Prince arrived at the palace of the Fairy Tale Kingdom just in time to overhear whispers about a recent thief.

Strange thief. She didn’t steal gold or treasures. Her thefts were whimsical, artistic, abstract—hitting here, missing there with no pattern.

Two days ago: the Queen’s chamber was robbed of a priceless antique mirror. Yesterday: the King’s wine cellar was raided, a barrel of his most cherished vintage gone. Today… the kitchen. The scene? Utterly horrifying. Too gruesome to describe.

Guards were plentiful. Patrols had doubled. Yet the thief slipped through every net.

The Prince listened, mildly intrigued—but no more.

He didn’t care about thieves or palace chaos. Only himself. And the little princess waiting ahead.

He’d endured years of hardship for this moment.

But rushing was useless.

As a foreign prince, protocol demanded he greet the King first.

After tedious formalities, he entered the royal chamber. Bowing low, he recalled their last meeting—years ago, when he was a servant. He’d served tea too hot. The King scolded him fiercely, starved him three days.

Back then, the King was stout but still imposing. What now?

At the King’s command, the Prince lifted his gaze—and froze.

A gleaming bald patch crowned the man’s head.

Jarring. Like an ink blot on white paper. A single red bloom in endless green. The once-majestic King… now bald? A full-blown receding hairline?

The Prince nearly snorted.

He clenched his jaw, holding it back.

The King, catching his stare, flushed crimson with rage.

“It was the thief,” the weary Queen murmured beside him. “She’s thrown the palace into turmoil… stole my mirror… and His Majesty’s hair. While he slept, she sheared clean the top of his head.”

“…”

Even the Prince—trained in royal composure—nearly cracked.

Truth be told, he’d never liked this King. Someone avenging him? Secretly satisfying.

But laughing outright? Impossible. He endured the pleasantries, escaped the chamber—and finally let out a relieved chuckle.

Using “visiting the princess” as pretext, he dismissed servants and guards, then approached the tower.

Heart pounding with nerves and hope, he gripped the basket rope and shook it—*once, twice, thrice*—their secret rhythm.

Silence.

Frowning, he shook harder. Maybe she slept. Maybe the bell was too faint.

Still nothing.

A cold thought struck: *Did she forget our promise?*

But even asleep, she’d feel the rope move. Why no reply?

He stood lost in thought—

—when light footsteps padded behind him. A small hand poked his waist.

“Beer, baijiu, sunflower seeds, drinks, sausages… Comrade, mind pulling your legs in?”

“O-oh!”

He shifted aside instinctively.

Then froze.

That voice… etched into his soul.

He turned. A girl carried a fruit basket, eyes forward, walking straight into the basket tunnel. Left foot stepped on right. Right on left. Ascending slowly—as if climbing invisible stairs.

“?”

He rubbed his eyes.

*Either my eyes or my brain’s broken.*

He recognized her—*the princess*—but how? Descending freely? Returning with fruit? Walking on air?

This… wasn’t fairy-tale logic.

Stunned, he stared upward.

An apple dropped.

Years of martial training. Divine swordsmanship earned from the Lady of the Lake’s trial. His hand shot up—caught it cleanly.

Then, a lazy voice drifted down:

“Stop gawking. Worried no one sees you? Climb up already.”

“…”

Hesitating only a moment, he nodded. She had a point. And he needed answers.

He seized the rope, braced against the tunnel wall, and scaled up in three swift moves.

Inside, the little princess lounged sideways on the bed, utterly relaxed.

“You need something?” she asked.

The Prince studied her. Silent. Then shook his head.

“You’re not the little princess.”

“True,” the woman drawled, “but… also yes.”

“Meaning?”

“Think of me as another version of her in this world. A friend who came to help.”

“Friend?” He shook his head. “She’s been locked here for years. She has no friends but me.”

His hand twitched toward the Sword of Virtue.

“Who *are* you?”

She sighed, exasperated. “I said—I’m her friend. Don’t interrupt. *You* left. Years gone. Why couldn’t someone else have found her? Become her friend… like you once did?”

A sly, knowing smile bloomed on the princess’s innocent face.

“Or… are you just afraid? Jealous? Worried someone replaced you? That with new friends… she’d forget the old one?”

“Am I right?”

Pain flickered across his face. He couldn’t deny it.

But he was a prince. He gave a slow, honest nod.

“Yes. That’s exactly what I thought.”

“Good,” she said. “Honesty beats someone I know.”

“Someone?”

“Mm. You wouldn’t get it. Just… a friend.”

He let it drop. Changed tack.

“If you’re her friend… why wear her body?”

“*Wear*? No. We’re closer than friends. Like sisters from different mothers. Think of me as… another her. Sharing her memories.”

Silence. Confusion. Suspicion.

Softly, he asked: “Where’s the real princess? Can she return?”

She smiled. “Of course. After we clean up this mess.”

“Mess?”

She didn’t wait for confusion to settle.

“Your goal… is to give her freedom, right?”

Hearing his deepest wish spoken—through *her* lips—struck him with quiet defeat. He nodded. “Mm.”

“But did you ever ask *her*? Freedom you offer… is it what *she* wants?”

She watched his face shift.

“And it’s only a bandage. You never knew the truth.”

“Truth?”

“The prophecy everyone knows? Fake. The real one says: *The little princess will kill the King and take his throne.* That’s why he built this tower.”

The Prince looked shattered—then steadied himself. Jaw tight: “Proof?”

“Cautious.” She nodded approvingly, gesturing to the wall. “Magic Mirror. Tell our Prince—is it true?”

Words shimmered on the glass:

*“Yes. Indeed.”*

“You know this mirror. Fairy Tale Kingdom’s treasure. Knows all. Speaks only truth.”

She tilted her head, the princess’s sweet face now edged with mischief.

“Still doubt?”

Like a demon’s whisper. Or a smooth-talking con artist on a street corner.

[To be continued]

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