Prologue

In Which We Learn Something About Our Fair Fantasy Kingdom, As Is Traditional In These Sorts Of Stories

Once upon a time, a long time ago (so long ago, in fact, that the author will not bother to specify), there lived a rather ordinary princess in an ordinary castle in your ordinary fantasy kingdom. Her name was something like Alinora Morningrose Aurora Dawn Summer, but for the purpose of this story, we'll call her Gwendolyn—a nice, typical name. Being that she was your stereotypical fantasy princess, and therefore incapable of possessing anything besides good looks and some sort of Terrible Curse(TM), she of course had nothing in the way of personality, and in fact, if something completely atypical hadn't happened to her, she would be so boring as to not be worth writing about at all.

Unfortunately for the very typical princess, her life, planned out in typical fairytale fashion, hit a snag along the way, and her very boring sort of life ended up being not so boring after all.

Chapter One

In Which A Curse Is Removed, And The Author Tires Of Capitalising Every Word, And Also Of Starting Her Sentences With “In Which.”

“Damn,” said the princess Gwendolyn, as she stomped her way out of the (of course, enchanted) forest that just happened to border on her parents' kingdom. “Damn that witch!”

The peasants (hereafter referred to as “her loyal subjects”) eyed her nervously. They had, of course, never heard their beloved princess use such language, never mind stamp her feet as she did it. Their princess was a lady!

“I take it that the witch was not able to remove the curse, princess?” asked one of her loyal subjects timidly.

“Oh, it's not that,” said the princess bitterly. “She removed it, all right. No longer do I turn into an enormous frog each night, or fall asleep for a hundred years every time I prick my finger while sewing, or whatever the curse was. I forget. She removed it just fine.”

“Then whatever is the problem?” asked her loyal subject (unfortunately, as is usual in these stories, the author had not bothered to give him a name). “Surely you put up a good fight, and got her to remove the curse that way.”

“Oh, no,” Gwendolyn muttered sardonically. “Surely I put up a good fight! Ha! No!”

“Then—you must have found the cottage empty, and removed the spell yourself,” guessed the loyal subject. “After having taught yourself all the magic that she had left behind, having found yourself in possession of a gift for it.”

“Nothing of the sort,” admitted the princess. “Nothing honorable. Nothing like what was supposed to happen. The witch is no longer a witch, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, no!” cried all the loyal subjects as one. “Whatever is she now? Did she turn into some horrible monster that you were forced to slay?”

“No,” said Gwendolyn, and sighed dramatically. “She's become . . . an interior decorator.”

“Oh no!” the loyal subjects all said in unison. “An . . . interior decorator!”

“Yes!” cried the princess. “An interior decorator. She apologised for the whole 'curse business,' as she put it, and she removed it without so much as a second thought! She offered me tea and cookies.”

“What kind of cookies?” asked one particularly young loyal subject, before his mother could clap a hand over his mouth.

“Ginger snaps—and all of us know that ginger is my least favourite spice,” said Gwendolyn, letting out another dramatic sigh, and pressing a hand to her forehead. “She offered me ginger snaps and tea, and removed the curse without so much as a second thought. I mean, I should at least have been able to shove her into an oven, been able to do something remotely resembling the way that my story is supposed to go!” At this, having apparently used all her energy speaking in italics, the princess sank to the ground gracefully, her completely impractical pink ball gown (standard princess issue, model B) cushioning her like a cloud of something pink and fluffy (which the author has been forbidden as describing it like a giant pink wad of cotton wool, on the basis that it's not romantic enough).

“Oh, princess, whatever shall you do?” the loyal subjects all cried as one (their lines, of course, having been scripted years in advance).

“I'm sure I don't know,” said the princess wretchedly, from amid the yards and yards of pink skirt. “Certainly, there's nothing as can be done.”

There was an awkward pause as the author and the loyal subjects (hired, paid by the hour) were unable to come to a decision regarding what exactly they could say to the princess. Conviently, in traditional fantasy fashion, the king and queen chose just then to appear (ten minutes past when the princess should have emerged from enchanted wood, de-cursed, and with handsome knight who was actually a prince in disguise in tow).

“Darling!” boomed the king (in traditional fantasy fashion). “Have you managed to lift the curse yet?”

Gwendolyn, by now in severe danger of being smothered by her absolutely impractical skirts, looked up at the king with her clear as crystal, cornflower blue (as per fantasy ordinance 234) eyes. “Oh, no,” she managed to say, around the absolutely ridiculous amount of fabric surrounding her face. “It's not that. The witch is no longer a witch. She's an interior decorator.”

At this, the queen let out a little gasp, and sank to the ground herself—gracefully, of course, and as cushioned by her billowing skirts as her daughter had been. “Not—an interior decorator!”

“Yes,” said Gwendolyn. “There was no fight, and of course, no handsome prince to save me. I didn't even get to push her into an oven, or steal her own wand and use it against her! Nothing!” she finished, and sobbed into her skirts.

“Well!” said the king. “There's only one thing as can be done about this!”

“What?” asked the princess nervously. This wasn't following tradition.

“You must go back to the witch's cottage,” declared the king. “And you must ask her to curse you again!”

“Oh,” she said thoughtfully, and stood. “Back into the woods, I guess?”

“This isn't Sondheim,” said her mother. “No 'Into the Woods' for you!”

“All right, back into the enchanted forest?” said the princess sardonically. “Since there's so much difference between them?”

“You're not supposed to be sardonic!” her mother anguished. “Truly, being without a curse and a knight has made you forget your place!”

“Yes, certainly that must be it,” said the princess sarcastically, and clapped a hand to her mouth. “I will go into the wo—back into the forest most promptly, mother,” she finished, albeit slightly muffled.

“That's the spirit,” said her father admiringly. “Go get cursed again!”

“Yes,” said one of her loyal subjects. “Go get cursed—for the kingdom!”

“For the kingdom!” cried all of the loyal subjects as one.

“Thank you, thank you,” said Gwendolyn, standing despite the impracticality of the ratio of skirts to her tiny frame, and curtsied deeply. “I shall most certainly make a wholehearted effort to get cursed again as soon as possible.”

“All right, that's your speech over and done with,” said the king. “Now go!”

Aided by a push from her father, Gwendolyn once again found herself wandering the enchanted forest.