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March 18, 2013

I am princess. I am bored.

There’s nothing to do all day except stare out at the sea. The same old, same old sea that has been there my entire life. And will be for the entire rest of my life, if Papa has anything to say about it. Demon king.

Sometimes there is a ship, and new people come. I am never allowed to meet them. Papa throws them to the Minotaur. I went to see the Minotaur once. It’s stupid. And boring. Imagine if your fate in life was to be eaten by a stupid, boring Minotaur. Almost as bad as being stuck here forever, looking out at endless waves upon waves upon waves.

I like spinning. My spindle dances and the soft fibres draw through my fingers. I’ve been spinning every day since I was five years old. Sometimes I climb up to the tallest tower, overhanging the cliffs, and I spin out of the window, down and down and down. The trick is to make sure there is plenty of weight on it, so it keeps on turning for a really, really long time. Up in the tower is an old man who talks to the birds. I like him. Sometimes I give him yarn.

Today I am not spinning. I am bored even of the spindle. There is a new ship in the harbour. I am too bored to pay much attention, bored even of the ships. It’s not as if anything interesting ever happens. Just another bunch of people I’ll never get to meet.

I go out to see if my newly-washed blue yarn is dry. It is blue like the sky, but I’ve spun in strands of shining silk, yellow like the sun. I don’t want to go outside any more than I want to stay inside, but I’ve got to do something, I suppose.

Dry. It feels soft and warm. I imagine working it into stockings for the man in the tower. I think he would like stockings for the winter, stockings like the summer sky. Carrying the yarn back from the drying-place, I pause on the cliff path and look down at the ship. I almost feel sorry for them. They don’t have the imagination even to escape. But then, nor do I.


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