The Miller's Daugheter

Full Moon. Howling wolves.

The young miller’s daughter had grown used to these strange, yet comforting surroundings. She had moved to this new place with her father when they could no longer afford their moderate luxury, fated to a poor house with even poorer prospects.

Only the tall castle could overshadow the darkness and mystery. The tall, rich, grand castle where the king lived his extravagance that left the population to endure like magpies. They scavenged and protected their scraps of food as though their lives depended on it, for it is safe to say that many of their lives did depend on it indeed.

Like her breasts that had begun to swell, her cunning and resourcefulness had grown since coming where angels fear to tread. All angels that is, except for this one whose malnourished but gratifying figure could have come from heaven itself, had heaven had not forgotten this desolate land.

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