They tell you to kiss the princess, to marry that girl. There'll be a castle, and a kingdom and you'll live happily ever after.
His princess was dead when he found her.

She lay in the woods, a pale little dead thing. She was not what they had told him she would be.
The black hair was brittle grey.
It might have always been that way, who was he to say?
Her skin was snow white, like they said.
At least that was right. - but too white.
A sack of bones on the autumn floor-
and those red lips were a terrible blue ...
Kiss the princess.

He'd have to marry her, this dead girl. He didn't know what her name was, what was her favourite colour, whether she has dimples when she smiled, none of it.
She could be sick inside and they'd still share a life.
A bed.
Til they were both dead.

He got down on his knees beside her.
She didn't bite her nails - he did.
Her dress was simple and pretty .
She was barefoot. She was beautiful.
dead.
He did his duty, and kissed her
and she tasted like sickness.
Her eyes opened and they were glassy and pale
and she smiled
- no dimples.