The cold, hard winter struck the shivering redhead girl who was standing in front of the Count's wrought iron gate with intricate gold inlays. She wore a worn wool overcoat, once a deep, rich color, now faded and frayed from countless washes. With warmth seeping out, she clutched her mother's bony fingers, who was crying and yelling pleas into the darkness behind the gate. "She's your daughter!" the woman repeatedly yelled in a cracked voice. *** (10 years later) "One, two, three," Maia repeated as she stood behind the stage doors, calming herself for her entrance. When her cue came, the crafted doors opened to the anticipating audience. They spotlighted her as she seductively walked to the top of the staircase and paused. Her red lips shone through the silver tassels. The audience gasped, becoming captivated by her. The way her hips swayed as she moved, her hands caressed her thighs. Maia's dress revealed all the loveliness that should be reserved solely for one. The crown prince did not originally plan to attend the play but there was only one person he came to see.