Pearl White ~A One Direction FairyTale~

You think you know how the story goes. Snow White meets some dwarves, eats an apple, falls asleep, gets kissed by a prince and lives happily ever after.

If only my life were that simple. My name's Pearl. Pearl White. And unfortunately for me, I'm never even going to get to meet my prince. Because his name is Liam Payne, and he's a member of the boy band One Direction.

Cover made by the amazing user NathanielStanley! Thank you so much!

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1. London

London is grey like someone washed white linens in a pail of dirty water and then promptly hung them in the rain to dry. London is grey like india ink diluted and spread about the city with a gigantic paintbrush. The only bits of color amidst all the wan faces are the telephone boxes, a contrast so bright my eyes water.

I hate London. 

My shoes slap across the pavement. Painful, thick brown shoes that cause blisters through the itch of my uniform's woolen socks. Trying to hold my composure, I sigh and shift my weight to the balls of my heels, trying to avoid putting pressure on the broken skin, and I gasp as instead, the shoe smashes and pops another blister on my ankle.

Fed up, I slip the shoes off and put on sandals from my bag. I'm not supposed to wear them because Celia says it's improper. She doesn't want me in my uniform looking like a strumpet. Whatever that is.

Celia made us move here after Papa died, back in France, and we left the Chateau in La Roque-Gageac because Celia said mud was too unglamorous for her, and she wanted to be in the midst of high-fashion society. Because in Celia's world, nothing is more important than swapping teacakes in cocktail dresses designed by Prada and Leboutins and tittering about how Kate Middleton needs to lose that baby weight faster.

I slide to the Underground in my sandals and manage to catch my train, so I sit down and rest my feet. The people on the Underground are far more colorful than the people above. Not the business executives in dull blacks and whites, but the punk kids, with bright streaked hair. I'd dye my hair red if I could. But it's black, and I'd have to bleach it first. When I talked to Celia about getting some streaks, she freaked out.

"If I let you get those-those- tacky hair stripes, what would Vogue say about me? The unfashionable stepmother? My reputation as the Beauty Queen of England would wither! Absolutely not!"

I snort. Celia only cares about what others think about her. And since I'm a "little flea" in her words, she slaps a uniform on me and acts as though I don't exist, although once in a while a photo does pop up with me in a gossip mag and she goes insane. But for most of the time, I'm hidden in the back, locked up in the house, studying, and dreaming.

There's only one good thing about London.

It's the same city as my secret crush, Liam Payne, from One Direction.

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