It was dark, which was to be expected because it was, well, night. But nothing was happening here, in this perfect city. Nothing ever seems to happen here. I probably shouldn't be complaining; my mom would have a cow if she ever thought that I was thinking or saying negative things. This is why I'm actually writing them down. It doesn't sound so loophole-ish now, but at the time, when I . . . found this book, it sounded absolutely wonderful, and I must admit—I'd actually thought it was a great idea.

Stupid me.

Well, maybe I should explain why I am so 'depressed with the world,' like my irksome mother would put it. You see, I am at this place . . . called the Summit. It is actually kind of ironic, because we are in an abnormally low kind of a valley, complete with lakes, streams, and a waterfall or two at every city. Really, it's a kind of paradise—and I hate it.

You must think I'm crazy, but even if I was, it wouldn't matter. I'd still be stuck here, bored as ever. You probably don't understand—you must also think that I could just calm myself and go outside, eh? You know, to one of those wonderful waterfalls that I've been talking about? Well, no. I can't—or more like, I don't want to. Well, you wouldn't want to, either, if you were a supposed 'princess.' Basically, I'm stuck. Here. Forever. And, the weirdest thing of all? I can't even have a friend. I'm a lonely, emo little girl—no, princess—and I don't even have a friend to share my emo-ness with.


OK, so maybe I was overreacting just a bit back there. I'm in my room, on my carefully designed balcony ('Oh, dear, we absolutely must build this balcony carefully, eh? Wouldn't want the grown up princess to fall, eh?' Wouldn't want the grown up, absolutely dreadful, builder to take a wild fall, eh?)writing this by the light of the fading sun. I'm not allowed to have a candle up here, you see, because I might burn my royal hands or something. The idiots. It's a wonder I haven't climbed down the balcony, yet. Though, I have tried. Problem is I'm dreadfully clumsy and a bit . . . scared. Yes, I'm a coward. Wonderful thing, to be a cowardly princess.

Anyway, I have to stop writing now. Mother's coming in to tell me something 'important.'


It's absolutely terrible! Mother's broken a nail! Oh, call the ambulance. Apparently, this is the world I live in. I'm supposed to be stuck with a couple of loser parents and cry when something (like a broken nail) happens to them. If only I wasn't an only child. Then I'd have someone to talk and complain to.

Well, I must stop writing like before. Only, this time its morning and nothing's happening in here. Again.


Awful thought—what if my parents did have another child? And what if it turned out to be exactly like them! That would be terrifying! You know what's even more terrifying? The attack. I would tell you (whoever 'you' are, if 'you' are someone) that I'm scared. Scared enough to confide in you, as I have never in anyone else. Mom calls me a lone wolf . . . wait . . . mom? When'd I start calling Mother Mom?

Weird stuff.

And, other than the slow conflagrations of the attackers, covering the colorful flowers and poor trees in their smoldering delight, I'm quite bored. I know, you're probably thinking, that idiot! Thinking of herself in a time of crisiswhat a princess!

Well, think what you must. Just, after, think of the fourteen (yes, fourteen) years that I've had to endure . . . the talk of what dress I should wear to yet another birthday (or funeral) and then watching my drunken parents indulge themselves with fattening foods and dessert. How . . . pitiful. Is this what I am to become? A . . . a . . . piece of sludge on the royal name?


The . . . wagon was as uncomfortable as heck. Well, maybe it's not so bad. I haven't written in a while. It seems that there is something more . . . superior about this place. I mean . . . there's something call ellektricity (did I spell that right? Everything here is so bizarre) here—Wait, I think I've gotten ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

I last left you saying that I was a piece of sludge on the royal crown, yatta, yatta, yatta, right? And I did mention that there was a fire, started by the attackers, right? Well, I've been captured. Taken prisoner by some people who are called . . . called . . . oh, darn it. Something starting with 'n,' and I can't place my finger on it (literally) so I'll just call them weird people with black capes with fluffy, red clouds on them. For the meantime, I have not told them my name, like my mother told me as they dragged me away into the wagon (the uncomfortable one, mainly because on the present company a shark-man (!), and I'm not trying to be mean) and everything. Well, we got to this place called the Sound (?) and then everything seems a bit fuzzy . . . and, I fell asleep.

And, when I awoke, it was darkening outside and my head had this sort of heavy feeling to it, almost like I was drunk. I later asked about it—didn't get a response. The man with freaky red eyes says that I need to do anything he tells me. So far, he hasn't told me to do anything (and let's hope he never does, because, quite frankly, he scares me a bit . . . and it's like . . . I don't know, he can sense my fear?) and that's why I have time to write this mess.

So sorry, I'm writing in my only pen and it seems that the last part didn't make much sense at all. Well, I need to go now, red-eyes is telling me it's time to go to bed. Let's hope it's sanitary (we're in a musty cave).

Oh, and before I must leave you, I have to tell you—we're going to pick up more people! They say that I'm to have company! Red-eyes says the real treat is that his brother and him team (for what?) is coming! That's, according to him, three more kids!


Hmm, so, did you like it? I'm very eager to know what you think of it!

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