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“Her long hair, the deep black of a raven’s wing, was pulled back from her face. I couldn’t tell if my new stepsister was pretty, or hideous, or merely the strangest girl I had ever seen. “I don’t want a pretend mother. Or a false sister.” The princess’s voice was cold as ice. I hesitated, then curtseyed to her, but she seemed to take no notice, and certainly didn’t return the favor. Either we would become friends—or the bitterest of enemies.” — Anthea Sharp
Her long hair, the deep black of a raven’s wing, was pulled back from her face. I couldn’t tell if my new stepsister was pretty, or hideous, or merely the strangest girl I had ever seen.
“I don’t want a pretend mother. Or a false sister.” The princess’s voice was cold as ice.
I hesitated, then curtseyed to her, but she seemed to take no notice, and certainly didn’t return the favor. Either we would become friends—or the bitterest of enemies.