The princess stared at the waves lashing up the coast from her large window. Today my prince would come, she thought. Her savior. The one who is going to defeat the red dragon that’s laying guard at the base of the fort and take her away. And then they’d marry, in front of the whole country, and they’d become a thing. The bards will sing songs of them, the writers will write tales of the suave and bold warrior who saved the world’s most-loved princess from the evil clutches of the red dragon.
She spent the day running around the fort, catching shrimp by the shore, and singing Taylor Swift songs aloud – much to the chagrin of the red dragon, who spouted smoke now and then from his enormous nostrils. At evenfall, the princess returned to her chambers, disappointed.
Tomorrow then, she said to herself.
The prince never came. Turns out he used Apple Maps instead of Google’s, and they led him to a tornado instead of the island.
The princess died old and wizened, hopeful of the prince’s arrival till her last breath.
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