PrologueCruella de Vil was not born this way. She made herself that way. Although, to be precise, she, like any other living creature of flesh and blood, was, of course, born. They called her Estella. And rumor has it that on the night she was born, the stars and the moon didn't dare show themselves from behind storm clouds. And rumor has it there was a wolf's howl all around and the rivers near her house boiled over.
But people say all sorts of things. And most of the time, their gossip are far from the truth. At least some of them are. Estella came into this world like any other child. Other children come into the world, kicking and screaming. But as soon as she was born, it was immediately clear that she was completely different from the other children. She looked nothing like the other children. Some called her she was one of a kind. Others special. A few or three kind-hearted passersby who saw her walking around in her stroller, might even have dared to call her cute, as long as her knitted bonnet wasn't falling off was falling from her and revealing to their eyes her hair.
Coal-black on the right, snow-white on the left. It had been striking since she was born.
They had been conspicuous by their thickness and color.
And when people around her saw it, they tended to stop thinking she was cute and began to think of her as strange.
But a mother's love is blind, and Estella's mother, Catherine, was no exception. To Catherine, Estella was the most from the moment she was born.
As the days and years passed, Estella grew from an inquisitive infant, generous with smiles, to a precocious child, who wanted to do things her own way. She began to walk earlier than any other and by the time she was two years old, she was already speaking to her mother in whole sentences.
She never seemed to notice the stares from others, and she never seemed to get over the fact that no one came to her and her mother's shabby but cozy house.
To Estella, the tiny dwelling in which she lived in didn't seem dull or or dreary. The clothes that her Mama's dressmaker, added colour to the cramped space with color and became her world. Estella ran silk, chiffon and taffeta through her fingers, marveling at their smoothness. She compared outfits and made up designs for the fabrics. She grew and her talent would show itself with renewed vigor. Sitting on her mother's lap, Estella quickly learned how to thread a needle and soon she was darning socks and hemstitching skirts. When the few pieces of furniture they had in the house finally wore out Estella would put colorful patches of leftover fabric on the upholstery.
Although sewing was easy for Estella by nature, following the rules was a little harder for her to follow. More than once, Estella's mother had to gently remind her of the ways of the world.
"Stick to the pattern," she said to her daughter. "There is a certain order."
"It's ugly," Estella said indignantly. Estella, picking up the pattern and comparing its straight, straight lines to the madness of shapes she'd conceived for her doll's new dress.
Estella's mother shook her head: "How rude. You are Estella, after all, not Cruella."
Cruella was the nickname her mother gave her when Estella was younger and was going through the torment of the "dreadful two years", followed by the torment of the "dessert years", followed by the misery of an "oppressive three years." Estella's character, when he overpowered her, could make her capricious and sometimes even angry. Estella's mother liked to remind her to keep Cruella in check (but there were times when it was easy, some of those times it was just impossible). Sometimes, when she heard the reminder, little Estella would shake her head or (when she was really mad) she would tear the pattern and stomped her foot. But she always came back to hug her mother and apologize. She didn't want to be rude. She just wanted to sew in her own way.
By the age of twelve, Estella had developed into a talented seamstress. Although she still had no friends, her mother reminded her every day that she was special.
"You can be whoever or whatever you want to be, sweetie," her mother said. "There's more to you than just black and white. You have all the colors of the rainbow."
And Estella believed her. Estella didn't need friends. Her mother and her own imagination were enough for her.
So all in all, Estella was happy. But things were about to change...
Chapter 1Estella, twenty years old, was sitting on her bicycle looking at the huge stone building ahead of her. It showed exuberance and privilege. The day she'd been waiting for, let's face it, forever, had finally arrived.
She was about to begin her studies at an elite private school. But this change was not only exciting, but also terrifying. Estella stared at the building, absently rubbing the lining of her jacket. The soft fabric in her hand was pleasantly soothing. She smiled. Maybe this school was exactly like her jacket: one thing on the outside and on the inside something completely different.
The girl sighed. She doubted it.
The schoolyard was flooded with children, streaming in from literally every direction. Their uniforms were spotlessly clean and perfectly ironed. Expensive cars pulled up one by one, dropping off more and more students. Estella could hear joyful cheers (the girls, who had not seen for the whole vacation, rejoiced to see their friends) and the lower voices of the boys, who greeted their mates in their more subdued manner. All this sounded to Estella like foreign speech.
She turned around and looked at her mother, who was holding the bicycle beside her. The woman's graying hair seemed to slip out of a bun that had slipped to the side, and her greasy work overalls were all over the place. She was not at all like those women who waved goodbye to their children from the windows of their cars. The hair on the heads of these ladies was hair by hair. The makeup on their faces was flawless. In their every detail of their outfits had been thought of right down to the buttons. An unfamiliar feeling came over Estella: she was almost ashamed of her mother when she looked at her.
"Remember," said her mother, interrupting Estella's thoughts, "you are no worse than the other pupils."
Estella was immediately overwhelmed with a feeling of of shame. Here we are! She was ashamed of her own mother, who for years had put off every cent to get her admitted to this stupid school.
Taking a deep breath, Estella relaxed her palms on the steering wheel a little. Maybe, she hadn't gone to school with these kids before, but she wouldn't let them ruin her mood (at least she wouldn't let her mother notice her anxiety).
"Okay," she pronounced. The voice of Estella's voice sounded confident in spite of the doubts that plagued her.
Mother nodded: "And what will you say to Cruella if she tries to get the better of you?
Estella sighed. She couldn't stand the nickname her mother kept calling the slightly intimidating side of her nature. But her mother was right to remind her of that. She should learn to control herself.
"Thank you for stopping by, but you can go now," she said dutifully.
Satisfied with her reply, her mother smiled slightly. Then she looked unseeingly looking somewhere in the distance between the large imposing building and her daughter. Estella wondered what her mother was thinking now. There was a look of anxiety and deep sadness on her face.
Estella turned away and looked at a group of girls in matching uniforms. Their hats sat coquettishly on their heads. She wore exactly the same unsightly ugly jacket and a skirt to go with it, as they were (apart from a few small improvements, of which, of course, her mother didn't know). But she didn't have a hat on her head. Never.
Taking a deep breath, Estella said goodbye to her mother once more, set her bicycle at one of the racks and joined the stream of students heading for school.
Source: https://eksmo.ru/book/kruella-ITD1075411/ 
