Penelope

My parents were born

into the good life.

Old money, blue blooded,

society sweethearts

- Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?

- We'll be happy with whatever we have.

Having played host to kings and queens

and other powers that be,

they were used to gracing

the pages of the society columns

So they welcomed

the attention...

On what they supposed would be

the happiest day of their lives.

Hang in there.

Hold on honey, you can do it.

Oh, my God!

I want to be sick! Oh, my God!

But local legend had it

that a curse was put

on the Willhern family

When my great, great,

great grandfather Ralph...

had a fling with a lowly

servant girl... Clara.

Who was soon eating

for two.

When he told his family of his plans

to marry Clara

He realised how silly

he'd been

Clara was after all

just a servant girl...

... and prone to rashes.

Sir Ralph married someone

more suitable.

And Clara...

fell off a cliff.

That night Clara's mother -

the town witch -

showed up on the

Wilhern lawn

determined to give these blue bloods

a taste of their own medicine.

She scattered about animal guts

and commanded that the next Wilhern

daughter be born with the face of a pig.

And only when one

of your own

kind claims this daughter as their own

'till death do they part'

will the curse be broken.

Time passed,

and as luck would have it

the next five Wilhern brides

gave birth to all sons...

who fathered all sons...

who fathered all sons

... who fathered all sons.

Finally, born to Ella and Leonard

Hugh Wilhern... a daughter.

A century of worry

for nothing.

Of course, what they didn't know

then was that Ella hadn't actually

given birth to a Wilhern.

She had given birth to... a Jones.

Which means that the first born

Wilhern girl...

... was me.

Penelope.

Dear, sweet Penelope

I'd given up all hope

of ever finding a woman

who truly understands me.

I had given up all hope that is...

until I met you.

I knew it.

He's the one.

He just might be.

You see...

...like you, I felt imprisoned

most of my life.

Really?

...By what?

Your good looks

and your good name?

Yes, exactly.

- No one ever seems able to see past that.

- No one.

And Penelope.

Dear, sweet Penelope...

curse or no curse,

if I am more

than my name and my face...

well, then, surely you are

more than yours?

Let me in.

Penelope, let me in.

No!

Hi.

What...?

Help me! Help me!

She's a pig!

She's a killer pig!

Help me!

Somebody help!

Why, Penelope?

Why?

I'm not the one who ran mother.

Well, of course they run dear when you

spring yourself at them like that.

Do you think I showed your father

my mole on our third date?

No dear, no. I had the good sense to wait

until after we were married.

I didn't show him my mole, mother.

I showed him my face.

Mom.

Oh, sweetheart.

He really liked you.

No, Mum, he really didn't.

He didn't like your nose, that's what he

didn't like. You're not your nose.

But, it... it is my nose.

No! It's your great, great,

great grandfathers nose.

On your father's side.

He did this to you... to us.

But you are not your nose.

You are not you.

You're, you're, you're...

somebody else inside just

waiting to come out.

I had been reminded

over the years

that I was not the

only victim of the curse.

For starters along with my birth came

the knowledge of Aunt Ella's affair.

Damn you, Ella!

Even so no one suffered more

than my mother.

- These things happen all the time.

- To who?

Did you know some children

are born with gills?

Gills, sweetheart,

like on a fish.

- So, can you cut it off?

- Strangest thing.

But the carotid artery appears to run

directly through the nose.

Or 'snout', as the case may be.

Making any attempt at removal

unfeasible.

The, caro... caro... what's that?

What's he saying, Franklin?

What, what's he saying?

She would die, sweetheart.

He is saying she would die.

I'm sorry.

The snout stays.

You...

Oh... that's not true.

My mother meant well

She always meant well

And always did what she thought

best to protect me.

First, from reporters.

What are you?

Ow, my eye!

But with the public demanding to see the

face that had caused so much trouble.

My mother did what any

loving mother would do.

She faked my death.

Earth to earth

ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

And had me cremated.

So with the public left to mourn

with my tragic passing.

And with me safely hidden away

from the outside world.

Now she need only worry about

protecting me from my father.

Who was having trouble adapting

to the new morning menu.

Why can't I have

bacon?

Because you love

oatmeal.

Doesn't Daddy love oatmeal?

Yeah.

No, I love bacon.

And from the insensitivity

of the new butler Jake.

And this little piggy

stayed at home.

And this little piggy

had roast beef...

Jake! Oh, Jake. Stop it.

Oh, the poor baby.

And occasionally she had to protect me,

even from myself.

So I did most of

my playing in my room...

Where I made my own friends.

And learnt to entertain myself.

While my mother spent her every

waking hour preparing me.

Preparing me to be a suitable bride

for the man who

would break the curse.

Quelle heure l'est-il?

Then upon my eighteenth birthday

she hired Wanda

whose dating agency

catered to the best and the

brightest blue bloods.

In hopes of finding one.

One of my own kind

Who would break the curse

by accepting me as I am.

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