Once upon a time I, Lena Erfest, was born. Or so I assumed anyway, since I couldn't actually remember it. Common sense told me this was true, since how could I be if I'd never been born? I couldn't.

So, once upon a time I was alive and kicking, until suddenly I...wasn't.

You see, in an instant you can die. That's all it takes. One instant. One tiny moment of your life that turns out to be more significant than all the other tiny moments that make up your life.

One moment, like when you're rescuing a small kitten from a tree and fall, far enough and at enough of an angle to break your neck. One moment, like when you cross the street because you spot an old friend and get sideswiped by a car. That's all it takes: one moment to change everything.

Then you're dead, and what are you supposed to do then? Your body is, if not broken, just plain old useless and everyone is screaming while you just stand there like an idiot. It's damn disorienting, not to mention extremely annoying.

That first time with the kitten, it took me four days to figure it out. Not that I was dead -- that became fairly obvious when I stood up and my body didn't follow. Even more so when a weeping neighbour told my mother I had no pulse while I was standing right next to her.

No, what I mean is the dead but still present thing. I didn't figure that out until the meat hit the ground and sank six feet under it and I suddenly became visible again -- only with a completely new identity.

It's a wonder I'm not mental -- a possibility I kept in mind for the first couple of months. Even had a psychiatrist for a few weeks -- not that I told her anything, mind you, because even a crazy person has some common sense.

Becoming once more corporeal at my own funeral made me come to a couple of conclusions though. First of all, Death was a lie. Possibly. I mean, it's either all of the 'dead' becoming new people or just me, and I don't like the idea of being singled out like that. Secondly, I could never tell anyone. Ever. Anyone who'd believe me would obviously not be completely right in the head. Lastly, turning into a completely new person wasn't so bad, with £1000 in one wallet and an apartment key in the other.

So what if I had to die to get an apartment? I'd wanted my own place for years.

Not that I got to keep it for long, though, since I died again only a year later by choking on a sweet. Laughable, right? Only it hurt like hell. Three years after that a nail gun went off accidentally and hit me in the jugular. Shark got a hold of me a year later, and then I lived for a happy five years before the cables of the lift I was in snapped in an improbable yet apparently possible freak accident and I fell to my death. I'd had a job interview that day, too.

The sixth time was when that whole car-thing happened, only two years after I died in the lift.

I sat down on the sidewalk to watch the ensuing chaos and keep an eye on my body. It never mattered how long they lasted me – I couldn’t help but grow attached to them, a little. I'd had a date that weekend, too. Hopefully my new self came with a cute guy - I'm awful at flirting and it had been a welcome surprise that this guy had even asked me out.

"Dying sucks," I sighed and, to my credit, barely screamed at all when a voice from the sewer grate said, "Even like this you look beautiful."

I should explain. The voices from the sewer grates started shortly after my first death. They're not frequent and apparently I am the only one who can actually hear them, which was another mark in the 'possibly crazy' column. But the voices never told me to burn stuff or kill anyone, so I figured there wasn't much reason to be worried. In fact, most of what they said were compliments on my looks, so I always figured that to someone living in the sewer, naturally anyone clean, tall and blonde would look amazing. And what kind of girl doesn't enjoy compliments on how she looks, even if it is from sewer-dwellers?

So the voices weren't a big deal, until I started to hear the same voice repeatedly and quite frequently too. I'd tried to tell whoever was down there that I wasn't interested in any sewer-stalkers, thanks, but all that had accomplished was having people look at me oddly.

Then again, I wasn't my corporeal self right now, so why not give it another shot? "Hello?"

"Lena? Lena, don't worry, you'll be here soon!"

"Um," I said, because I was not down with having 'kidnapping' on my agenda for the day. "No thanks?"

I moved away from the sewer grate. My ride from the city morgue had shown up anyway.

My sixth funeral was a very odd affair. I hadn't been living that fifth life for long before I died, so I didn't have that many friends, and of course I wasn't keeping in touch with my 'parents'. Still, the entire thing was very touching, and truly, the friends I did have held some amazing speeches. Watching the body sink below the ground for the sixth time was strangely enough almost a relief.

New life, here I come, I thought as the first shovel dumped dirt on the coffin.

And then everything sort of went...black

Drifting back to consciousness, I became mostly aware of the fact that I seemed to be lying in a big, soft bed. It felt like a giant marshmallow had swallowed me whole -- not at all unpleasant. Once I could look past the immense comfort of the bed though, I spotted a woman sitting on a chair next to it.

Not just any woman, but my -- "Mother?"

Mother startled upright from where she had been sleeping in her chair. "Oh honey, you're awake! I just knew that handsome boy from the kitchens would be him, but would your father listen? No! 'He has to prove himself,' your father said, 'I can't let just any young man have a go! What would the kingdom say if word got out that I let a kitchen boy try?' Even when I told him how I recalled the two of you playing in the garden, he wouldn't listen. So off the kitchen boy went to prove himself and for years we heard nothing but the vaguest rumors about his progress. Then suddenly last week he shows up, fully knighted and everything. So impressive, and yet your father still insisted on the four days of tests, just to 'make sure'! But your boy proved himself, oh yes he did! Now look at you, barely a day after his kiss, and already awake! Oh, we'll have a feast tomorrow!"

My mother had started crying during the middle of her story and I could do little else but blink. I hadn't even got around to asking what had happened, and she'd already answered most of it - or at least, knowing my mother, to the most of her capability. Not only that, but I suddenly had a whole life's worth of new memories in my head -- from before even the life that had ended with the kitten in the tree.

I had all the pieces to the puzzle a week later -- that is, two days ago. The facts were these: I am Lena Erfest, Princess of Oller. I grew up with my best friend Peter, who was also the son of the Head Cook. When I was sixteen, I was cursed by a lady of the court who had once held an interest in my father. I had to live through my own death, again and again, until such time my True Love kissed me for the first time. For every false kiss, I would die in a new and horrible way. My father, overprotective man that he is, set up several tests for the men to prove themselves worthy before they could kiss me. Six deaths. Six men who kissed me before Sir Peter, former kitchen boy, broke the curse.

This is my seventh and final life. So far the loss of television is still devastating, but I have no doubt that in time someone here will invent it -- and then Peter and I will surely live happily ever after.