She was convinced she was a princess. If movies of the possessed mouse had thought her anything, if one thing was completely true, was that her life was a fairy tale, similar to the stories of the princesses living in majestic castles of lands far, far way.
She lived in the same world as everyone’s, but not in the same reality. For her, plain clothes seemed like magical dresses, cars felt like royal chariots, and every meal was a feast of sweets in which apples were strictly forbidden for obvious reasons. Of course, her friends were fantastic, too.
There was the winged friend that lived with the princess, who because of her purity and powers had to be either an angel or a fairy taking care of her.
There was the very, very old magician sage who would visit her at times.
There were her friends, the giants, all so big, so tall, so adorable, so playful—and so handsome.
There was her leprechaun friend, with whom she never shared sweets while studying about hidden treasures or he would not help her reveal the secrets.
There were other marvelous characters populating her life, a whole lore, but she was still missing two: a magical pet, though she wanted no smart ass or talky rat; and a charming prince with a glassy slipper and a stallion for her to ride. The latter, however, she didn’t want, for the movies had taught her that the arrival of the prince marks the “happily forever after”—which she wanted for later, once she had written more of her fairy tale on her own.