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As the stupid, young prince

wandered through the woods, he touched the branches of every tree and listened to each vibrant flower’s melody, intently searching for something. It was then that he came upon the little girl, the young heroine sleeping under the hawthorn’s shade as she waited. Her strawberry blonde locks fell over her shoulders and across her cheeks, and as the sun struck it, it shimmered like a vibrant jewel. Her skin glowed, the early afternoon’s moonlight shinning in the forest’s depths.

Seeing her lying there, the prince drew a sharp breath, thinking to himself that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “This flower shall be mine,” he softly whispered to himself as he bent down to press his lips against her cheek, in an act he believed would bind them for the rest of his very long life.

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