Once, I was a princess. I had long yellow hair and I lived with a man I was mad about. I loved him ardently. I would do anything for him—and I mean anything; I gave him everything he wanted. But, me, I was never quite sure if he loved me back. Because he wouldn’t tell me—and he said he didn’t know what love was. Turned out, it was just the chemistry he loved—my body, my scent, the way that I grooved—it was pheromones and fairer moans, the ecstatic delights of the flesh.

Me, I’ll tell you now, I’m no princess no more. I hacked off my locks and locked up my heart. I threw everything away. The tale was told that the beast turned into a prince when you kissed him—but this prince, it was the other way around, he turned into the beastly wolf, big and bad as you like. The truth was, when I opened my eyes and finally admitted his dark heart, it was too late: he was carrying death in his arms. Death to me. To us. Death to love.

I saw the truth. He looked at me.

And I ran.

And before all that, a long time before, I used to be an angel, can you believe? I used to be my Poppa’s girl. I was born that way and I stayed that way til I was four. My Poppa, he was an angel too. We gloried in our shining light. Perhaps you wouldn’t remember those tiny toddling years, but, me, I remember every bit of them…until, in one foul swoop, I was angel no more. Poppa left and there was no one else willing to uphold so much heaven.

I suppose I waited all my life for the hole he left behind in my heart to be filled once more with love. And me, as you see, I was fooled by a wolf in man’s clothing.