Once upon a time, a girl recieved an invitation. She, of course, was thrilled. It was not your regular invitation, nor anything of the sort. This was an invatation to a ball. A ball that would not end until the prince, as princes do, finds his bride.

This girls name, was Twyla. And Twyla knew, oh she knew, she would be his bride. She was absolutely positive.

And so, she arrives at the ball in her wispy, pastel pink gown that seemed to be made of spun sugar. It had off the shoulder sleeves made of pink tulle, and pearls that were heavy along the bottom, but slowly disappeared until there were none left at her waist.

She exits her carriage pulled by majestic white horses, and walks into the castle.

But, unlike every other star struck girl at this ball, she did not go to the ballroom. She went to a closet. And it was not necessarily the quality, or comfort of this closet that intrigued her, but it was hidden.

And so, from the folds of her skirt in a hidden pocket, she retrieves a vial. A vial that reads: “potent love spell- use with caution.” And of course she payed no attention to the warning as she poured it on her hands and rubbed in the honey sweet liquid. But all magic comes at a cost.

And finally she floats into the ball, and it is her turn to dance with Prince Edward.

She giggles innocently as he takes her hand and presses it to his lips. And no, he does not notice the honey sweet scent, or the sugary taste.

All he notices, suddenly, is how unimaginabley gorgeous she is. She shines brighter than any girl in this room- at least to him.

“Please- what’s your name?” He asks breathlessly. “Oh!” She replies, as if she’s surprised at how enamored he is. “I’m Twyla,” she says.

And like clockwork, he immediately gets down on one knee. “Please, you’re so beautiful! Marry me!”

And she nods enthusiastically, saying, “Oh, of course!” And on the outside she has a graceful smile, but on the inside, a malovolent grin.

And so, months and months pass, with her being the most perfect, most beautiful, most breathtaking wife and queen the kingdom has ever seen. Until one day, the prince does not take his love potion.

Of course, Twyla did not forget, she is far too clever. But she did wait an extra day to give him his love potion, so the effects weren’t as strong, just for that day.

And so as she hands him his “tea,” he brings it to the royal alchemist, as it feels just slightly . . . off.

“Robert, please test this tea and tell me what’s in it.” He asks. And so the alchemist takes the tea, and returns with it a few moments later.

“Well your highness, it appears there is a heavy dose of love potion in here.” He says.

The princes eyes widen. “Guards!” He calls, “Bring my wife to the guillotine!”

The guards obey without question. And as soon as Twyla is brought to the guillotine, she knows she has failed.

But she is not upset. She is proud. She knows her legacy will live on in story books, such as this one.

“Long live the queen!” She calls out, right before her head falls in a basket.

And so no, they did not have a happy ending, not by a mile.