Before the first.
He arrived suddenly, swept her off her feet, adorned her with precious jewels
wrote her poetry that slowly turned toxic. For a year every word he spoke to her dripped with poison.
Before the second.
He was passionate. Fiery. Every time he touched her he left sparks.
She felt the heat for days after.
Her skin still bears the shiny white scars.
Half declarations of love, always looking over her shoulder. Eyes open while mouths met.
"I'll be right back darling. I just have to get more cigs."
Five months later she saw the pictures. The girl from the gas station.
What fairy tales don't tell you is that sometimes the prince doesn't come. Sometimes the princess has to rescue herself.