She glanced at the rose, hanging from the wall. Today, it would be three years and one month exactly. Something about it caught her in a trance, a daydream. She remembered that night, and feeling her face get hot, and she remembered wrapping her arms around his neck. God, what did that smell like again? She may never know, and these petals will never fall. But she'll let it hang there all winter long. Year after year after year. And the sad truth in all the fairytales is that there is always a page in the book that reads, "Many years later..."
But the prince saves the princess in the end, right?