It has been around more than 10 years since then. The memories were blurry, but Emily knew that she was younger than 6. Probably 4 or 5. She remembered how she had been carried into a carriage, quiet and innocent the whole way, grabbing on to that one red crayon.

Emily's gaze slowly traveled to the mini chest sitting on her dressing table. Inside is the only memory she has of her childhood. Her clothes had been long too small and were thrown out before Emily was old enough to know how important these rare memories were.

The worn-out and faded jean overalls. The plain white shirt that every child was forced to wear. The muddy, red dress shoes. Those were the only clothes she had left with. Of course, she had had many clothes at the orphanage. Emily remembered that back then she had been especially fond of a frilly pink tutu that one of the younger girls had gotten. Of course, the fanciest thing that Emily had got was the red shoes. Most of the clothes were for the younger ones.

Ever after Emily was brought to the palace, she was constantly running. Sometimes it was, "Princess! Your room is a mess! Come and clean it up," even though it was normally just because her blinds weren't open, or her covers were a bit wrinkled.

Other times it was, "Princess! Come here this instant and sweep the floors. How many times have I told you to sweep?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. However, I don't believe I was the one that scattered the tea leaves on the kitchen floor," she would say innocently, knowing that it was her parents latest guests.

"Away with your complaining, and get the broom, already! Maybe if you didn't eat away from the table, you wouldn't have to sweep!" Her Majesty would snap, stamping her foot.

Emily sighed and rolled out of bed. She could smell the scent of freshly baked goods wafting up the stairwell. The baker, Kristine, and also her best friend, had finished making breakfast. The smell was the signal.