`'Tis Some Visitor,' I Muttered,

Rapping at my Chamber Door

More things that inspire me and make Princess Mitchell this amazingly conceited.

As Of Some One Gently Rapping

I have not the foggiest idea where the slogan, 'what moves you' came from, but I've indeed heard of it from a commercial. What moves me & what makes me, me.?

creativity & daring to cross society's standards

childlike innocence

dastardly good looks :P

the beauty in everything

heartbreak

grey is...my monochromatic life

nerdy

love & being in it

imagination

Suddenly There Came a Tapping

Why can't we realize that beauty comes in all form. In all genders? And that we shouldn't aspire to be like the people we see, but be the person that's seen. Ourselves and no one else.

This could lead to so much more. And yet I find this oddly attractive, regardless of all the suffering it brings and causes to a young woman with absolutely this in her head as 'ultimate beauty'. Someone once said it right, 'great beauty comes with great sacrifice.' Or something like that.

While I Nodded, Nearly Napping

Hanzel & Gretel

 Brothers Grimm

Once upon a time, there live a rather poor woodcutter. He lived in a small cottage, in the middle of a huge forest with his two precious children; his son, Hansel and daughter Gretel. When he remarried, his awful second wife often ill-treated the children and left them without supper.

   "There is not enough food in this house for the four of us. There are too many mouths to feed! We must get rid of those two little brats," she declared to her timid husband. And she kept on trying to persuade him to abandon his children in the forest.

   "Take them many, many miles from home. So far that they can never find their way back to us!" And she sweetly added, "maybe someone will find them and give them a home. Even raise them like their own" The downcast woodcutter didn't know what to do. "They are my children." was all he could utter.

"And I am your wife." The bitch retorted.

Hansel, who, one evening, had overheard his parents' conversation, comforted Gretel.

   "Don't worry! If they do leave us in the forest, we'll find the way home," he said. Gretel nodded, always comforted by her brothers words. "Just in case, we should prepare ourselves."

They both slipped out of the house and filled their pockets with little pebbles and rocks, then went to bed.
 

All night long, the woodcutter's wife harped on and on and on at her husband until, he could no longer bear to hear her annoying voice. With big fat tears in his eyes, he led Hansel and Gretel away into the forest. But as they went into the depths of the trees, Hansel and his sister dropped a pebble here and there on the mossy green ground. At a certain point, the two children found they really were alone: the woodcutter had plucked up enough courage to desert
them, had mumbled an excuse and was gone.

   Night fell but the woodcutter did not return. Gretel began to sob bitterly. Although she and her brother had prepared for this, she had never really expected it. Hansel too felt scared but he tried to hide his feelings and comfort his sister the best he could.

   "Don't cry, sister. Trust in me! I swear I will get us back home even if Father doesn't come back for us!" Luckily the moon was full that night and Hansel waited till its cold light filtered through the trees and they could see better.

   "Now give me your hand!" he said. "We'll get home safely, you'll see!" 

The tiny pebbles stood out in the moonlight, and the children found their way home. They crept through a half open window, without wakening their parents. Cold, tired but thankful to be home again, they slipped into bed and fell instantly asleep.

   Next day, when their stepmother discovered that Hansel and Gretel had returned, she went into a rage. Stifling her anger in front of the children, she locked her bedroom door, reproaching her husband for failing to carry out her orders. The weak woodcutter protested, torn as he was between shame and fear of disobeying his cruel wife. The wicked stepmother kept Hansel and Gretel under lock and key all day with nothing for supper but a sip of water and some hard bread. All night, husband and wife quarreled, and when dawn came, the woodcutter led the children out into the forest once again.

   Hansel, however, had not eaten his bread, and as he walked through the forest, he left a trail of crumbs behind him to mark the way. But the little boy had forgotten about the hungry birds that lived in the forest. When they saw him, they flew along behind and in no time at all, had eaten all the crumbs without him realizing. Again, with a lame excuse, the woodcutter left his two children by themselves.

   "I've left a trail, like last time!" Hansel whispered to Gretel, consolingly. But when night fell, they saw to their horror, that all the crumbs had gone.

   "I'm frightened!" wept Gretel bitterly. "I'm cold and hungry and I want to go home!"

   "Don't be afraid. I'm here to look after you!" Hansel tried to encourage his sister, but he too shivered when he glimpsed frightening shadows and evil eyes around them in the darkness. All night the two children huddled together for warmth at the foot of a large tree.

   When dawn broke, they started to wander about the forest, seeking a path, but all hope soon faded. They were well and truly lost. On they walked and walked, till suddenly they came upon a strange cottage in the middle of a glade.

   "This is chocolate!" gasped Hansel as he broke a lump of plaster from the wall.

   "And this is icing!" exclaimed Gretel, putting another piece of wall in her mouth. Starving but delighted, the children began to eat pieces of candy broken off the cottage.

   "Isn't this delicious?" said Gretel, with her mouth full. She had never tasted anything so nice.

   "We'll stay here," Hansel declared, munching a bit of nougat. They were just about to try a piece of the biscuit door when it quietly swung open.

   "Well, well!" said an old woman, peering out with a crafty look. "And haven't you children a sweet tooth?"

   "Come in! Come in, you've nothing to fear!" went on the old woman. Unluckily for Hansel and Gretel, however, the sugar candy cottage belonged to an old witch, her trap for catching unwary victims. The two children had come to a really nasty place.

   "You're nothing but skin and bones!" said the witch, locking Hansel into a cage. I shall fatten you up and eat you!"

   "You can do the housework," she told Gretel grimly, "then I'll make a meal of you too!" As luck would have it, the witch had very bad eyesight, an when Gretel smeared butter on her glasses, she could see even less.

   "Let me feel your finger!" said the witch to Hansel every day to check if he was getting any fatter. Now, Gretel had brought her brother a chicken bone, and when the witch went to touch his finger, Hansel held out the bone.

   "You're still much too thin!" she complained. When will you become plump?" One day the witch grew tired of waiting.

   "Light the oven," she told Gretel. "We're going to have a tasty roasted boy today!" A little later, hungry and impatient, she went on: "Run and see if the oven is hot enough." Gretel returned, whimpering: "I can't tell if it is hot enough or not." Angrily, the witch screamed at the little girl: "Useless child! All right, I'll see for myself." But when the witch bent down to peer inside the oven and check the heat, Gretel gave her a tremendous push and slammed the oven door shut. The witch had come to a fit and proper end. Gretel ran to set her brother free and they made quite sure that the oven door was tightly shut behind the witch. Indeed, just to be on the safe side, they fastened it firmly with a large padlock. Then they stayed for several days to 
eat some more of the house, till they discovered amongst the witch's belongings, a huge chocolate egg. Inside lay a casket of gold coins.

   "The witch is now burnt to a cinder," said Hansel, "so we'll take this treasure with us." They filled a large basket with food and set off into the forest to search for the way home. This time, luck was with them, and on the second day, they saw their father come out of the house towards them, weeping.

   "Your stepmother is dead. Come home with me now, my dear children!" The two children hugged the woodcutter.

   "Promise you'll never ever desert us again," said Gretel, throwing her arms round her father's neck. Hansel opened the casket.

   "Look, Father! We're rich now . . . You'll never have to chop wood again."

   And they all lived happily together ever after.

Hanzel & Gretel

Over Many a Quaint & Curious Volume of Forgotten Lore

  This is how it all began.

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, in the far away kingdom unknown to many, there lived quite the abnormal royal family. And let me be the first to introduce myself as your royal highness, Princess Mitchell. Although the title of princess is generally used to distinguish female; and furthermore, it tends to have denotations rather than being associated with predominance, I find that the word prince has more of masculine sound instead of a light and almost feathery one like princess portrays. In any case, a general consensus has been made that I will and forever remain with the title of princess as I deem fit.

Continuing with this incredibly factual tale, I am the only child to my half French mother, Jacqueline Burton and 'no longer with us' father, Carlisle Burton (who was named by my grandmother and grandfather after Carlisle, Cumbria, a settlement within Cumbria, England.)You can say it is my mother's way of nurturing me that I have such a fairy tale look on everything. And it is this curse that I suffer through my everyday life.

It was just a few days ago that I had celebrated my 20th birthday with some of my closest friends. 20 is a milestone in one's life; I see it as the proper bridge between adolescence and adulthood, not quite a teenager and yet, not quite an adult. And it also marked the promise (my sometimes foolish and despicable) mother had made. One I had never taken quite seriously. Queen Jacqueline always told me I was her, 'poupée' as well as granted wish. And admitting that isn't something every parent tells her child I saw it more as her way of saying 'miracle'. And the story she told me, honestly speaking, I had thought was her clever way of telling me a fairy tale that incorporated my name to entertain and amuse me.

When the story would conclude, she'd kiss my head and wish me pleasant dreams. And that is all I've ever had. Only pleasant dreams. As if the story was more than just a tale.

But continuing from where I left off, I celebrated my 20th birthday some days ago. The festivities were fit for a princess of my standards and I had been enjoying my party up until it had been crashed terribly by a man in black so dark, his cloak and shadow blended. His face was covered and masked by a darkness that I could not get a proper look. He crackled, curled long fingers and croaked, "How impolite not to invite your own father!"

It was that exact moment my world came crashing further down and crumbled around me. The stupid bedtime story my mother would recite nightly wasn't just that, but in reality, her reminiscing. In other words, it was true and I was totally and still am, royally screwed.

It all happened so rapidly. The ball ended quickly. My party guests fled for their lives and left me standing there amongst the rubble with my partner in crime, Sir Dazzle McGrath, mouth opened catching flies and eyes wide. No sooner had he came he vanished into the night.

"So Princess, forget to invite one of your fairies to the party?" he teased inappropriately.

Dazzle has been my mate since my birth...or voodoo magic manipulation creation. (Happy Voodoo Magic Manipulation Creation Day!) He's an eccentric, loud, big mouth, flamboyant, trouble maker. I call him transsexual; he says he's just like me. I prefer Princess, he prefers being a he/she.

Which is completely acceptable. I find nothing wrong with Dazzle's life style, personality and choices. Who am I to judge? Though I find myself more open minded than most people tend to be.

Still, with my mouth gaping and my heart pounding; I could not fathom how this could make any sense. Believe me, I could not be making this up if I tried.

I was a doll and with the help of some unexplainable magic used by a talking frog, I was transformed into a real boy. How fucking fantastic.

And Dazzle's mocking was not making the situation any lighter.

"You know what we have to do?" He suddenly said, two inches away from my face.

The guy has absolutely no respect for an individual's personal space.

"And what might that be?" I snapped back.

I had my doubts that he could offer anything close to help.

"We have to find that sorcerous frog get him to enchant you some more and keep you from become a cute dolly. HEY! If we don't succeed, can I keep you as a plaything?"

Absolutely eccentric, isn't he. Sadly, I couldn't help but agree. If I wanted to continue living I had to find the beast who claimed to be my father.

That is exactly what I planned to do as well.

I can tell you how long Mother cried when I told her Dazzle and I planned to find the talking frog. I can tell you, although I will not. I rather not bore you.

Through her tears, she insisted we took the Royal Stallion Cars. I think they're imported from Italy or some far, far away Kingdom. 
With everything packed and both of us determined, we set off on an adventure to restore the peace and keep me whole.

And, that my friends, is how everything that I will, on a weekly basis, update, came to be.