62 Book 5: Love, Cinderella

I have been waiting for her, even as she rushed to the dungeon, taking cover in the night.

The witch, as I have predicted, came to her friend's rescue. Always, always disappointing me so.

I hate her. Even as she rushed towards the bubble I have conjured. Even as she tried to break the cage of her beloved friend with her pathetic weak powers.

I hate her, beyond time and space, and beyond history itself. The evil witch who always has it all.

Friends loyal to her distorted cause, even admiration from the king himself. I hate her for having all of these things.

I slowly came out from the shadows even as the black-haired teenage boy pointed blankly at me, fear in his eyes for what I can do to his dear friend who as always came to his aid.