Well, since we're getting close, I guess I'll tell you a little more about myself before we get to the ball. It is a really long drive there.

I'm not blonde. I have dark hair like my mom. My eyes are dark brown too. Weird. My parents don't have brown eyes. I'm short. Shorter than both my parents were when they were my age. They say it was just a little "slump" in the growing process. I say I was passed from one king to another, but I am their blood.

Now let's move onto favorites. Color: black. Animal: Tiger, but a white one tried to kill my pixies, so I only like orange tigers. Food: Rabbit blood I guess. Long story, and since I don't have anything else to share with you, I'll share the story.

I was trying to become supermodel skinny when I was 9, so I didn't eat for a day. Then the next day, I went into the woods. I felt something weird whenever I saw a rabbit. It was like a… like… a need. Rabbit blood just gets me pumping! I honestly felt like I needed the blood of that rabbit. Then, later, I started getting the feeling. The need. I guess that I have my own smaller, separate need. I went home. I accidentally went pixie and tore a stuffed rabbit apart. I was breathing deeply and just randomly leaped out the window. I landed on a squirrel's tail and scratched it. I slurped up the blood. It was bitter, like raw acorns. They taste like earwax, and trust me, I know what that tastes like. Don't ask. It's another long story. Well, I wasn't satisfied with the squirrel for long, so I ran off to find a rabbit. I caught one soon and bled it too. It was so good. I was springing tears of joy. Then I put my glamour back on and went back home. I wore a white dress that day. There was dried blood on it and on my face and hands. I go in huge trouble that day. That's why I like rabbit's blood. It's sweet.

"Astlene? What is it you are thinking about?" Daddy asks out of the blue. "You are salivating. Are you thinking of the rabbit you bled? Amelie was very angry with you that day. You could not control your need. How can you become queen if you cannot control your need?"

"Easy. With a king. All I need is a king and I will be need-free. Besides, daddy. I was nine that day. And I lost a friend that day. Poor Mr. Squiggles."

"You know, princess," Daddy only calls me princess if he wants me to behave, "a king will not be the end of your worries. Although, we can have you fit for a king soon. This dress will not do."

Oh, there he goes again. Fashion savvy daddy to the rescue! Telling me how to dress!

Ah, here we are. At the ball venue. Here I come, pretty, pretty prince!