Once upon a time, in a country now unknown to us, a young woman named Annie rushed through the pouring city rain, her thin shoes slipping on the cobbles, wet coat heavy against her legs. Carriages clattered by, splashing her as well.

She had to be back to the prison by 7:00 or the doors would be locked and she’d spend the night on the streets, again.

Twenty minutes left — would there be time? Yes, just this once.

She turned down the street to the toy shop and stood in front of the window. It was still there: the beautiful princess doll, her perfect porcelain face, yellow hair crowned with a dazzling tiara, gown encrusted with crystals, sat on a throne, surrounded by kneeling servants and courtiers. She was alwaus drawn to that doll — never quite understanding why.

In her reverie, she didn’t see the man walk up behind her. A hand clapped on her shoulder.

“Good evenin’ moppet, how much for a bit o fun, aye?”

The man stank of liquor and tobacco smoke. Annie pushed him away and ran toward the prison.

She had lingered too long.

The doors were just closing. “Please, wait!” She cried. But the pitiless guard laughed as he shut the door and the key squeaked in its lock.

In the rain, she found a spot by some trash cans and tried to get some sleep.

***

The prison doors opened at 6:00 am and, it being Sunday, her day off, she was glad to have the day to rest.

The guard snorted. “Well look who it is comin in here all special! If you hurry there’s a bit of gruel left from breakfast.”

Annie lumbered down herself down the dark and damp hallway, passing other inmates who stared down at her, hard and without pity.

Soon enough her cellmate, Sophie, greeted her. “Goodness, Annie,” she chided, running a thin towel through her hair. “You mustn’t do that again! You’ll catch your death of cold!”

Sophie made her some tea with a few biscuits.

“I hate this place,” Annie said. “But I’m so glad you’re here.”

***

Meanwhile, in another part of that country, a madman in a straitjacket howled in his cell like he did every morning, when a spot of sanity glimmered in his broiling brain, sanity that would be lost in a few minutes. Thus was his curse.

A slit in the door opened and a bowl of thin porridge slipped through.

The madman kept howling.

***

Rodgers had built the witch’s trust for years, awaiting his chance to strike.

The witch was intelligent, astute, and observant. It occurred to him that even decades may not be long enough.

But he had to risk it. The true King would not live much longer in the asylum. The King’s daughter was also wasting away in the debtors prison. She may be lost already.

Would the witch notice his anxiety, as he made their customary tea?

His life didn’t much matter, he had decided long ago. Whatever she would do to him is nothing compared to living in a country ruled by that witless fop pretender, Edgar.

He slipped the poison into her tea, and prayed.

***

The exiled mad King, raving and frothing at the mouth for the past night, was suddenly quiet.

His eyes opened and he saw clearly for the first time in 7 years.

His throat felt raw, his lips were dry and cracked, he was weak, but his mind was strong again.

He ate his first meals and slept in peace for the next several nights, until Rodgers, his faithful solicitor, arrived to release him.

***

Annie was surprised to find out that she had overslept. “Oh, Sophie, I’ll be fired from the factory!”

“I don’t think so,” Sophie said. “There’s a visitor here.”

Annie had been placed into the debtors prison as a pauper, and released as a Princess, daughter to the rightful King.

As she made her way down the dank halls of the prison, she could see no faces, no stares of reproach: just subjects bowing to Her Highness.