The weeks passed in the slow, monotonous torture of boredom. My birthday was approaching slowly. Was I excited? Hardly.

It'd kind of difficult to be when your birthday was just another day for many and a day that meant that I could be tortured to the maximum for some. But this birthday, I was kind of hopeful. This was the first birthday in ages that daddy dearest would be here. Not that I expected anything. Well, I tried not to expect. It was painful to hope and have it crushed at last. But, foolish as I may be, a small part of me, the naïve part of me wanted at least an acknowledgement from my dad.

Stupid right?

I sighed as I looked around me in dismay. The attic was huge, the entire floor an empty space with my bed, dresser and closet in the shadows of a corner. The attic was literally my bedroom. My real one was just a prop for the show. Not that anyone actually needed one. Honestly, I wondered a few times why father hadn't abandoned me in the woods or something after dear Cruella had come in my life. Maybe it was necessary for his image.

I...

I sighed dejectedly.

Tomorrow, at the same time, father would be home and they would live a happy life down there when I would sit here, still lonely and staring, wishing that someone, anyone actually loved me for me. Sure, Martha was there. But I knew in my heart that if she had to choose, then she would always choose her husband over me, however worthless he may be. I wasn't angry at that. Truly. She might have been my friend but she also had her priorities and I, as a human couldn't resent that. I wish I could say that I understood her but the truth is that I can not. How can I when I don't know what love is supposed to be? When I haven't experienced it?

I looked at the rising sun dispelling the darkness but it failed to dispel the melancholy that housed in my heart.

Death had crossed my mind. I fought, I resisted, I hated, but for what. For whom? Still, it may be, I could never do it. Never attempt. The thought of them enjoying after my death made me want to torture them more. Why die when you can be alive and do lot more worst than a ghost?

By the time I actually got out of the bed it was already well past two in the afternoon. Either way who cared?

Neither lovely mother nor the poisonous sisters. I opened the only book that I owned. Leaves, birds, animals, people filled the pages etched in charcoal turned gruesome as the pages turned. The only freedom I had was in these pages. If not I may have become a murderer long time ago.

The scratching of the charcoal was the only sound to be heard as the time wiled away. Absorbed in the lines I was startled when suddenly loud voices could be heard from below. Father dearest had returned. I didn't bother. Either way he didn't need to see me nor did I. Shakingy head as I tried to get lost in the void of my thoughts but was interrupted by the loud squealing of the two little pigs I called sisters.

Even when they were two floors below they sounded like they were right next door. I kept down the book and sat silently listening to their commotion. Apparently our little pig called Daphne was angry cause daddy hadn't brought her the hairpin she wanted and the pig number two called Jenny was loving that her sister hadn't got it.

"But daddy!" I could hear her whinning all the way till here.They were loud. Had I mentioned that?

"Where is Beauty?" I heard him ask. I was shocked was an understatement.

"Never mind him darling. He has been holed up the entire time. Better that way."

I heard him grunt. Why? What for was he asking me for? Had I done something? The worst scenarios came to my mind. Was he going to marry me off? Was he gonna throw me out?

Or worst, was he gonna kill me after all?

I didn't get dinner that night. Never mind. I wasn't gonna eat anyway.

Darkness crept, shadows lengthening as I stared out the window. Night had fallen again. The clock struck twelve.

I was eighteen.