My name is Ella, and this is my story. I'm an ordinary girl living in a small, rather unremarkable village. Now, you might be thinking, "What's so good about her story? It sounds pretty dull." Well, you'll find out soon enough.

Okay, so let's start...

"ELLA! Where the HELL are you?!" my stepmother's voice boomed through the small house, a sharp, jagged sound that always seemed to cut through the morning tranquility. "Don't test my patience, come HERE!"

I flinched, my heart already thumping a nervous rhythm against my ribs. "Yes, Mum, what is it?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even, despite the dread building in my stomach.

"How many times do I have to call you?" she snapped, her voice tight with irritation. She stood in the hallway, her arms crossed, a picture of simmering rage. "Where is my bed coffee? Don't you know you should leave my coffee and Belle's at the table? Where were you, huh?"

Before I could even open my mouth to respond, she grabbed a thick wooden stick leaning against the wall. It was a familiar, sickening sight. The first blow landed across my shoulder, sending a searing pain shooting down my arm. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I swallowed them back. I knew better than to let her see me cry.

"Why can't you be a bit responsible?" she yelled, her face contorted with anger.

"Mum… I… there's no milk, so…" I tried to explain, my voice wavering.

"WHAT? There's no milk!?" she shrieked, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean, there's no milk!? What will I feed my precious daughter now? My God! Don't you know that YOU should buy it? What are you here for?"

The blows came faster now, each one a dull, sickening thud against my skin. I curled in on myself, trying to protect my head. "It's not for nothing that your mother died, it's all because of you! Shameless thing!" she hissed, her spittle landing on my face. "Go and make food now! Go, go fast, fast, before my beloved Belle wakes up!"

She finally stopped, leaving me a bruised, throbbing mess on the floor. I scrambled to my feet, my vision blurring with unshed tears. I didn't dare look at my reflection. My cheek was probably swelling, I could feel the warm stickiness of blood on my arm.

So, now you might have understood some things about my story, right? Yes, here I am, living a version of Cinderella's tale. My stepmother certainly plays the wicked part to perfection, especially behind closed doors. She acts all saccharine sweet in front of my father, of course. And Belle… well, Belle is my stepsister. I've always tried to think of her as my real sister, but… unfortunately, she doesn't treat me well either. She is her mother's daughter after all.

Ah, anyways… Don't mind these things, okay? I'm used to it. It's just… life, isn't it?

Okay, ya see you. I'll tell you more of my story later then. There's more to tell, but for now, the kitchen is calling, and my growling stomach along with my throbbing arm are reminding me that life, even for an ordinary girl like me, has to go on...