The Princess

The hot, bright sun danced it's rays upon the fair skin of a young maiden. The child sat discontentedly with her elbow resting on the window sill. Her expression was simply an upset, juvenile pout.

It was beautiful outside, but the girl was locked in this tall tower. She saw her captor, a young prince, enjoying the natural beauty and liquid warmth of the pond. She despised the boy, who was just two years older than she.

"Anastasia," a male voice whispered. It was deep and smooth, much unlike the prince's. His voice had an occasional squeak to it. The young girl turned her head, her fiery braid flopping over her shoulder.

A beautiful man stood before Anastasia. His deep black locks curled cutely at the ends. It was trimmed so that it went no further than the collar of his fancy shirt.

Anastasia had believed she would be stuck in the tall, lonely tower until she agreed to marry the young, stuck-up prince. Now there stood her savior, just before her eyes. "Salvator," she smiled warmly. This was her childhood friend. He would save her.

Then everything around her started to fade. Her name, however, remained echoing incessantly in her head. It became more and more feminine until she heard a little more. "Anastasia dear, wake up."

The girl's blue eyes flew open. She found herself staring her mother in the face. "You're going to be late for school."

Anastasia closed her eyes once more as the woman headed for the bedroom door. She rolled onto her side and punched the pillow, groaning softly. "Is there something wrong?" The girl's mother held the door, concern and curiosity etched on her face.

"It was only a dream," the child whined.





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