Pretty Pink Princess

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Once upon a time, there was a princess called Theodosia who lived in a faraway world called Uthraya, a land that was still new and full of races like trolls and great dragons.

Theodosia was what people would call a bright girl; she was the kind who noticed small things like snails, making sure to move them from paths so no one would step on them, the kind who sang to birds and watched the leaves turn before they fell.

She had long blonde hair that slipped down to the middle of her back and clear green eyes that pierced right through you.

More than anything, Theodosia loved to paint, not neatly or the way she was taught, but with her hands, sometimes in an explosion of color; she loved to explore, too, even the parts of the palace she wasn't meant to go.

But when she was only eight, her father sent her away.

He didn't say it cruelly. For little Theodosia, that almost made it worse. "It will only be for a while," he told her, not quite meeting her eyes, his hand resting on her shoulder.

*A while.* Theodosia held onto that word the way any child in her situation would. At first, she waited the way children wait, completely and without a doubt. Every morning felt like it might be the day, and every sound outside could be him. She stayed close to the windows, close to the door. *Maybe if I stay close, it'll be easier for Daddy to find me again.*

But days passed, then weeks; though she didn't count them properly, she could feel them stacking one after the other.

Months slipped by, years…

She tried escaping once, but it didn't work; her father found out and sent a dragon to stop her from going out.

Well… that’s not what he said.

He said it was to test her future husband; he said any man who could kill the dragon would be worthy to face her, Theodosia thought it was stupid.

Really stupid.

Because it was so obvious, he didn’t care about any future husband; he just didn’t want her to leave, but that didn’t matter.

The dragon and she had an agreement, their little secret; she could go out whenever she liked, but she just wasn't allowed to go too far from the castle.

So she didn’t go too far.

Theodosia would explore the nearby forest instead; it was enough, at least at the start. The trees were tall and close together, the ground soft with leaves, everything quieter than the castle but not as empty.

The animals of the forest would speak to her, and at first, they were nice. They told her how pretty she was and circled around her as if she were something special. They brought her wild strawberries and dropped flowers at her feet as little gifts.

But over time, they stopped; they didn't come as close, didn't speak as much, and started avoiding her.

Theodosia didn't care too much; she didn't need friends. Instead, she spent all her time painting. She'd already used up all the paper she could find in the dusty castle, so she moved on. The walls, the ceilings—anywhere her hands could reach—she would paint.

She loved bright neon pink, and she used it in everything she created.

She would paint vast landscapes of trees and flowers, all pink with skies filled with pink stars, stretching far into the distance. Sometimes it didn't even look like anything real anymore, just a mass of color.

Sometimes people came to the castle.

Men usually stood outside and called out to her, promising to rescue her as if she were waiting for it, but they never got far.

Gobs would eat them.

That is what she named the dragon. Gobs was bright green, with yellow hair and big, crooked teeth. Theodosia thought he looked quite ugly, really, but he was a sweetheart. All her neon pink paint came from him; after all, she was far too messy to collect it properly herself.

Other than Gobs, she did have one friend, though. She named him Prince Charming. He was just a skull from one of the men who had tried to fight Gobs and did not get very far. Theodosia kept him with her, set up carefully wherever she was painting.

She liked him; he was funny, and he told her stupid jokes, the kind that didn’t really land, but she let them slide anyway. Sometimes he told her to be better, to be kinder, and to try to think about things properly.

Theodosia never took that part seriously; he was dead, and what did the dead know about being better? So she ignored it and waited—not the way she used to, but she hoped someone would come, someone who could get past Gobs, someone who would take her far away from the castle, somewhere bigger.

Somewhere she could paint without running out of space.

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