Forty-five:
Princess Sirena
I was moved into Zale’s room and then the real death march began the next day. The wedding planning started. I was forced into the Queens parlor, where there were an army of people. There were books and samples everywhere. A stern woman with a clipboard and brown hair pinned up asked, “How do you feel about pink?” The Queen smiled at me.
“Jane, relax,” she said, “we’ve only just started.”
“We’ve only several months to plan a royal wedding,” said Jane, “and if there is a baby, we’ll need to be even quicker about it. Now, Sirena, how do you feel about pink?”
I coughed. “Not pink.”
Pink was used too much in my daily life. Pink was what Princesses were supposed to wear. Pink was what everyone wanted me to be. I didn’t want everyone to go to the wedding a
