In fairy tales, the prince always rescues the princess, whisking her off into a world of ball gowns and happy endings. Growing up every little girl in the real world waits for her prince to come galloping in on his white horse to whisk her away from her normal, boring, regular life.

She knew there’d be no prince for her. She was no princess. She was the monster, the wicked-witch, the troll under the bridge. Princes destroyed creatures like her.

Brrrrrrrrrrriiiiinnng.

The bell. Well, time to throw herself back into the hell that was high school. She closed her book and stood, pushing in her chair. Walking towards the front of the library, she kept her eyes on the ground as she passed the mirror-like windows, avoiding her own reflection, though she knew what she’d see if she dared looked up.

Through the long sleeves and long hair she hid behind, she could see the monster the car accident had made of her; the long, jagged scars cutting across her skin and the dull, glazed over eye that once shone bright Prussian blue.

“Shit!” She met with something soft but solid, falling back gracelessly on her butt.

“Holy crap, I’m sorry,” a male voice above her said. Looking up, she saw an extended hand. “Here, let me help you up. Are you ok?”

Brushing off the hand, she stood. Monsters shouldn’t take charity, even if it was just an obligatory gesture. “I’m fine,” she said, her eyes still on the ugly grey carpet of the library floor as she walked past him.

“Hey! Wait a minute,” he said rather loudly.

She could feel all the eyes of the others in the library on her and the cause of the disturbance. Keeping her head down, she trekked onward.

“Hey,” his voice was suddenly beside her, accompanied by a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder. It was on the side of her blind eye so she was forced to turn and face him.

“What do you want,” she snapped.

The first thing she saw was a near-blinding smile. “Oh, you know, the usual, love, acceptance, world peace,” he laughed. “But I’ll settle for your name.”

Who was this boy? Didn’t he understand who she was? Perfect creatures like him weren’t supposed to know the names of monsters.

He was perfect to her, perfect ink black hair, shining emerald eyes, idyllic pearl white teeth, and a lithe body models would envy. He was a prince, a dark prince but a prince nonetheless.

“I have to get to class,” she said, shaking her head.

“What class?”

“English.”

“It can wait.”

A small noise of frustration emanated from her throat. She reached over to pluck his hand off of her shoulder, stopping when she felt something different. Looking down at the hand she held, she saw the familiar angry red puckering of scar tissue. His hand was covered in it.

“Ah….Sorry about that,” he laughed. “Most people don’t notice at first. I’ll leave you alone if you want. I just thought that since you—”

“I’m Cicely,” she said softly, turning his hand over in hers, still fixated on the scaring that marred his skin.

He muttered something that had her gaze lifting from his hand.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he laughed a brilliant smile on his face. “I’m Brennan.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, a smile touching her lips for the first time in days.

Maybe fairy tales weren’t so perfect after all. Maybe, just maybe, some monsters were just princesses whose beauty is hidden just a bit deeper than others’.