The Villains by Shea Berkley

Author:Shea Berkley [Berkley, Shea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Foreword Literary
Published: 2013-09-03T00:00:00+00:00

Queen of All

A Tale of Vanity

There are times in life when humility is warranted. I have never had to use the virtue. Not because I don’t see its value; its use has never applied to me. You see, I am special. I am very beautiful. I am not wrong in saying I am the most beautiful woman ever…or who will ever be. I have always been beautiful. From the moment of my birth, people were enchanted by my comeliness. Skin the color of finest cream; hair silky and dark red; lips full and pink; a nose pert and petite; and large expressive eyes tipped with thick, long lashes. The villagers crowded around me, wanting to hold me, to coo at me and make me smile, for when I smiled, magic happened. The world grew light and gay. Hearts swelled with happiness. Loneliness disappeared and heartache vanished.

Is it any wonder my smile is so praised? It only added to my beauty. And because of it, I learned early on to use my smile to gain what I wanted.

My father — a peasant known for being big, rough and loud — was easy to manipulate. If a toy was my want, I would pleasantly ask for it. I was never rude. Rudeness is ugly. Occasionally, my desire was denied me, and on those rare occasions, I never scowled. Nay, never. I was too beautiful for such ordinary face pulling. My plan was simple. I refused to smile. I did not laugh. I stayed behind a stony mask of indifference until, with pleading and moaning, my father would beg me to smile. “Whatever you want, Poppet. Please, just give me one smile. Even a half of one will do.”

So easy. I have always gotten what I wanted.

But my mother…if I was the most beautiful woman ever, my mother was near the homely end of the spectrum — petite, quiet and completely forgettable. Even I would forget she lived in the house with Father and me. How I came to be from such average stock, I shall never understand. But unlike Father, Mother was not so easily persuaded. Of all the people in my life, she was the only one unaffected by my beauty. I think I remember a time when she used to smile lovingly at me. Of course, that was long ago, before I turned three, and the memory is so faded I can only guess at its authenticity.

Somewhere near the time I learned to walk and talk, Mother stopped smiling. That was fine by me. No one cared whether she smiled or not. I certainly didn’t. Yellow, chipped teeth are hardly attractive, and in my opinion, best kept covered by one’s lips.

Aye, my mother wilted into the shadows while I blossomed in the light of everyone’s love and affection. My birthdays were an extravagant affair. The whole village would come and wish me well. Gifts would pour in and I would be content — for a while. Every year the gifts grew more elaborate, more expensive.

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