As if.........Life, itself, was slipping through the crevices of the dried up remnants of her heart....She clings to the belief that the man her father would tell her about through bed time stories truly exists. A prince. In the world today, a prince is simply what you make him, or accept him to be. We live in a time where a man walking down the street, smiling at his joyful life is considered deranged. A time where a man who strives for legal success is frowned upon, and treating his woman like a queen is too soft. Too good to be allowed to be true. 

She clings to the belief of the existence of a storybook prince, yet the role she plays is that of the Evil "Queen," yet, in her own life. She plays the role of Eve, where she meets her Adam, and chooses to sabotage perfection, looking for reasons to be miserable. Misery. Misery, does indeed, enjoy company. Accompanied by gossip full conversation, based on fabricated evidence of a murdered heart. She would rather tell stories to her friends, of wrongdoings.....real life Spanish Soap Operas....instead of telling a history of happiness. She runs. Runs from an accurate account of the positive experiences that she's been given. There was one.....who opted to show her the room, and she, thriving from the 'Eve Complex' did not want to leave the room. 

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