Shrieks of hilarity from the dining room and the sounds of chairs scraping against stone often accompanied her lonely meal, but today her sisters seemed a little more subdued. Monica longed to join them, but she knew that if she so much as appeared in the doorway they would scream at her to be off. Once her oldest sister, Veronica, had thrown a tomato at her when she did not react fast enough. It had left a massive red stain on her collar that the cook thought was blood. The incident would have been funny if the cook had not seemed delighted at the thought.

Monica chewed reflectively. Sometimes she wondered why her sisters hated her. Her table manners were very good, and she never spilled anything...without apologizing profusely for it. She was polite and respectful to them, and once, long ago, tried to be affectionate. Her affection had been met with scorn.

The cook came bustling in, her skirts all aflutter, snatched up a container of sugar, and went flying out. The princess stared at her empty plate for a moment. She supposed it was time to go outside and write. Maybe she could finish her story today. The thought lightened her heavy heart, and she danced up the many stairs to her tower. As it was bound to be even colder than her dismal room outside, she threw a dull gray shawl over her shoulders and put on her riding boots. She fluffed her long, bluish-black hair and smiled at herself in her cracked mirror.

"Soon I'll be out of here! With a prince!"

Her mirror may have been the only one who did not talk back to her. She collected her manuscript and flew down the stairs, flew out of the kitchen, and flew down the steps to the gate. She waved at the guards, who opened the gate and let her through. The air touched her cheek with chilly fingers, and whispered dismally in her hair, but the fresh air felt good after the stuffy air of the kitchen.

Breathing in deeply, Monica turned around and looked at the imposing silhouette of the castle, which was neatly framed against the dark trees surrounding it. The castle was cut from gray stone flecked with white. It looked rather grim, except for the bright red pennant fluttering from the single tower in the midst of the compound. Her tower. She turned and walked into the woods. One day she had climbed out of her window and up to the tower top to put the flag up there. No one had cared. No one had displayed any concern for the clambering princess, if they had even noticed. Now she expected every day for the servants to come and tell her the king wanted her to take the pennant down. "Sacrifices must be made, Monica."

She walked rapidly along the shaded path, hugging her story in her arms.