Written for comment fic at littlewomen_fic
She always knew she was different than her sisters. They all seemed to want to do things. Jo was the very definition of action, and Amy had her grand dreams of Europe and art. Even Meg,though more conservative in her dreams than her sisters, still had ambitions of a home and family.
But not Beth. She was content to watch and listen and observe. Her own role eluded her until one day when Jo was reading one of her stories out loud.
Somewhere in the midst of Edward valiantly wooing Charlotte, Beth realized where she fit in. She was the narrator, of course, overseeing the stories of her sisters' lives. She knew everything that went on, of course, and watched it all with a sort of detachment. It wasn't her story, she had no need for a story. But she loved keeping up with her sisters'.
Relief that she truly had a place, a purpose, filled her and nearly caused her to laugh out loud in a most inappropriate place in Jo's tale. She smothered her laughter in her sewing, drawing a scowl from Amy and a curious look from Jo.
Beth shook her head, schooling her expression into an appropriately solemn one, as was befitting the ordeal that Edward was going through (five tasks, each progressively more difficult, to prove his love).
Perhaps she would explain it to Jo some day. Of anyone, her authorial sister might understand. But not right away. The narrator didn't intrude on the story, after all.