• Adela had always wondered how it would feel to run barefoot in the grass, or lie down outside and watch the clouds roll by, or be hugged by her mother.
    But she was not to know these simple pleasures.
    A mother's affection was a fairytale. Free will was but a myth. Hope was long forgotten. Happiness was never known.
    All Adela knew of was her lessons. Her servents. Her duty. And her damned title: Princess.
    It was because of that word that she was trapped in that stone monstrosity that passed for a palace. It was because of that word that every sound out of her mouth, every wave of her arm, was not her own. It was because of that word that she was a puppet.
    Controlled from the shadows. Tugged into motion by strings. Every move, every smile: fake. Twisted.
    She could not be real.
    She wanted to cut the strings.
    She longed to run away. Run from the confinement. Run from the stage that was her home. Run from the act that was her life.
    But she could not.
    She was only a puppet.