Feeling very defeated indeed, Sariah crouches in a small, damp place. She has fled back here, treading on silent feet out of the night into the captive darkness. The world is still, reduced to four walls of concrete and the echoes of a suburban night.

She was out, under the stars. She was free, slipping like a gossamer ghost among the trees. Now the gentle curses of an ingenue tumble from her parched lips, recriminating and reverberating. Why must I be so weak and frightened? she asks, though the answer comes too quickly.

Princesses are pretty things, to be adorned and admired. They sit on high pedestals, above the rank and file. Such delicate and pretty things as princess are not to be touched, unless…

The darkness is the darkness, cold and mysterious.

Her home is her home, a familiar place to lay her head.

One is a place of unknown threats and veiled terrors.

The other has creature comforts calling to her weary body.

But a giant and an ogre are motivation enough to stay away, stay hidden.