Everything was perfect.
No one was ever starving, or in poverty, or ever depressed or sad.
I wish it would have lasted forever, sometimes.
Other times, I'd despise the childhood I had.
My mother was perfect. She had brown, flowing hair and doe-like blue eyes, like the sea. She often wore solid-colored dresses, her favorite one being yellow with sleeves that went down to her forearms. She stayed at home, doing mundane things like cleaning, cooking, and shopping for food.
My father was perfect. He had hair the color of wildfire, but he never got angry. If anything, he cared for his family and community. He worked for the kingdom's guard. Even better, he was the top of the ranks–a white knight. He was tall and strong, and would lift me up as a child, so I could "fly".
I have a younger sister, and ever since she was born, my parents have paid more attention to her. They still do, and she's 13. I didn't mind for a while–I was 17 and could mind my own business. Maybe that's how He showed me the truth, how I was less susceptible to the "Perfection".
Ah, for me to start, you might have to know my name first. Of course, silly me.
My name is Rhealdoli Forestar, and I'm just a girl of the middle-class. I'm perfect, too, with blonde hair and caramel-brown eyes, a petite figure often seen in lacy white dresses and skirts. Meet me, with a bright smile on my face as I retained my innocence as a teenager.
I wish I were still like that.
