Once upon a time, there was a princess who lived in a magnificent castle. She had many sisters, so many that it was a little hard to keep track of them all, but her beauty outshone every one of them. This irked them, as she was the youngest. As such, she was often left to her own devices up in her tiny little tower room, where servants did not often tread. 

It was a cold, gray November morning. The youngest princess, Monica, sat bundled up in blankets and quilts on her bed, busily writing. There was no fire behind the little grate of the fireplace, despite the chill. The servants had informed her yesterday that her father wanted her to give up her warmth for the greater good. "It's so hard to provide for you all," he often said. "I need you to prove your worth to your sisters through this."

It was not infrequently that the king asked Monica to prove herself through giving something up. She had begun to hate the sight of the servants, since the only time they ever took the time to come up to her room was to tell her the king wanted her to sacrifice another precious part of daily life. She was aware, dimly enough, that maids assisted her other sisters to dress, but they never did for her. Never had.

Monica shuffled through the inky pile of papers on her lap with a sigh. Her writing was her one solace. It kept her company like her sisters and father never did. She clutched the manuscript to her chest. When she published it, it would attract the attention of a prince, and allow her to escape the castle of her childhood, she just knew it! From the moment she closed her eyes at night to when she opened them at daybreak, she dreamed of the prince who read her story and loved it so much he would come and carry her off to marry him. He would be tall and handsome, with dark hair and a soft low voice. He would be a master at writing poetry, of course. Monica was never very good at finding rhymes, so he could complement her weaker skills nicely. His name...it would be something melodious. 

Monica sighed dreamily and phased out of reality for the moment. Her huge purple eyes, rather large in her small, heart-shaped face, shone with the glory of love and hope. She looked extremely beautiful even in the dimness of her tiny room, and any prince who saw her now would not have needed a story to carry her off. But alas, there was no prince. There were hardly any nearby kingdoms that had anything but princesses left. A few of her older sisters had gotten married off to the neighboring rulers' sons, and Monica envied them horribly. 

"The youngest must wait 'til last," the king had said when she asked him through the servants to let her marry a nearby prince. "You aren't getting greedy, are you, my dear?"

After she got that reply, she never asked him for anything again. Just the tone the servant chose in conveying it was mocking enough. 

Monica sighed again. Getting out of bed, her bare feet pattering on the dusty floor, she tucked her precious manuscript beneath a loose floorboard. It was time for breakfast. She dressed herself drearily, draping her delicate body in her favorite white dress. It was her favorite dress because it had no stains on it. She contemplated the rows of white dresses hanging in her wardrobe unhappily. Why was it that the king always ordered her to wear white? Did he know that she looked dead-pale and vampiric in it? The servant who carried the order to her looked as if HE did, at least. She could probably never forget the man's sneer.

She straightened her collar, and, candle in hand, set off down the winding stairs to the rest of the castle. There were many, many steps. One night when she could not sleep, Monica had counted them, but by the next morning she had forgotten the number. Something around three hundred, she believed. Or maybe it was four hundred. It may have been unimportant, but she could not help wondering every time she went down. Her legs certainly ached by the time she set her tiny foot on the worn stones of the ground floor. She took in a deep breath. She was ready for the day. As much as she would ever be.