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Like a damsel in a tower, she sits, awaiting for a prince who will never come. She tells herself: it’s just a few more years, surely.
Yet as the days and months pass, she remains seated atop the tower with no savior coming to her rescue. Her hope falters, but not for the fact that the prince will not come- no, she loses hope that she will still be pretty and worth something when he arrives.
He, of course, is an immortal force to be reckoned with.
She, on the other hand, is a lowly flower whose petals are curling inward as the rest fall off.
She awaits his arrival to no avail. She doesn’t know who he shall look like, has no idea if it will even be a he.
What she does know is the story, passed from the script left behind for her. Simply wait for your prince, dear princess, for he is who shall save you from your isolation.
Soon, however, she finds that looking in the mirror only brings about pictures of dull eyes with purpling smudges beneath them and pale, hollow cheeks. She reminds herself of the script, that he will come in her most desperate hour. But she can’t help but feel betrayed, for has her worst moment not come and past? The days of staring out the window, begging and pleading with the moon and stars to bring her salvation- did they mean nothing?
She wilts away as time passes, and soon forgets to put on makeup, brush her hair, get dressed in a new, sparkling gown each morning. It’s on one of such days when a bird comes hopping at her window.
It’s been so long since she’s had company.
As she listens to the bird sing of an ocean she’s never seen, a forest so lush and green, she wilts further. The bird flies away, and the princess is left to herself again.
As she lays down in her bed, for it is night now, she finds herself wishing that the prince was never promised to her at all.