She wasn’t the only one cursed that day, but due to her golden hair and waif-like looks she was the only one noticed whilst I whiled away the hours day after day still waiting for my prince to arrive. Ginger hair and spotty skin does not a princess make, so I’ve been told. My parents also forgot to invite Maleficent to my christening. They also forgot to write her name on the list of 1000s due to attend. They say it was an oversight, a horrid mistake, one they truly never intended to commit, but commit they did and cursed I became. Granted, my family had less stature than the princess’ family, but this fairy witch didn’t hold back on her curses. And so, you know the princess’ story. You know she fell into her slumber on her 16th birthday, the same day I slept my last sleep, and you know how she lay, beauty on show for all to see, mourned by the hundreds. And me? I grew more haggard, grew bad tempered and grew the biggest bags under my eyes the world had ever seen. I tried it all: meditation, chamomile tea, counting so many ridiculous sheep you’d think I was a shepherd, but none of it helped and sleep remained elusive. My curse came with a different stipulation to the princess’. The princess was borrowing my sleep, and so once her true prince came to wake her sleeping frame, all that sleep would return to me. It didn’t matter how much I tried to make it come, as long as she slept I never would. The witch had to borrow someone’s sleep, I suppose. Each day I grew weaker, but I would still venture out to track down a Prince and convince them a sleeping woman was ideal. “Think of the arguments you’d win,” I’d plead with each passing man, but who would listen to a crazy sleep deprived woman at the edge of the road? It was no use, and I could feel the insanity creeping in. My speech became slow. I’d babble at the roadside, “witch,” “princess,” “sleep,” but none of it made sense and I started to notice people keeping a wide berth. I’d started to raise my voice to reach the passing bodies, but it only seemed to increase the gap between us. My ginger curls began to hang limp, my skin sallowed, and my bones began to show. I didn’t have the energy to eat; sipping water daily was all I could muster. News, one day, reached the city. News of a Prince venturing into the castle. The city folk were all a flutter, excited that this could be The One. He was handsome, I’d give him that. His hair was of the most beautiful, rich chocolate brown in a perfect flick across his forehead. I watched him from afar, in my rags and begged, really begged, for this one to work. I sat on the ground, legs curled underneath my skirts, and my head rested against the wall. People swirled around me, full of energy after good nights of sleep and rest. The rushed to and fro. Carrying gifts aplenty for the charming prince, they began to build up a scene of festivity ready to greet this man. He rode in on a horse the colour of snow, and swarms of people crowded him shouting their wishes and love for him. They encouraged him to the castle to save their beloved princess, and still I sat, watching. Praying. The prince reached the castle walls, and the crowds remained behind the barred gates. A silence settled on the city as every inhabitant stood with bated breath. The wait seemed to go on forever. Even the birds appeared to still and a peace fell upon the streets. After what seemed an age, a slight movement in the top bedroom window sent a flutter across the crowd. Sharp intakes of breath were heard all round as the prince came into view before approaching what was the princess’ resting spot. Titters continued as ladies hypothesised about the outcome, as men whooped and wolf whistled the handsome prince. Children clung to their mother’s skirts as a real life fairytale unfolded before their eyes. And then a cheer. The curtains were pulled back, and her pale, slight frame filled the window, held up by her prince. She waved, a graceful wave, down to the crowds below before retreating inside, although god only knows why she’d needed to rest. The crowd was partying like they’d never partied before. Tables were carted out into the street, bunting hung, food from the bakers and the butchers and the grocers was laid out, and the inns opened their doors to carry drinks into the road. The noise grew. Children ran wild, dogs and cats roamed begging for scraps. Glasses clinked, forks scraped, voices sung. And me? I closed my eyes.