Her hitched-up and ripped ballgown flowing behind, she thundered through the open gates, not daring to look back, hoping against hope she would not be followed.
Pushing her horse on through forests and fields, her immaculate hair fell slowly apart and itself took flight. Her only thought was to keep on taking routes randomly while ultimately heading east, for the border.
Her closest servants were to thank for this chance. Feeling she was too innocent to face the mob’s blade they ushered her away from the party (slapping her into sense when she initially refused) and helped her onto a horse (ripping her dress and changing her shoes) before ensuring a clear path to the gate.
She first heard them behind as her ride began to tire. Louder and louder their galloping grew as hers lessened. She looked out for a new route or solution but she’d taken a road that would only let her go straight on, swamps blocked all other directions but back.
As they drew up alongside she cursed the effects of the afternoon’s hunt before the sword swung and removed her head.
They stopped her horse, fixed the headless body in its seat and hung the head from her steed’s bit rings before thwacking its behind and sending them on toward her goal.
Now every night on that same stretch of road, each lost and lonely little toad will see her form once again in full flight, her complexion now and ever a bright ghostly white.
Pushing her horse on through forests and fields, her immaculate hair fell slowly apart and itself took flight. Her only thought was to keep on taking routes randomly while ultimately heading east, for the border.
Her closest servants were to thank for this chance. Feeling she was too innocent to face the mob’s blade they ushered her away from the party (slapping her into sense when she initially refused) and helped her onto a horse (ripping her dress and changing her shoes) before ensuring a clear path to the gate.
She first heard them behind as her ride began to tire. Louder and louder their galloping grew as hers lessened. She looked out for a new route or solution but she’d taken a road that would only let her go straight on, swamps blocked all other directions but back.
As they drew up alongside she cursed the effects of the afternoon’s hunt before the sword swung and removed her head.
They stopped her horse, fixed the headless body in its seat and hung the head from her steed’s bit rings before thwacking its behind and sending them on toward her goal.
Now every night on that same stretch of road, each lost and lonely little toad will see her form once again in full flight, her complexion now and ever a bright ghostly white.
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