Works tired her. The routine bored her. All work and no play indeed makes Jack a dull boy. One glimpse at everyone else's life made her envious. If stories were made of The Princess and the Frog, she would be that toad, waiting, and still waiting by the well. For him, to whom was a prince, would be running after his princess on a horse. And the toad, it was forsaken.
Perhaps, the flowers had bloomed, but the petals had withered. She sighed.
Walk me through the woods,
let the wolves prey,
where the feet brings me,
running to the unknown.
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