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Why I Sing-


younger, thinking if they threatened me enough I wouldn’t stray from it. Magic wards are located on the
edges of the solid stone path, protecting all those beneath its invisible field of energy.
Soon we are beneath the large Jade Gate-the main entrance into the castle. Personally, I prefer
the Sapphire Gate because the large pillars are colored a pretty blue. Here the pillars are jade green and
rimmed with gold.
We are rushed at from all sides. Servants ask my mother and me if we need anything,
respectfully keeping their gazes downcast and chins almost touching their chest. My mother waves most
of them off, only keeping Pricilla, her stylist, and Candice, her personal servant. I ignore the sly glances
they cast back my way and keep my eyes glued to the bumpy brick pathway that we walk on. Pretty red
flowers line the edges of the walk, but it takes a fool not to notice the dark brown curling at the tips of
the soft petals.
“Alright then, your majesty. She will be ready by then.” Candice curtseys.
I glance up as she approaches, eyes casting her a wary look. Candice is nice, for the most part,
but not one of my favorites.
“I am to escort you to the fitting room, m’lady.” She says, still standing a few feet away, and
curtseys again.
“Why?” I ask dully, afraid of the answer.
Candice avoids my gaze. “To make sure your ball gown fits correctly, m’lady.”
A small sigh brushes past my lips. Candice turns towards the West Wing of the castle, or the
Housing Wing, and then stops, waiting impatiently for me to walk past her. Unless my mother or father
is before me, none of the servants are permitted to walk in front of me. I continue forward, once again
ignoring her presence. I don’t need her to get to the fitting room.
The fitting room is a large room set aside for my mother. It’s where all the royal seamstresses
and tailors work, making clothes for my mother or making dresses for me when I run out of new ones.
It’s my mother’s favorite room of the castle, mainly because it’s within those walls that she is allowed to
dress me up and make me spin like a Barbie Doll.
It’s my least favorite room of the castle.
Della, the head seamstress and my personal designer, glances up as the door swings open and
flashes me a knowing, apologetic smile.
I ignore her as well.
Stepping up onto the small platform, I feel as if I am peeling back a layer of skin so that the
world can peer at my insides and laugh. Immediately, hands dart out and grab at my clothing, wrenching
it off my body. I involuntarily shudder at the bitter cold breeze and close my eyes.
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