“Madam,” a curt voice said from behind her. In her daydream, Rita had not heard the doors’ bell jangle nor had she noticed the person approaching. If she had, she might have run. For fi! She was sweet and sentimental inside her crusty little heart.

In that instant, Rita’s blood turned cold. The flush of love left her cheeks. Instead she was filled with the vital battle reflexes of fi-fo. As she turned sharply around in her seat, she remembered the face that had spoken in that way at the competition.

A competitor who had been fierce, determined, and royal. The crown princess of Farfadel.

And there she stood. In a beautiful deep blue suit top and ruffled skirts that put anyone else’s to shame, the crown princess of Farfadel was glaring down at Rita.

Rita’s heart wavered. It fluttered- then failed. Cold drenched Rita.

For the princess was wearing blue. A lovely blue ruffled bow at her neck. A smart blue bow around the large black hat set atop her tightly curling brown hair. It all offset the rich and warm darkness of her skin so beautifully.

Blue, Rita thought dimly.

Then, with desperation in her eyes, she looked around the coffee shop. Its many seats were empty now. The only other soul in here was the manly server who was busy wiping cups behind the counter. Oh, how he stared while pretending not to! But the ghosts of peoples' presences were also staring, as were the birds at the windows. Rita felt the enormity of the moment press upon her. She gulped, then stared at the princess.

“There is no one else here,” the princess said coldly, and with such poise. “I am searching for someone I am to meet here, at this very hour. Are you that person?” and she drew from her sleeve one of the many letters that Rita had sent away, spritzed in her own perfume. A pressed flower decorated the envelope. Rita’s scrawling handwriting was to be seen upon it.

Rita’s heart rose in her throat. “I – I suppose I am,” she said softly.

All around Rita, her fantastical dream collapsed. It was as if Rita was falling straight down a chasm, the tenuous bridge she’d been standing upon having given out ‘neath her.

But the princess hadn’t the sense to allow Rita to collapse with the dream.

“Ah,” the princess said … coldly? Callously? Who knew! With a thick rustling of her skirts, she stepped forward. She maneuvered her way around the tables and between the chairs – and sat down primly across from Rita.

The moment hung, suspended in strange silence. Both women looked at the other, slightly bewildered within each of their hearts, neither letting it show. Well, except for Rita. She looked like a ladybug staring down a … creature that she wasn’t quite sure what it was. A butterfly? A cockroach?

What on good earth is happening, thought Rita dimly.

For Rita had never mentioned fi-fo in her letters. Neither had the princess. They had never told their true names either. Rita had chosen ‘rose’ as her pen name, hoping it would give the impression of a dignified and genteel lady. Her friend had responded with the name of ‘Meghari’.

But at the competition, the last one whom Rita had had to fight against had been “Her highness the first-born princess Aurora of Farfadel.”

They had fought – and Rita had won. It had drawn the ire of the Farfadelian crowd and the Farfadelian judges had almost refused to lift their flags of approval. But Rita had won, and she’d been chuffed at that moment.

‘Wait until I tell Meghari that I am a champion!’ she had thought while being awarded the gold medal and the princess of Farfadel the silver. 'I shall surprise her by telling her that I am strong, as well as showing that I am dignified!'

Now, the silver medal holder sat across from her. Rita lowered her eyes, wringing her hands in her lap. What was one supposed to do in the presence of a grand Farfadelian lady? She was just a scruffy Neverfailian – and not a fancy one at that!

The princess cleared her throat. “Rose,” she said gently, as if testing out the sound.

Rita startled. She looked up into those piercing brown eyes. “Ye-yes?” Rita asked. She was half expecting some guards to rush in and separate the two. Not dignified enough! They would bark while hauling Rita away.

Princess Aurora laid the letter upon the small table between them. Her fingers were slender, her hands soft and pampered despite all the fi-fo training. Her nails were well trimmed and even colored to the same blue as her suit was.

“I met a lovely person in these letters,” the princess said, her bright eyes turning soft and gentle. “I would very much like to know her more.”

Rita’s heart leaped and skipped for joy. This was Meghari, her heart cried out happily. Meghari loves me!

And yet...

“But- you are the princess,” Rita said hesitantly, wringing her hands in her lap. No amount of gloves would cover the fact that her hands were worn and calloused from hard work. She did not belong in the presence of a princess, nevermind that of the princess! The grand first-born princess of Farfadel!

Rita felt faint.

Aurora seemed to falter. Her neutral expression fell into despair. “But-” she said softly. Her fingers clutched at the envelope. She drew it towards herself as if it was too precious to be shared any longer. “You promised to visit with me,” she finished under her breath. It was so quiet that Rita hardly heard it but it was like an arrow to the heart.

For in their letters, they had made the most glorious of plans. Rita was to visit the city of Farfadel with Aurora. Then, once they’d had their fill of that, Aurora had promised a visit to a cottage in the country side. There, she had written, they would ‘get to know the other better’. The mere idea had made Rita blush so deeply.

Now it all felt like withered petals on the wind, dying away and lost forever. “You are the princess,” Rita repeated insistently. A grand damsel of Farfadel was one thing! A princess? Another thing entirely! No! That was too large a gap to breach. Too difficult a world to climb.

“I see,” said Aurora softly. She picked the envelope up hastily and stuffed it into her tiny and be-jeweled black purse. “I – I am sorry,” she added hastily as she began to rise somewhat clumsily in her haste.

But it was Rita that bolted to her feet first, nearly knocking her chair over. “I am sorry too,” she blurted, eyes wide and hands wringing so much that she might tear her gloves asunder. “I-” and she cast her gaze around the coffee shop. The server was watching, intrigued and not hiding it one bit. He had ceased his wiping and was now merely lurking.

Beyond the windows, a spattering of rain had began to fall. Rita looked not to Aurora, but at the precious letter she held in her hands. “I very much wished to meet Meghari,” she muttered. Tears welled in her eyes and ah! Her heart was rending in so many pieces. “It’s just that I- I do not feel like I ought to be in your presence milady. I am no grand damsel. I am just,” and she choked on tears. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand and sniffled.

Aurora blinked her own tears away. “I am sure she would like to meet you,” she whispered hoarsely. “No matter your station.”

Rita looked up hesitantly. “Are you - so sure?”

Aurora reached between them and clasped Rita’s hands tightly in her own. “I am sure!” she exclaimed tearily, but with joy.

Both ladies burst into smiles. Ah! How the sun seemed to be shining just upon them, their hearts gladly blooming open.

But just then the server decided to arrive with a steaming tray of several coffees. “Expecting friends?” he asked cheerfully, obviously fishing for drama to listen to under the pretext of serving. Why, he thought, here is the crown princess and some damsel – surely there will be juicy tidbits to retell to friends and perhaps some coin to be made!

In no short terms, her highness told him to bugger off. They would be taking no coffees, no thank you! Not after such an interruption! Good day and good riddance!

And off the grand princess of Farfadel flounced, our crusty little Rita in tow. I shall have you know that this left our serving man quite flustered, but still certain there was gossip to tell. It was just that he, poor soul, now didn’t have the gossip. But oh! He would try and spin a tale from this anyways.

Ah, one could wax on about these tales the Farfadelians would tell about Rita and her arrival – but that is of no concern of ours now. We must away from this coffee shop, and continue our tale.