She danced around the room, her feet flying, barely touching the floor, as the band played and her people clapped in rhythmic unison.
The Princess was happy, overjoyed that she would be able to marry the man she loved, and that the man she loved was so happy to be marrying her. Their day of peace was granted, but the King, untrusting of their neighbors, kept his guard up, his sword at his side, and his eyes looked everywhere, for any strange thing that would give him any hint that something gruesome was to happen.īut, the day was happy and without bloodshed, the King, in his heart, felt that one day this war could be over. They were wed in the middle of a war, and the King begged their battle ready neighbors for peace, at least for one day, for his daughter to be wed. She was in love, and no other man, no other Prince or King, no amount of money or silver tongue could convince her otherwise.Īnd the King, who had married a woman he had not loved, who was betrothed to him since birth, let his daughter choose her husband, he wished her happiness in all things, and even if it took the rest of his life, he would take the poor man under his wing and teach him to be a great king. THERE WAS A YOUNG princess, who fell in love with a poor man, she begged her father, the King, to let them be married. It implies that the time is whenever the reader wants it to be, long ago, perhaps by centuries, or just last week.īut this is my story, and it happens not once upon a time ago, but a month after I was born. Once upon a time clogged the starts of many tales, but not this one. It seemed unfair, it was just a few hand-picked words strung together for the sake of sounding inspired.īut over and over again, it was the choice phrase of one too many writers. “ONCE UPON A TIME” was always a phrase I had hated.
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