"Now which bride will you choose?"

Fred Weasley sighed. All of them were much too bland for him.

"None."

"You've said that twice, prince," said King Arthur, sighing. "We only have one more row of maidens left."

"Then bring them out, I say!"

The row of seven women left, and another seven women came in line upon the stage. Fred looked from left to right, when he finally found his pick- a charming girl who looked like she could be Aphrodite herself. She held a Mona Lisa-like smile; a long, pale face; soft, full, pink lips; dark chocolate hair that touched her shoulders; dark brown eyes that looked downward in embarrassment; an ivory wedding dress and a bouquet purple flowers. The woman glowed.

But alas, he knew not even her name.

He glanced at her, then back at all of the other girls. They all looked the same; tanned skin, either blonde or light brown hair, freckles and a perfect white smile. Fred didn't want them. He wanted a woman who would stand out from the crowd- a woman with flaws, a true woman. Not a fake.

"Her," said Fred, pointing to the said maiden. "Her, I say."

The woman looked up, brown eyes bulging. She looked so sweet, so innocent, as if she were a doe in disguise.

"Then let it be!" cheered the king, walking up onto the stage. "Let it be she!" He took hold of her small hand, and brought her down to the floor where Fred had been standing.

"You," said Fred, taking the maiden's hand as the king let go, "are beautiful."

The woman blushed, batting her eyes and looking downwards at the floor.

"May I have your name, my love?" He bent down, only to kiss her pale hand in a gentlemanlike manner.

"Lydia," said she in the sweetest, most angelic voice, "Lydia Busby."

"Soon to be Lydia Weasley."