Candleroller: Part 1

Dear Far Far Away,

I fear my life is joining thousands of others in the Kingdom whose fathers die in mysterious circumstances, and whose step-mothers make them perform manual labour. Like the others I have settled on a life of quietly performing my duties by taking consolation in that fact that I have a strong bond with animals.

I also have unoriginal dreams where I wish for a prince to whisk me off my feet, but I have an inferiority complex that makes me wonder whether my greasy sisters would be a better match for such a kind and caring individual.

I do think of myself as fortunate though. I have my own room in the cellar where I can see the morning light stream in through a grated window level with the pavement. I also have the pleasure of listening to the birdsong when my step-mother sings The Trashmen's classic in her off-key a capella solos. My late father even bought earplugs to block out all the surrounding sounds so he could concentrate on her beautiful singing.

Anyway, I should get back to my chores now. I need to remember to brush my teeth first today, because after a hard day's tile scrubbing yesterday, I'm still picking out fluff from between my canines.



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