Hope

Prologue

We begin this story with, "Once upon a time," for that is the way that all stories worth telling start. Now then.

Once upon a time, a child was born just as lightning struck the willow in the gardens of the palace of Shantari. As the tree split cleanly in half, a girl took her first cry in this world. After the initial yelp, the nurses and doctor were shocked when she stopped, and looked around the room with swollen eyes. Her eyes came to rest on the couple on the bed. The sweat-stained woman with tears rolling down her cheeks, and the tall man with his arms wrapped around the diminutive lady. After blinking a few times, the baby went back to her previously scheduled crying.

When the girl turned five, she learned she was a princess. 

"Mummy, Oleta told me I can't play in the mud anymore because I'm a princess. What does that mean?" The Queen of Shantari sighed, and knelt next to her daughter. 

"Aimi, princesses can most definitely play in the mud. Princesses can do whatever they set their mind to, do you hear me? You are a princess, but let me tell you what that really means: It means that you always need to think of others first. That you must always help those in need, and that you must always be brave. Do you think you can do that?" The little girl opened her large blue eyes wider and nodded emphatically.

"I can do that mommy. I know it'll be hard, but I can do it." The queen smiled at her child and hugged her fiercely. 

"Now then, you go back out and play with Oleta. Make an extra mud pie just for me." Aimi giggled as her mother kissed her cheek and lightly patted her bottom.

Three years later, the princess again asked questions of her mother. It was the night of the ball with a visiting delegation, and Aimi sat on a pillowed stool as her mother's handmaidens prepared their queen for her grand entrance. Her honey colored hair was curled and pinned, plaited and tamed, while her slender form was laced into a cream frock, speckled with pink pearls. Aimi knew her parents were considered good-looking by anyone's standards. She had heard the villagers comment on how lucky they were to have royalty that looked as such. Biting her lip with concern, she couldn't keep her next statement in. 

"Mother, will I ever be as beautiful as you are?" The maids and her mother paused in their duties.

"Will you excuse us a moment?" The queen asked, picking up her perfume bottle. "Why do you

ask darling?" She said, squirting her wrists and hair. 

"Well... Oleta and I were playing with some of the village boys today, and Wylie commented that I must not be your daughter." Her mother's grip tightened on the glass in her hands, but her face remained passive. 

"Why would he say a silly thing like that?"

"Well, Wylie said that people as good looking as you and father couldn't possibly be the parents of someone as plain as I am. I know you are my parents, I know this. But... will I ever be pretty Mama?" A slight clunk sounded throughout the room as the queen lowered the perfume bottle to her dressing table. 

"There are some people in the world who only look at the outward appearances of others, like Wylie. But that is not true beauty. True beauty comes from our hearts. Who we are on the inside is what matters, and you're the most beautiful girl of them all my angel. Don't ever let someone else dictate how you feel about yourself."

"Your mother is right you know," the king had entered without anyone hearing. "You should listen to her. I fell in love with her soul, not her face. And even when she's old and wrinkly like Oleta's grandmother, I will still think she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He dropped a kiss onto my mother's shoulder, and draped a strand of pearls around her neck thatmatched those stitched to her gown.