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
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