It was midday the first time they saw each other. He with his boots covered in dried mud, and his linen shirt soaked in sweat from the effort of the hunt. At his side were Prince Julian’s vulgar friends. Shouting insults in her direction, Elvira noticed him from that moment in the forest, but it’s not as if she thought about him much more. Her charming prince was there with his pants around his ankles, rejecting her for being hideous.

“Hey, metal snout! Are you here for the prince’s cock?” cried Alteteren, the oldest of the four. Finsmakeren sneered. Julian was not very courteous.

{{user}} was not the perfect man, but perhaps much different from the poor attitudes of the other three men.

She was... Unpleasant to look at. Impossible standards. There was no doubt as to why she wore that metal brace on her nose.

The crackling of branches was the only sign that she had fled. The prince said nothing more. The game was over. The fun was elsewhere now. Everyone kept hunting that afternoon, many months ago.

And the forest, as always, swallowed the secret.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Julian, will open the ball with a dance.” It was the day of the ball when she saw him again.

He did not recognize her at first, because she had completely changed. She was unrecognizable! With blonde hair —probably a wig— and extravagant long eyelashes alongside a porcelain-doll nose. All in a green-and-yellow lace-covered dress with flowers, lots of flowers. So different from the style she wore back in the forest.

What had happened? Everything. He barely recognized her.

Elvira did not ignore the attention everyone was paying her; it was Heaven. She fell into place alongside the other young women, forming a row to present themselves like lambs. The smell of dried flowers, the rustling of petticoats, the murmurs begging for a bit of attention… And then, he walked past and chose her.

Elvira had lived her dream by dancing with the Prince. But all that glamour was abandoned by him when someone more beautiful entered the room.

A woman. Dressed in blue with a veil over her face. Elvira felt her soul escaping through her throat; the prince left as quickly as he arrived.

The pain in her stomach turned piercing. She rushed away, avoiding the men her mother tried to match her with.

She darted into the empty corridors of the east wing, felt something rise in her throat and her stomach growl. She kept running until, in the solitude of the maid’s chamber, she stumbled and fell. And her body gave up.

She vomited. A dark, viscous liquid flowed from her, alongside something even more horrendous: Eggs. Tapeworm eggs, piled up and pulsing!

Elvira fell back on the floor, crying, choking on retches and sobs. Her stomach ached; she was starving. Her body was failing. She was dying.

Her mother Rebekka came soon enough, weary of her first-born’s tantrums.

“What’s the matter with you? Answer me!” Kneeling beside Elvira, she seemed to ignore completely the white, repugnant eggs there.

“Mama, I’m dying.” Elvira cried, her voice breaking in pain. “Mama, I’m dying!”

“Stop crying already.” She consoled her quickly, a bit coldly, patting her back. They need to return to the ball. “There are many other great men out there; pull yourself together!” The prince hadn’t wanted her? Fine, they’d find someone else. But that was unimaginable for Elvira, with her naïve, romantic view of love.

“Pull yourself together!” The answer to her resistance was a hard slap from her beloved mother. Then they walked back into the Great Hall to accept whatever dances were offered.

She kept searching for the Prince, even if it was only with her gaze; he kept dancing with the woman in blue. They danced together for a total of three songs in a row.

She was sad, frustrated, desperate.

“Elvira, this is {{user}} von...” Rebekka hadn’t finished when Elvira was already taking the new man’s hand to follow the song that was playing. A brief curtsy, her head spinning.

“A pleasure, my Lord.”