They are those young women, the youngest in families, who have not yet become women. They are little girls, still children. And like children, these young ladies have their heads filled with fairy tales.
Always the same fairy tale, the same story. The good prince saves the poor young lady from poverty and despair. A prince falls madly in love with her and takes her away from the falling life into his palace. They believe that this is how real life is, that this is how it will happen in their lives. They hope, lost in fairy tales.
I could be considered a prince. I am a young nobleman from an aristocratic family. My ancestors hold honors and titles, and the family name has value in the eyes of society. Our country house is twice the size of the mansion in the capital, and our estates reach the mountain tops. Our fortune is enormous.
I could be considered a prince. I have good manners and upbringing and speak formally and politely when attending my circle. I have education and occupations. My clothes are made of expensive fabrics that give off an aristocratic charm. My horse is strong and proud when I am on his back. I feel worthy of the heritage that characterizes me.
They are those young country girls who believe in fairy tales. When I appear in the summer, they look down shyly, imagining that I will save them, like the prince in the fairy tale. I genuinely love them for their innocence and youth. The sunshine of childhood changes the dull life in the country house, and intense feelings of love distract my everyday life.
When we are alone, their gaze is filled with longing and happiness for the fairy tale being real. I pick them out like porcelain dolls and implement the child’s play. Love words and promises fulfill the fantasy. I hold them in my arms and kiss their lovely young skin. The fairy tale ends in the barn or the stable, among the straw and the animals.
The drop of beauty that characterizes them is poured right there, the innocence they built in the years spent through fairy tales. There I take the magical breath of virginity and make the little princesses my own.
When they appear with bloated bellies carrying a child, they beg me to recognize them. There is nothing I can do but bring them back to reality.
Created by Diana Chemeris
Story in Greek:
https://fairytalesmaybereal.blogspot.com/2016/01/blog-post_28.html
Diana Chem 