ELIZABETH HERALD
I was the least liked in my family. That hadn't always been the case. Before I was the oldest child at twenty-two. According to my loved ones (hahahaha—loved, my ass), I wasn't as talented or as pretty as my younger half-sister, who was twenty-one. Blaire was the progeny of Dad and my stepmother (AKA mistress), Gardenia. (Yes, Blaire and Gardenia. Blech, right?)
In public, my stepmother played the martyr spouse, who bravely raised the troubled child of her husband and his first wife. Behind closed doors, she treated me like crap, and Dad wasn't around much to defend me. Not that he would go against Gardenia. He still had a sense of self-preservation.
