ONCE upon a time. Again.

Once upon a time, far, far, far away.

Well, not so far away as that.

There was the Magical Kingdom of StoneHaven

My Home.

"Then one day a dragon ate it."

What dragon?

"I'm sure I can whip one up."

You're an idiot.

"Says you."

I am the narrator.

"And what difference does that make?"

My boyfriend is a toad.

"Ouch."

So, we went off on an adventure, slew a dragon, rescued a princess, who my idiot father, the king, insists I must marry. Never mind, that I am a girl and she's a girl and you know what? My father is to blame for this, mostly.

My father is King Devon of StoneHaven, a little kingdom off the beaten track near Far Far Away. There are seven other kingdoms and some duchies that make up our neck of the woods. 

Beyond the lands of the 9 kingdoms are the Witch Wastes to the south, the Dragon Wastes to the North, the Land of Myr to the West and Wizard Estates to the East. In between these vast lands and wastelands are the 18 Seas. I won't name them here since I usually forget what the other 17 are. Geography is not my strong point

"8 Kingdoms and 9 Duchies."

"What?"

"You said 9 Kingdoms."

"I know what I said, Jane."

"If there are only 8 kingdoms, how come you said there was a ninth? It makes no sense."

I love it when she pouts.

"I am not pouting."

It's the duchies. There are 9 of them and collectively they insist on being the Ninth Kingdom.

"So why not say that in the first place?"

"Because the Baronies would find out and insist that there were enough of them to form a 10th kingdom." That's not happening.

"Why isn't it happening?"

Sometimes I wonder if I think out loud.

"It's these magic books that Flynn sells that shows the story as you write it."

"Remind me to kill Flynn."

"He was just sore that you are going to marry me instead of him."

He could have asked!!!!

Jane says nothing.

Where was I?

Oh, right. Once upon a time, there was a-

"What are ye writing, Lassie?"

"Nothing Grimm! I am, however, trying to write in peace."

That means NO DWARVES, GOBLINS OR DRAGONS.

"Well, ye don't have to be rude."

Sometimes rude is the only way to be.

But I digress....

People may have thought I died or lied about dying (which I did)
The truth is stranger than fiction. My writer decided that writing poetry was more important than continuing this story for a farking month!
But I digress (glares up at the writer) {yes, I am glaring at you, deal with it}
Now I am a frog....
Hang on. (you think this is funny?)
Now I am on a frog...
sighs (really mature)
The problem with a fairy tale is there is this unseen narrator who tells my story. He has his own life and troubles and occasionally remembers mine. He tells me he's lonely and I tell him that he has me.
He tells me sometimes it's not enough.
I cry (Hey!)
I feel bad (better) for him and we agree that we will do better in the future
Then a week goes by and I figure out that my magic book has not recorded a single thing.
(narrators!)

I am not dead, nor am I a frog or on a frog or a cat.
I am not a cat
I am (stop it, okay that was a little funny)
I am walking down the road with Ismie and she is giving me this weird look.
"How long have we been walking down this road?" she asks.
"I think we've been walking for at least a month."
"Oh."
"It's the narrator, he got distracted."
Ismie gives me a long look. Stops then looks around, we are maybe ten paces from the Parasite Inn and about 200 paces from the jailhouse.
"Well tell him to get on with it. I have my own fairytale to get back to."
"He can hear you."
"Right. He is kind of cute. I like his tee shirt." Ismie pushes a toe into the dirt and blinks up at the sky bashfully.
She's adorable. I wonder if that would work for me.
"No, not really," Ismie says then takes my arm.
"Can you see the narrator?"
"You can't?"
"Uh-" I look around. "Nope."
"But you just glared up at him a second or two ago."
"Well, I just assume he's up there somewhere mocking me like an angry god."
"This is why bad things happen to you." Ismie gives me a hug. "Besides, he's over there."
"Over where?"
"Oh, right. Not there," Ismie points at an empty field. "He's over there just beyond the fourth wall."
"Oh, Now I totally don't see that at all," I reply staring harder at the empty field.
"I guess you have to be a witch," Ismie says then looks thoughtful.
"I guess."
The two very beautiful women walk on down the road towards the jailhouse.
"See?" Ismie says "he susceptible to the charms of a witch."
"Right."
Sometimes I wonder if I am in the right Fairytale.