). But I really want to hear what you guys think. I would really appreciate some feedback on this. Oh, and as a warning, this is a very strange retelling...You never wanted this. That's all you can be certain of. At least, it was.
Now, everything is different. Suddenly, sleeping away your life sounds ideal. Suddenly, it seems the best idea in the world.
You weren't stupid. You had paid attention to the gossip circulating in your future kingdom. You had read the archives detailing all the royal decrees your parents had made. You had listened faithfully to all the stories surrounding the feast that had been held in your honor. You knew all about the curse.
You don't know when it happened. You don't know how. All you know is that you're life has become meaningless. Your whole life, you had avoided that room at the top of the tallest tower as if it were a matter of life or death. After all, it was. You never wanted to enter that room, that stone hell. You wanted to live.
Now, on the day of your sixteenth birthday, you find yourself walking to that room in the tower. Now, you find yourself turning the brass doorknob. You marvel at the feel of the metal against your skin; so cold, and yet so alive with things that could be, and also the things that couldn't. You push open the door and walk in. You enter speedily, almost running, so eager are you to escape your troubles. You look around the room and make your selection. Walking to the largest spinning wheel, you carefully remove the spindle. You almost smile. Tranquility is in your hands at last.
You walk carefully back to your room, careful to avoid any servants, any family, any friends, any enemies. No one can learn of your plan. Finally reaching your destination, you quickly enter the room, shutting the door carefully behind you. You glance down at the spindle in your hand and a delightful gleam dances its way into your eyes. You settle into your bed, making yourself comfortable. You figure it's worth the time. After all, you won't leave for quite a while.
Closing your eyes, you slowly bring the spindle to your finger. There is no need to look. The needle's location on your finger need not be exact. Anywhere will do.
As the cold point of the needle breaks your skin, you smile, even as a wave of exhaustion washes over you. Never have you felt more alive than in this peaceful state.
But wait! There's been some kind of mistake! You try to open your eyes, but to no avail. They are as if sewn shut. You try to move your arms, but they are crushed by a terrible weight. Your legs are no different. Last, you try to pry open your still softly smiling mouth to scream, but nothing happens. Cruelly, your lips refuse to move, refuse to let you wipe away that cruel memory of your former short lived bliss. Giving up (for what else is there to do?) you try to sleep. Yes, that's all you need to do. You just need to fall asleep.
You try every method you know to fall into that desperately sought for slumber, but nothing works. With nothing else to do, you continue with the last method you had employed: counting sheep. For days, you continue to count, and still no slumber. For weeks, the sheep continue to jump over that cursed fence, and still no slumber. For months, the sheep remain your only companions, and still no slumber. By now, you have lost track of all time. All you know are sheep. You reach ten million sheep, and still no slumber.
One horrid day, you lose count. You don't know how this is possible. What is there to distract you? You decide to just start over. You reach five sheep before you become aware of an increasing pressure on your lips. Surprised by the memory of the outside world, your eyes blink open, slowly, groggily. You are not used to light. Only the never ceasing darkness. Your blinking becomes rapid until finally -- finally -- your eyes adjust to the light. You find yourself looking into the eyes of a handsome man. A prince, you think, for though you've forgotten nearly all aspects of your former life, you still remember the story. You remember that it is a prince who will save you with a kiss. Your lips smile up at him, but only because they have been frozen in that false shape for one hundred years. You don't truly mean to smile. You are not happy in the slightest. You never wanted to be disturbed. You just want to return to your herd of sheep.
And so, though the prince calls out to you ("Princess! Princess!") you close your eyes. And so, though the prince shakes your shoulders desperately, you pick up right where you left off. Sheep number six. Sheep number seven.
