Once upon a time I was a princess with so much to look forward to.

But the court of King Harold, my father, had other plans.

Sometimes I blame my curiosity.

I was only 7 at the time. I had spent the day exploring the castle and getting in everyone’s way — I’ll admit that.

I was shoo’d from the scullery and the kitchen, from the stables and royal gardens, just about anywhere interesting. What was I supposed to do, all alone with no friends or siblings?

Frustrated and bored, I sneaked into the Royal Conjuror’s rooms, and that’s when my life changed.

There it was sitting all by itself on his enormous oak table. The dragon chest. So many rumors about it! Why not, with such a name? My imagination ran wild with the stories I’d heard.

I had to open it. It was unlocked, so couldn’t be that important!

I certainly didn’t expect to find this.

A shriveled up, mummified cat or some such animal, with what looked like a dragonflies’ wings stuck to its sides, and a tiny bottle of liquid next to it.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Shouted a voice from behind. Startled, I shut the box with a slap and tripped backwards.

“How dare you, a spoiled brat, invade my private quarters?”

To say the Royal Conjuror was furious was an understatement. His face was livid. His hands were spread apart, steaming with a magical aura as if they were about to burst into flame. Spittle dotted his braided beard.

“I wasn’t going to steal anything,” I said, standing up and dusting off my frock. “And my name is Princess Angelica, the king’s daughter, as you well know!”

“I am well aware of who you THINK you are, peasant.”

His words startled me.

I watched the conjuror’s face contort into a vicious grin. “I’ve lived with King Harold’s secret long enough — I may be sworn to secrecy but I’ll make sure you do not ascend to the throne!”

And with that he pointed his hands straight toward me, and a beam of energy smashed into my legs. I passed out.

When I awoke, I could not get up. My legs were lifeless and I could not move them.

And now, 10 years later, that foul wizard is dead. My father is also dead, and the dragon chest is now mine. It’s sitting on my lap now, as if waiting for me to open it.

I have a choice. Throw the box away or investigate further.

Of course you know what I’m going to do.

I am now taking the bottle of liquid and pouring it on the mummy’s body. I have massaged it in. For the past hour it’s done nothing and I fear I’ve done something wrong.

But no — the tiny eye has just cracked open and has swiveled toward me.

I’m putting down this pen and paper to see what this magic has wrought.