Once upon a time, there lived a fair maiden in the capital of Faraway Land. Every day, the fair maiden would wake up at the crack of dawn, wash her face with water from the well, braid her black-as-midnight hair, and leave her modest, and rather sad, cottage. The fair maiden was what you could call impoverished—she worked from dawn till dusk but gained so little money for it. Her work was wearisome and tedious—she was an apprentice seamstress in a shop that produced apparels for the royal family, so meticulousness was imperative. There were six members in the royal family—the King, the Queen, a Prince, and three Princesses. She herself had only sewn garments for the Prince and two of the Princesses. She was not very fond of any of the three, for they were self-centered and demeaning. She suspected that the King, the Queen, and the remaining Princess, the youngest of the four, behaved so as well. But what could she expect? They were royalty and she—well, she was a simple, insignificant inferior.

On this misty morning, the fair maiden was especially dreading her work. It was her birthday, after all, and birthdays were days when you were the princess. She chuckled bitterly to herself. Who was she fooling? She would never be a princess.

She arrived at the shop precisely when the cock crowed and took her seat on a hard-backed chair to begin her work. She was sewing a dress in light blue, supposedly for the youngest of the Princesses. She was entirely unenthusiastic about meeting this new face—surely her behavior would be identical to that of her siblings. She placed a small thimble on her finger and, with a grand sigh, began her work.

The fair maiden had just finished sewing the gown when the door of the shop creaked open and a young girl, who looked to be about her age, shuffled in. The fair maiden was a bit taken aback—was this the Princess? She couldn't be. None of the other members of the royal family were this beautiful. Golden hair crowned her head, and her eyes, as blue as the morning sky, twinkled shyly above her demure smile. The fair maiden found herself no less than gaping at the girl, her mouth shamelessly open and her eyes as round as the sun. She snapped out of her trance when a steward with a thin moustache entered the shop, his bleached outfit reflecting the light from outside. She hurried to yank her jaw closed and cleared her throat in embarrassment. The girl—who, she realized, was indeed the Princess—chuckled coyly and shifted her gaze. The fair maiden rose to her feet and lifted the dress into her arms. The Princess's eyes fell on the frock, and she gasped in amazement. "Is it mine?" she whispered in awe.

"It is, your Highness," the fair maiden replied with a little grin. This Princess was not at all like the others. This Princess was modest and coy and, it seemed, utterly perfect. She beamed at the fair maiden, whose grin grew wider at the beauty of her smile. For a moment they just stood there, entirely immersed in each other's magnificence, until the steward cleared his throat and turned to the fair maiden. "Well?" he demanded. "Are you not to fit the Princess into this gown?"

The fair maiden lowered her inferior gaze for a moment before beckoning the Princess to follow her to the fitting room. The Princess shot an offended glance at her steward and then proceeded to follow the fair maiden through the wooden door that led to the back of the little shop. Once inside the small space, the fair maiden closed the door and turned back to the Princess. She wished that this room had a sort of window or any opening through which cool air could flow into the room, because—well, she could not lie to herself—the Princess was beautiful beyond belief and she was about to see her in nothing but simple undergarments. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead just at the thought of seeing the Princess's slim body being fit into a corset. She quickly wiped it away, and hesitated for a moment before uttering, "Your Highness, I kindly implore you to remove your attire."

The Princess's lips lifted into that same coy smile as before, causing the fair maiden to almost melt with joy. She turned around and motioned at her back. "Will you be kind enough to aid me in removing it, sweet seamstress?"

The fair maiden's eyes widened with worry, for she feared that she would not be able to endure the inevitable closeness of their bodies, but she nevertheless closed the gap between them and reached two uncertain hands to pull on the string that held the Princess's dress together. As the simple dress peeled off of the Princess, the fair maiden's breath caught in her throat. The Princess's upper back was revealed before her, above the tight corset that was placed around her body. The fair maiden licked her lips as the garment fell off completely, pooling on the ground in a swirl of light yellow and pink. The fair maiden set it on a stool, lifted the gown that she had sewn, and turned back to the Princess. The latter was gazing curiously at the fair maiden, that everlasting smile still spread on her face. The fair maiden bathed in the Princess's glory, and noted how beautiful her skin looked, her shaped upper arms, her defined collarbone. She realized, again, that she was gaping, so she tore her gaze away from the Princess's breathtaking body and hurried to her, untying the string of the frock as she did so.

After a few awkward moments of situating the dress around the Princess, the fair maiden straightened her back and began to pull tight the string. Her skin tingled where it had grazed against the Princess's, and she was utterly exhausted from the strange arousal that the Princess provoked in her. "All finished, my Princess."

The Princess turned to the fair maiden, examining the dress that was now set on her body. She ran her fingers across the sleeves that reached to her elbows and the varying shades of blue that created a soft, wave-like pattern. The Princess raised her gaze back to the fair maiden and grinned widely. "There is no doubt in me that this is the finest dress in all of Faraway Land. I beseech you to sew more gowns for me, sweet seamstress—why, I feel as though I am the most beauteous and elegant Princess in the land when I wear this gown."

The fair maiden beamed and puffed her chest in pride. To be given such a compliment from a princess was not a usual occurrence. "I will sew a thousand gowns for you, Princess."

And so it was that the Princess returned weekly to the fair maiden's shop, each time reveling in the fair maiden's talent for sewing. The fair maiden, on her part, sewed more creatively each time, feeling as though she was given space to express her feelings for the Princess through sewing. She believed that the Princess did not need her dresses to be the most beautiful girl in the land—she was already that, and more. But the weekly visits of the Princess were too precious to express such thoughts.

It was on a midsummer day that the Princess came into the shop with a certain desire boiling inside of her. Without a word, she pulled the fair maiden into the back room, shut the door behind them, and drew her into—believe it or not—a kiss.

The fair maiden, though surprised, embraced the Princess and kissed her back fervently. She had been longing to do this ever since the Princess first set foot in the shop. They remained in this intimate hold for a few more moments before the Princess pulled away, her eyes glimmering with passionate desire. She grazed her finger against the fair maiden's cheek, and whispered, "It is an otherworldly idea, I am aware—but will you be my bride?"

The fair maiden gawked at the Princess. Are princesses allowed to marry girls, and maidens at that? She recovered from her initial shock, however, and her lips pulled into a grand smile. "I would marry you without a single thought to it, my Princess."

And so the kingdom of Faraway Land prepared a royal wedding, although many questioned the case. It was different, yes—but the Princess was allowed to do as she pleased. The King voiced some doubt in the matter, but the Princess was adamant about marrying the fair maiden. She would hear nothing of complaints and criticisms. And she received her heart's desire—on a warm midsummer night, they were wedded to each other with the King's blessing.

The fair maiden, who was now a princess as well, lived in the castle with her one true love. They woke up side by side every morning, dined together, bathed together. They were at the height of their joy and utterly unstoppable.

But one day, tragedy fell upon the kingdom. The Queen passed away of some unknown disease, and the King, who loved her dearly, was sent into a spiral of rage. He commanded his guards to bar every entryway to the castle, so that no one could enter, and no one could leave.

At first, the fair maiden believed that she would not mind so much being confined in the castle when she was with her Princess. But after seven new moons of such confinement, she began to feel a little crazed. She longed to be outside, to skip in the sunshine, to smell the fresh air. She would pace back and forth, unable to sit still any longer, unable to think about anything except for the outside world that she so missed. Her Princess would attempt to calm her, she would envelop her into her arms as the fair maiden sobbed, caress her, love her, but it was no use. All that the fair maiden wanted, at this moment and at many moments after, was to run away, far far away, with her Princess.

I turned on the faucet and let cool water pour out before cupping some in my hands and bringing it to my face. I let the water spill back into the sink, fixed my hands on either side of it, and squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe if I could just imagine being outside…but it was never enough. Imaginations just wouldn't do. I needed to be outside.

It was to the point that I was so antsy that I couldn't even sleep. I was running on nothing but a couple cups of coffee and two restless hours of sleep. I couldn't stay still, whether in bed or upstairs with Brittany. I was constantly pacing around the rooms, or bouncing my knees when I was sitting. I felt like I was choking. The house was just too stuffy. I couldn't breathe in there. I wanted to go outside so badly, but not only would my life be on the line, but also Brittany's and our baby's. I couldn't risk them. But it was just so difficult.

I guess that's what happens after over seven months of being confined in one small space. I knew the house like the back of my hand—every tile, every crack. I knew that there was a scratch on the far right corner of the dining room table, and I knew that the third stair of the basement staircase creaked horribly. Whenever I became extremely restless, Brittany would embrace me into her arms and stroke her fingers through my hair. I'd put my ear to her seven-month-pregnant belly and try to listen, to hear any sound that our baby might make. It helped to think of the future that we might have together with our child. It helped, but it also plummeted me into another spiral of anxiety and hopelessness.

I was very careful to always tell Brittany that our child would grow up to be like her, not like him. But inside, I was afraid. I was afraid that we wouldn't get the chance to raise our baby to be like us. Afraid that he wouldn't let Brittany anywhere near the child, afraid that he or she really will grow up to be like him. And even if Herr Eberhardt didn't insist on always having the child with him, what would happen when that child grew up? What if he accidently spoke of me, of his other mother, who lived down in the basement, in the presence of his father? And how, for God's sake, how was I to stay in that house for years to come?

I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to stand being in there. How much longer before I cracked? Before I did something so careless, before I was caught by that horrid man? What then? I would be dead, and Brittany… Who knows what would happen to her? She would be killed, or sent down to be a prisoner in the camp. She would be banished from the Aryan race for hiding and loving an inferior. Her entire life could be ruined because of me. I couldn't let that happen.

A pair of caring arms slipped around me, and I opened my eyes to find Brittany's blue ones gazing at me through the mirror. I turned off the faucet and wiped my face dry with a towel. Brittany leaned forward and set her chin on my shoulder, her eyes still on me. "How are you?"

I sighed as I leaned my head sideways on hers and our gazes locked through the mirror. "I'm fine."

"No," she closed her eyes for a moment. "No, you're not."

I inhaled deeply and lowered my gaze. There was no use in lying to her. She knew me better than I knew myself. "Come," I grasped her hand and led her out of the restroom. We walked to her room and she sat down on the bed, her hand on her belly. I gently pushed her back until her head lay on the soft pillows and climbed onto the bed beside her. I placed a tender kiss on her lips before gliding down her body, pushing her blouse up, and placing my ear on her belly, my face to her. She smiled sadly and stroked her hand across my cheek. "Britt?"

"Hm?" She passed her fingers through my hair, her eyes gleaming in the late afternoon light that shined through the window.

I paused for a bit, thinking out my words before answering. "If you could bring one person back from the dead, who would it be?"

Brittany pursed her lips in thought, her gaze shifting around the room. Suddenly, her eyes widened and a grin spread on her face as she looked back down at me. "Hans Christian Andersen," she beamed.

I chuckled quietly at her enthusiasm. "Why?" I turned my head to lay a gentle kiss on her belly.

"Because," her grin widened further, "because if we brought him back from the dead, he could write our happily-ever-after fairytale story."

A sad smile formed on my face, and I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. How long would we continue to engage in our fairytale game, in our fantasy world, in our perfect life together? How long would we continue to fool ourselves, to pretend that it's okay, that this wasn't war-torn Europe, that our love was not forbidden?

"Who would you bring back from the dead?" Brittany combed her fingers through my hair again.

I kept my eyes shut and bit my lower lip. After I was silent for a few moments, Brittany said softly, "Ángel?"

A tear slipped down my cheek and onto her belly, and I nodded, taking in a shaky breath. "I miss him," I said hoarsely.

"I know, San," she wiped the tears from my face. "I know."

"I just feel like he would've known the answer. How to get us out of here. He was always so bright for his age." I sniffed and looked at her. I could tell how worried she was about the way I was acting in the past couple of weeks, ever since that man left a bruise on her arm.

Suddenly, I felt a little flutter under my ear. My lips widened into a joyous smile and I put my hands on either side of Brittany's belly. Brittany giggled at my touch and said, "Look how much our baby cares for its mama."

A grand smile still spread on my lips, I turned my face to her belly and began to lay kisses all across it. Brittany continued to stroke her fingers through my hair as I did so, occasionally giggling at the tickling kisses.

When her hand dropped from my hair to the bed, I turned my head to find that she had fallen asleep. I smiled softly to myself and lifted my body away from her, pulling her blouse down so that it would cover her belly again. I slid off of the bed and wrapped Brittany in the thick blanket. I stood by the bed and hugged my arms around me as I looked down at her peaceful face. Her mouth was slightly parted and her chest lifted and dropped rhythmically. She was utterly perfect—almost like a dream that was in danger of being shattered at any moment. I tightened my jaw closed and blinked hastily as anxiety began to build up inside me again. I closed my eyes and attempted to steady my breathing, balling my hands up into shaky fists. It felt like the room was closing in on me, like the air was too moist to breathe. I found myself breathless in minutes, in a sort of hyperventilating state. Thoughts about being found out or Brittany dying in labor riddled my mind, and everything—our troubles, the deaths, this entire war—seemed like it could be solved with one simple act. All that I had to do was to go outside and bathe in fresh air, and the world would fit itself back into place.

I flicked my eyes open and held my breath as I gawked at Brittany. Herr Eberhardt wasn't home. It wouldn't hurt anyone if I went outside, just for a little bit, just to catch my breath. It wouldn't hurt anyone.

I turned on my heels and trotted out of the room, in utter joy that I was about to finally leave this house. I skipped down the stairs, two by two, and dashed to the front door. I felt sort of strangely powerful as I pushed down the handle of the front door and met the cool night air. I stood in the doorway for a moment, a cheerful grin spread on my face, gulping in the fresh air. It smelled so pure, tasted so sweet, felt so welcoming. I let out a breathy laugh as I took a step out of the doorway and let the cool air envelop me completely. I wanted to jump up in joy, to scream to the world that I was Santana Lopez and that I loved Brittany Eberhardt. I strolled across the front porch and down the wooden stairs, reveling in this long-missed feeling. I let my eyes wander around the hilltop, the beautiful bushes and breathtaking trees. It seemed like each star in the night sky was twinkling brightly especially for me. I felt powerful and mighty—I felt unstoppable.

But all good things must come to an end. The sweet air caught in my throat at the sound of tires against gravel. I spun around so quickly that I almost toppled over. A black Mercedes was approaching the house at an outrageous speed. I snapped my head around and realized, panicked, that I had wandered too far away from the front porch. I knew that I would never make it in time. The automobile's headlights washed the house and the baby blue front door, which was cracked open. The car came to a halt before the front porch, and a dark figure exited the driver's seat. I bolted behind the nearest tree, but the traitorous gravel on the ground made noise under my feet. As I peeked through the leaves, praying that they and the dark night were enough to keep me hidden, the dark figure turned toward the tree behind which I was hiding. The man stood motionless for a few moments before slamming the door of the Mercedes and walking around the vehicle—and not toward the house.