Pig To Princess Story Idea

From Pig to Princess Introduction

         When I was born, my mother named me Callie. “Because you were so beautiful,” she’d tell me. “And you still are,” she’d add, throwing a quick smile my way. I have long, black hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. My cheeks are a wonderful shade of red, like I am wearing rouge. My eyelashes are long and dark, my eyelids a pale purple. My lips were a deep red, like strawberries. I am the fairest lady in the land, or at least my mother says so. I have never seen a mirror, but am constantly looking at myself in the water bucket. I personally think my face is too pinched and I am too thin.
         I am constantly dirty, and you could never tell how beautiful I am under the mess. I am always dirty because I love to be outside, to play. I bathe on every Sunday and Wednesday, but by dinnertime the next day I am completely filthy.
         My mother says it isn’t ladylike to play in the dirt. She is always trying to teach me manners. I play along while I’m inside, letting her teach me which fork to use for what, how to sew, and how a lady should sit. Once outside, I abandon all manners and lay down in the warm dirt, watching clouds. But when my mother first started teaching me to read and write I didn’t just play along. I came to love writing. I spent hours trying to perfect my letters, and to read more difficult books.
I’ve always wanted to be a beautiful Lady, like I see riding in carriages past our small cottage, but I love being outside, being dirty, being free. My mother used to be a Lady, before she married my father. He was a poor carpenter, but she loved him. She left behind her life as a lady to marry him. But now he is dead. I was only six when he died. That was three years ago. My mother loved him so. She misses him terribly.
         But if I ever do become a Lady, it will not be anytime soon. For now, I am just Pig. The other girls call, “Look at pig, lying in the dirt!” they call. But I do not mind. At least I am not a smelly ogre, like they are.
I make small figurines in my spare time. My father showed me how to carefully carve them, adding very small and delicate details. I do it because it reminds me of him. My mother keeps them on a small shelf in our kitchen, and I can take them down when I want to play with them. Today I am carving a duck. This one is in flight, flying far, far away. I wish I could soar far away. I have always longed to see dragons and unicorns, and the ocean. My mother says the ocean is beautiful, with fish bigger than horses. And even wilder, I could fly to the Kings castle and meet the Prince.

         I was outside, and the sunshine was warm on my face. I was carving a likeness of my mother, for her birthday would be coming up soon. I gave the figurine an elegant, full gown, like I imagined she would have worn while she was a lady. Lady Leslie.
         I sighed. I would never be a lady. I would forever live in the small town of Dernel. Our town is only twenty miles from the city, but no one but the traders who come every two months know where it is. It’s a farming town, but my mother makes money selling food to travelers and the townsfolk.
         I looked up and saw a dog running towards me. It was a large grey dog, maybe an English wolfhound. It jumped on me, and I slipped the carving of my mother into my dress. “Nice dog,” I said, and patted his head.
He licked my face, and I laughed.
“Henry!” I head a male’s voice call. The dog jumped up and padded towards the boy. “I must apologize for my dogs behavior.” He said. Nobody around town talked like that. He must be from town.
I looked around, puzzled. Was he speaking to me? Yes, there was no one else around. He had sandy blonde hair and brown eyes. His skin was browned, like he had been outside a lot.  He was about a head taller than me. He didn’t look like anyone from the village. “It’s fine,” I said. “He is a very nice dog.”
The boy walked over to where I sat. “Why are you sitting on the ground? Did he make you drop something?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t drop anything. I was just enjoying the sunshine while finishing up my mothers present,” I answered, pulling the likeness of my mother out of my dress.
“It’s very pretty,” he said. “Did you make it yourself?” His eyes gleamed with interest.
         I nodded. “I make them all the time. Wait here, I’ll show you.” I ran into the house, and pulled down a few of my best statues.
         “These are absolutely fantastic!” he exclaimed, and I blushed red. “You have a lot of this woman,” he said. “Who is she?”
         “My mother.”
“Ah. She looks like you. Very pretty. I should have noticed.” I blushed even deeper at his compliment. I have never thought I look anything like my mother. We have similar facial features, but her hair is a deep chocolate color that matches her eyes. And she has tiny feet. Mine are huge.
“Oh, I am being very rude. My name is Brendon. Who might you be?”
         I looked at him, dazed. None of the girls in town had ever bothered to ask my name. And somehow, that name sounded familiar. When I didn’t answer, he asked, “Are you okay?”
         “Oh. It’s just- none of the children in town have ever bothered to ask my name. They just call me Pig.”
         “Why would they call someone as pretty as you a pig?” he questioned.
“Because I love to sit in the hot dirt and be warmed by the sunshine,” I responded, glowing because of his compliments.
         At this he laughed. I thought he might decide I was not good enough to sit with. I began to wonder why he was talking to me, he looked at least two years older than I. “How old are you?” he asked, reading my mind.
         “Nine,” I said proudly.
         “You look older,” he murmured quietly, and I was not sure if he wanted me to hear it. “I’ve just turned eleven.” I suddendly remembered where I have heard his name. Brendon had the same name and was the same age as the prince!
“It’s just a coincidence,” I said very quietly.
         “What is?” asked Brendon, puzzled.
         “Oh, it’s nothing.” Had I said it aloud?
         He resumed looking at my figurines. “Would you like one?” I asked.
         “Can I really have one?” When I nodded, he picked a pig from the many carvings. “To remind me of the pretty girl who gave it to me,” he said, smiling.
         “T-thank you.” I stammered.
         He looked around, as if searching for someone. “Henry went over there,” I said, pointing towards the road.
         “Oh- I wasn’t looking or him,” he said.
         “Your parents?”
         “Well, not real-“
         A man with dark hair and a pinched face came over and cut him off. “Brendon! Where have you been? With this girl?” he asked, glaring at me.
         “I came to get Henry, and he was in her yard.” Brendon retorted.
         “It’s time you’ve come back to camp.”
         “Camp?” I looked to Brendon for an answer.
         “Yes, we are here on a hunting trip. There are lots of rabbits around here.”
         I laughed. “I would know, they eat everything in my garden!” He laughed with me.
         “I have to go.” He said, walking away. “Wait,” he said turning back to me. “You never told me your name.”
         “It’s Callie,” I told him.
         “Okay Callie, I’ll come see you soon!” The man didn’t seem to like that. He came over and grabbed Brendon’s hand. “Goodbye!”
         “Goodbye!” I called. And then they walked away, Brendon still clutching my pig statue.