She lost a shoe at a church service, a single white heel left in a pew for her white prince to find. She pricked her finger in the shower last night, one crimson drop spiraling from her finger to petal on the flawless white tile. Her hair’s gets caught in everything, and she’s pretty sure eating apples gave her appendicitis. She’d love nothing more than to sleep for a hundred thousand years.
Maybe she read too many fairytales when she was little, but it was never supposed to be this hard. Her prince isn’t supposed to hurt her until she cries. He’s supposed to leave the ugly stepsister for her, not a different stepsister. He’s supposed to cut through thorns to find her, not leave her in the dust without goodbye or a backwards glance.
She supposes her “signs” aren’t really the universe’s way of telling her not to lose hope. They’re simply quirks of life, designed to keep her hanging on to a fairy tale ending that will never be.
Still, she muses, as she puts a headband on in place of a crown, life goes on and the queen keeps smiling.
I like the bit "Maybe she read too many fairytales when she was little, but it was never supposed to be this hard."
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