The setting is a stormy night with smoky clouds in the sky blown from the mouth of god with a serious cigarette addiction. Stars twinkled in the starlight casting shadows on the shimmering husk of rock in the sky that every elementary student knows is called the moon. A shrunken husk of a woman is wearing a smooth cowhide of muddy brown color as a cloak and hobbles with the assistance of a shoddy cane-like-stick toward the large looming stonework castle just two feet away. She was also soaking wet like wet paper towels from the rain, but also because she swam through the crocodile-infested moat. She wasn't a very strong walker, but she was a champion swimmer. One time she won an award for it. Anyway, in the blood-soaked cowhide (oh yeah, the moat was made of blood from all of the people who had swam through and had gotten eaten by the more-frightening-than-a-bad-hair-day alligators in the moat) she walked up to the large looming stonework door and rapped her knuckle sandwich three times.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
An Indian man of approximately the height of the average man with striking features that could appear perhaps by some but not the majority nor perhaps by anyone who had not fallen deeply in love with him for some other reason or, more likely, had injested an untimely love potion, to be beautiful. He had short black hair, two beady eyes, and an elongated button nose. He looked exactly like a poorly constructed rag doll (and not in a good way).
"Who's that knocking on my chamber door?" he bellowed like a police siren.
"It is I, a poor ugly maiden in want of a place to spend the godforsaken night. I have soaked in the blood of your enemies, I have walked the pathways of your fathers. Prince, won't you let me sleep?" she inquired thoughtfully.
"NO," he demanded aggravatedly.
"I will sleep with the horses, or the cows, or the pigs. It is colder than the snow on a winter's eve out yonder," she whimpered urgently.
"Get out of my sight you peasant," he followed forcefully with great force.
"So be it. I place a curse on you and your castle. Forevermore, unless a kindhearted soul with a body attached to it can fall in love with you and melt your stony heart, you will look like a beast," she muttered loudly with great fervor. The transformation should have been instant, but because of the particular face on the body of the regal prince there was no distinguishable change.
"And you will have no limbs," the witch-peasant-woman hastily added on the tip of her tongue. She sexily turned into a butterfly and fluttered into the wilderness until only a star remained in the distance.
The prince stared longingly at his limbs. They were in a congruent puddle on the richly tiled floor.
"Butler Bob, freeze my limbs for reattachment surgery," the prince pronounced grandly.
"Okay, your majesty highness," Butler Bob said solemnly.
"Butler Bob, call a doctor for reattachment surgery," the prince pronounced grandly.
"Okay, your majesty highness," Butler Bob said solemnly.
"Your majesty highness, the power is out because of the deep storm," Butler Bob said solemnly.
"Off with your head!" cried the prince pronouncing it greatly.
Defeated, the prince fell asleep right there on the floor because he could not move and also had a phobia of being touched by anyone other than beautiful women and Butler Bob was dead and all of the women maids were involved in a scandal and were promptly removed beforehand before this event involving the witch-maiden-peasant-person occurred so he could not move nor get help to move so that was why he slept on the tiled floor which was pretty soft anyway because anything is possible when you're rich.
A brush of flesh as refreshing as a tall cup of coffee in the spring in a field of wildflowers. A bounce of hair as smooth as a baby's face. A sign...a sign...he could read it: YAMAKU ACADEMY.
The prince awoke from is dream, aware of where life's path had plans to lead him next.
"Butler Bob?" he whispered into the darkness.
There was no answer.
Anyway life's plan was to send him to Yamaku Academy.