldn't want her any more than her mother did. Cindy grew up, abandoned her dreams, and put herself to work as one by one, the servants were dismissed, for some insurrection or another, till she was running the house almost entirely by herself. This left no time for fancies, and if the cotton of her pillowcase was wet in the mornings, well, that was no one's business but hers anyway.