Her name is Sylvia, eleven years old, with brown hair, green eyes, and a pert nose set above a rather too-wide mouth. She simply appeared in my head one day, three years ago, and I haven’t succeeded in dislodging her since. She is very determined though, and very spoiled, being a princess, so I suppose it is only natural that she remains. The odd part is how very un-princess-like she is. A confirmed pragmatist at age eleven, Sylvia sneers at fairy tales while taking an enormous interest in dogs, archery, and her little sail-boat. The Queen, her mother, is quite beside herself. For while a son would be handy for the preservation of the royal line, the Queen comforted herself, despite Sylvia’s gender, with thoughts of adorable dresses, tea-parties in the nursery, and later jewels, dances, chocolate, gossip, and all those superfluous delights which are the privilege of womenkind.
But the Queen’s attempts to promote needlework and dolls in the nursery are to no avail. And the bemused King, though he thoroughly enjoys Sylvia’s presence in the stables and kennels, wonders if it is not futile to indulge her in such activities. After all, what use is perfect marksmanship in the planning of State Dinners? In fact, only her parent’s extreme dotage prevents them from entirely squashing Sylvia’s unusual interests.
But she is her own person, her own set of prejudices, virtues, and surprising insights.
On her eleventh birthday, when she received her little sail-boat, she met her first mermaid in the archipelago. She had heard of the mermaids, of course, but supposed they must be something else of her mother’s invention (sadly, she thinks her mother rather silly) and staunchly refused to believe in their existence. The resulting exchange, when she finally met Adrienne, was rather dreadful. You see, no child, especially not a spoiled princess, willing admits to her misconceptions.
Sylvia can be very evasive, so I am still coaxing out the account of that rather awkward adventure. But she keeps letting pieces of it slip accidentally, so I should have the entire story shortly.
So now that I have that out, perhaps she will shut-up and let me go to bed so I can be at work tomorrow at eight am…..
