L
ong ago, there lived a princess who wore a dress of flowers that bloomed upon her body and swayed with her every waltz-like step. Upon her head, she wore not a crown, but a great black birdcage fitted over her head. Despite her idiosyncrasies, all who lay eyes upon her found her beautiful. Children and adults were drawn to her, for she was a feast for the eyes, with her porcelain skin, sunrise-rosy cheeks, and rosebud lips. Yet, when the princess turned her gaze upon them, they felt an unexplained jolting chill. Yes, she was comely, but there was a quality in her eyes that frightened them. They were dark, oh-so-black, like ink staining white silk, like a hollow pit down a murky well with no way of climbing out. It was worse when the princess smiled. She smiled the way any other girl would—wide and giddy—ready to laugh and sing with friends. But when others saw her smile at them, they felt as though she emitted a monstrous aura, as if she possessed fangs as long and sharp as the blade of daggers and viscous blood dripping from her mouth, threatening to stain their clothes and skin if she came too close. “Could I bring my doll to your tea party?” The princess asked as she approached a circle of girls who held teacups to their dolls’ lips. They all stared up at the princess, who vaguely resembled her doll with her milk-white skin and round cheeks. But as docile as the princess looked, the girls became frightened under her gaze. “No,” they responded, vigorously shaking their heads. “Oh, may I, please?” As the princess began to sit down amongst the girls, they all shrieked and leapt to their feet. They did not pay attention to the fact that they had spilled hot tea and toppled platters of jam biscuits all over the princess as they dashed away. With downcast eyes and slumped shoulders, a few of the flowers on the princess’s dress browned and wilted as she stood up and shook off crumbs. When she was twelve, her mother and father, the king and queen, held a Grand Ball. She gladly attended, happy to whirl about to the swooning of the violins. However, upon seeing the princess, the Ball attendees would part and gawk at her as if she was a panther released from a cage. If they felt her eyes scan over them, they turned their faces away and began nonsensical conversations with the person next to them, pretending to be engrossed with small talk. None of the boys asked her to dance. “May I have this dance?” the princess would ask a handsome boy. The boy took two steps back. “No, thank you.”
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