It had been long enough. She'd given him every chance, but after thirty years, even she needed to admit the chances of him coming to save her were slim to none. She'd watched, patiently, shoving each pit of resentment further and further inside, as the damsels in distress from the neighboring towers were saved, the flag from the prince's kingdom flown high, billowing in the wind for all to see. It screamed, 'Look! A valiant prince has defeated evil!', a bright colour dancing against the dark sky as fireworks went off for weeks, mocking the remaining girls not yet worth saving.

Isabelle had told herself, with each passing year, that perhaps her tower was the hardest to climb, her dragon the most terrifying, her trials the most treacherous. But surely, if there were princes who had come and failed in their mission to save her, she would've heard something by now? The sounds of swords clashing, feet pounding on stone corridors, her dragon's battle screeches...anything, but the deafening silence of the same cold walls closing in on her. And on her thirtieth birthday, as she watched a girl who'd been in her tower no longer than a week, be carried away on horseback behind a boy who looked half Isabelle's age, she had to admit: no one was coming for her.

Fine. So be it. She'd been told the legend enough times to know the truth. There was a reason every princess was locked in her kingdom's tower, till a worthy prince could save her. There was a reason she was still here. She'd tried to play by their rules, to be the perfect girl, sitting patiently, concealing her true nature, until the day her prince would come.

But after thirty years of waiting, she would show them just how right they'd been to lock her up.

"Who's afraid of little old me?" Isabelle whispered aloud, her voice creaking from lack of use. She smiled, lips cracking with thirst, as she held up the hand mirror, the glass darkened with the absence of the portal. But she didn't need to see her reflection to know that her eyes glowed red.

"You should be."