Of the seven beautiful ones, Merope was the quietest and the easiest to overlook. She herself became accustomed to blending into the background, and found a way to content herself with that. “Everyone is always watching them,” she thought, “so they have to be perfect. No one watches me, I can settle for being good.”
Her sisters went through the world being cherished and adored and sought after by all manner of young men. Merope watched the parade pass by her quiet corner, pleased that it made her sisters happy. To amuse herself, she learned to read and write and began writing down her fantasies of what her life would be like if she were as beautiful and brilliant as her siblings1.
The other six pitied Merope, for while they thought themselves beautiful； to them she was only pretty. Where they were vibrant with the joy of life, Merope wore a dreamy countenance that many found uninviting. She seemed so taken with the world of her dreams that they assumed she was unhappy with her lot.
The young men continued to come and go, changing as frequently as her sisters’ whims. The only male face Merope saw with any regularity was Sisyphus, the mason who was building a stone wall around their