In a place like the Hellmouth, fairytales are difficult to believe in . . . but I think I just witnessed one.

Let's have a story, shall we?

Once upon a time, there was a brave warrior princess whose life was devoted to protecting the innocent from the forces of darkness. She had fallen in love with a dark prince, and their love was complicated. She was a child of the light, and he of the night. Try as they might, they could never fully exist in each other's worlds. The dark prince realized this one day and told the princess that they must end their courtship. Though the princess was heartbroken, she was resolute to remain as strong as she could.

During this time, there was a great ball to be held at the castle . . .err . . . Castle Sunnydale. It was the ball of balls, and all those of the highest class were attending. The princess was unsure if she would attend without the dark prince at her side, but she had another pressing matter in any case. An evil, scorned young man had trained hellhounds to attack those who wear tuxedos. It was clear that he had devised an evil plan to disrupt the magnificent ball and ruin the happy dreams of all those present. The princess was determined that her friends would experience a happy time at the ball and set out to thwart the villain's dastardly plan.

Through no small amount of strength and agility and cleverness, the princess was successful. She killed each hellhound and locked their master away to be questioned by the local enforcement knights of the realm. Though the princess was still sore about going to the ball without her suitor, she dressed and entered where it was being held. Her dress was astounding, and she looked never more the princess than in that moment. Her friends flocked to her, happy she had arrived and grateful for her timely rescue of the event.

And so the ball went on. Horrid Exotic music played, and the subjects danced and danced. Awards were given out per custom of the ball, but before they were finished, they had one last award to give. The princess was called to the stage. Her subjects had all noticed her bravery and sacrifice in protecting them over the years, and so they gave her the title of Class Protector and humbly presented a parasol trophy to her. The princess was deeply touched by this recognition, and I—your humble bard—had never been so proud of a student subject body before.

Just as we believed that all the gifts had been given, fate had one last in store. The final song was playing, and all those with a loved one had nestled in together. Yes, even the dreaded fool Wesley had managed to get his bollocks together and ask the fair maiden he'd been staring at all night to dance. The princess turned to the door . . . and saw her dark prince standing there, dressed in all the glory a prince should wear. The two embraced and shared one last dance to the song in their hearts.

The end.

-Rupert Giles

1999