They told me that I'm a princess.
I didn't believe them.
But my sisters did, after they were given enough time.
I'm still not convinced.
They can't steal my life from me.
They can't force something like a prophecy onto my shoulders.
They can't tell me that I have to rule an entire world.
I make my own decisions.
It's always been like that.
Always.
They can't do this.
It's just a dream.
It's all just a huge joke.
I'll wake up soon.
Life can go back to the way it was.
The way it should be.
Normal.
I'm not a princess.
I never pretended to be.
I can't take this anymore.
Please.
Just let me wake up.
I'm not a princess.
Even if everyone tells me I am.
Even if I have to wear a dress every day.
Even if I have to make light talk to avoid a war.
Even if my best friends tell me otherwise.
Even if I develop super-natural powers.
I'm not a princess.
Never will be.
Never have been.
Will not be now.
I'm not a princess.
Why won't they believe me?

Tuesday

I'm still here.

Seriously?

I can't even wake up from this nightmare?

I've been pinching myself all day. Now my entire left arm is blotchy red. Probably not a good sign. But I couldn't help myself. I need to wake up.

I have a cross-country meet tomorrow.

And running from gorilla-ape-zombie-things isn't the same as running for competitive fun. More like "RUN-OR-THAT-FREAKY-THING-THAT-LOOKS-LIKE-A-MOLDY-HAM-SANDWICH-WILL-EAT-YOUR-SOUL!!!"

Not as fun as it sounds. Trust me.

Writing on parchment with a quill is no picnic either. Almost as bad as running from the above-mentioned whatchamacallit's... Ul-thra, or something like that.

Almost.

Clare would say that I'm murdering trees by leaving all this space between phrases. That's even more important to her now. But it's just how I write. It helps me to seperate my thoughts into different "bins". Jimmy says it's just my inner need to be overly-dramatic writing. Maybe he's right.

Maybe.

But I think I have the right to be overly-dramatic right now.

Being transported into a completely different world does that to you.

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