I was told from birth that a princess will always be saved by a prince. That when a damsel is placed in a tower for saving, she will be rescued by a handsome prince in dazzling armour. She will be swept from her tower on horseback and given a life of peace and luxury.

And they make it so very clear that the damsel is young. Young and sweet and innocent. With silken, untouched skin that waits for the touch of her true love.

They lied.

Not all princesses get saved.

Some are left behind to rot. To sit in their ivory prisons as they await a saviour that will never come. Losing hope with each passing day as they wake up to the same empty walls and haunted halls.

I am one such princess. Abandoned here “for my own safety” and left to fend for myself. I know these walls like the back of my hand. Waiting day by day for a prince to save me.

I’m in my fourties, for heaven’s sake! I waited for so painfully long for my prince that never came. Just like so many princesses before me.

My patience has finally worn thin.

I’ve spent weeks preparing for this. Salvaging what I can and making my plan. After all, there isn’t much left here. They never expected me to be stuck here for this long.

But I plan to escape. In a few days, I will have pulled together everything I need to leave his hellhole. And when I do, I’m not going back to that pampered life and those pompous people. I will forget my heritage and those people who “raised” me and left me for dust.

I’m making my own life. Live freely and frugally by myself. I will make myself a home and stand by the window, breathing the evening air as the sun sets. I will live and know that I no longer have to suffocate behind ivory walls with a promise of rescue that never came.

And with my departure, I will leave this diary and it’s many predecessors. My written words serving as my only means of sanity. So should my “rescue” some day come for me years after my escape…

… know that I rescued myself.