The Makeover

Photo from Morguefile

My face lit up with pride as I watched Anne write.

When I’d found her running cheap scams on Pub Street, she couldn’t even spell her name, let alone being able to write it. But I’d seen something in her…a hunger – to succeed, to leave this state of destitution behind, to live life on her own terms.

Convincing her to allow me to change her life was the easier part. But grooming her, teaching her how to stand, sit, talk, even eat and drink, took a lot out of both of us.

I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t contemplate leaving this crazy project of mine unfinished numerous times, but one look at her face, and I doubled down to trying even harder than before.

For it was her face that had worked its magic upon me, right from that night on the street when I first saw her.

The face that would make all this blood and sweat worth it in the end.

The face that was an exact replica of the missing heiress of a multi-billion dollar empire, a spitting image of the girl buried in an unmarked grave in my backyard.

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199 words.

Written as a part of Sunday Photo Fiction – Aug 11 2019.