Wilhelm

I sat and stared out the window, my knitting forgotten and carelessly scattered on my desk in front of me. The events of the gather, two days past, still dominated my thoughts. It was time to face the obvious - I had been in denial too long. I reached out and slowly pulled out my journal, then turned it to the very last page.

I had started tracking my efforts five years ago when I adopted my current strategy of playing the princess in public and keeping my… needlework secret. I had been here for six years before that, and things had, shall we say, not gone well. I reached out with one hand and traced the very first entry: 63 purls. I had to code it, of course, and the abominable knitting terms I’d been forced to learn offered a perfect cover. Slowly I flipped a few pages and stared down at the latest entry, the one I’d placed only yesterday. The number mocked me: 12.

I could still remember the effort, my arms burning as my body, impossibly heavy, weighed them down. By the eighth push-up I had known how things would end, but I still pushed on and persevered. Ten had been agony. And the twelfth had left me helplessly sprawled on the floor, arms screaming as I lay there crying. From the pain, of course.

I stood and paced. The numbers did not lie. They showed an inescapable doom approaching, the miasma of gentle femininity slowly destroying my essence in a mathematical certitude of dresses and dancing and-

I cut myself off again, annoyed and yet slightly cheered by the fact that I had waxed poetical about numbers, of all things. My steps slowed as I approached the window, my slight good mood evaporating like mist under the morning sunlight.

It would be so easy. Scamper onto the desk, and then all it would take is a step. I was high enough up, and surely this frail body would not survive. And it would end it - all the tiny humiliations of my day-to-day existence. The end of this cursed transformation, both of my body as it molded to some warped perfect vision of a princess’ existence, and of my mind. The growing knowledge that I was being slowly worn away, my thoughts, my very being being eroded by a magic that wanted me to think and be someone very different. I would finally be free.

I supposed that Ulgafrag might be sad for a while, but she would get over it. She mostly cared about me because of how I reflected on her own status, anyway. My brother and sisters might be upset… but I had not seen them in years, and Father would certainly be ecstatic. I realized dimly that I had stepped forward, my hands on the desk as I stared out. I couldn’t see it from here, but I could visualize the cobblestones below, the hard worked stone. It would hurt for a moment, but I was used to pain, and it would end. And Ulgafrag had no great healing skills to bring me back. By the time she went to the hall, found an appropriate matron and returned, I would be gone for good.

I am not sure how long I stood there, teetering on the edge. I am not sure why I didn’t go through with it. Perhaps a small part of me wasn’t ready to surrender to the inevitable just yet. I stood there mesmerized, my dark thoughts a spiral I could not flee or escape from.

And then Sergeant Black flew through the window and landed in front of me.

* * *

Sergeant Black is a blue jay (young boys should not be in charge of naming things). As usual he was squeaky and violently enthusiastic as he hopped back and forth. “Princess! Scouting!” He looked like he wanted to burst out with it, but long, long training had him waiting.

When I’d first arrived, and been young, optimistic, determined, and completely ignorant of exactly what the birds were talking about each morning, I’d come up with a plan. I would train and organize them into an army. Sergeant Black was in charge of my scouts, who watched over the forest and helped me plan and search for escape routes.

I’d long since given up on that - woodland animals are not exactly renowned for their attention to detail, or their ability to focus and follow orders. Not to mention what I woke up to. But a small core of them had seemed to enjoy it and had stuck with it, even though I now neglected them almost entirely.

It was such a simple thing, this hopping, overly excited little bluebird, but it was enough to break the cycle in my mind. I found myself smiling down at him. I straightened up and put on my Serious General Face. “Report, Sergeant.”

He promptly exploded. “Scouts Bark and Nut found a man on the ridge on the path to the tower. He has a shining stick and a shining ball stick and a wood rope stick and pointy things in a bag and a horse and the horse has a saddle and three bags and one bag has acorns but not really acorns and-”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand - Sergeant Black was nearly unique in his ability to memorize details, but he didn’t seem to grasp which details were relevant. Thankfully he was also good at not taking offense. I translated his report mentally - a man on horseback with a sword, a mace and a bow. And some sort of confusing food. I felt a tendril of dread worm its way into my gut.

I wasn’t sure why I cared, except it seemed easier to just keep going and pretend things mattered. I considered my words carefully - birds are a bit weird with human names - and tried to think back to when I’d considered this life and death. Ah, right. “Is he a dull fighter man, or a shining fighter man?”

Black squeaked happily. “Shining fighter man!”

I kept my sigh inside. A knight, likely come to rescue me. Great. As always I gravely thanked Sergeant Black for his service, then sent him on his way with a couple of raisins that he greedily gobbled down. And then two more, that I sternly informed him were for Nut and Bark. I wasn’t even sure who they were - probably squirrels? - but they deserved it. After he left I realized that I didn’t even know if squirrels ate raisins, but oh well. There was only so much I could do.

I slowly walked back over to the bed and sat down. I knew I should do something - maybe see if I could get Ulgafrag out of the tower. There wouldn’t be a full gather, but she’d be delighted to set up some sort of small meeting. Perhaps the knight would be gone by the time we returned.

But instead, I sat still and didn’t move. I should. I didn’t want this random knight’s blood on my hands. I informed myself of this fact, then watched as I sat there and didn’t do it.

Eventually I just sat back, closed my eyes and waited for something to happen.

* * *

“Hello, the tower!”

The voice wafted in the window, and I opened my eyes muzzily. I must have fallen asleep. I levered myself out of bed and drifted toward the window. I cleared my throat, then called out. “Hello? Who is calling?” Despite my ennui, my voice still rang out clear and pure. I sighed.

His voice came back, arrogant and strong. “It is I, Sir Samuel of Haven! I am from the line of-“ I tuned him out, groaning as I sat down and put my head in my hands. It was like they all had the same tutor in princess-rescue-speeches. You’d think I would know, but I’d been sent off at such a young age… I sensed him nearing the end and refocused. ”-so Princess Willhelma! I’m here to rescue you!”

I forced a smile on my face, since it always seems to help (I’m not sure how). “No thank you!” I sang out.

There was a moment of strained silence. When he responded it was with a strange mix of plaintiveness, confusion, and anger. “I- surely, my lady, you must want to be rescued? This desolate tower and wilderness is no place for someone of your magnificent stature.”

I rolled my eyes - seriously, he’d never even seen me. And that barely made sense. And not to mention the arrogance of assuming my appearance had any influence on my capability. I mean yes, in my case it does because they’re directly related by the curse, but - anyway. Time to try a different tack.

I put a hint of sorrow in my tone. “I’m afraid there’s a rather terrible ogre guarding me.” I had learned early on not to tell them Ulgafrag was an ogress. At that point they all decided she would be a pushover and charged in willy nilly. At least when they thought they were facing an ogre, perhaps a quarter of them would retreat. I continued, hoping Samuel here would be one of the smart ones. “He’s quite ferocious - the tower is littered with the bones of other knights.”

A moment of silence. Then, quite earnestly: “I don’t see any signs of an ogre. Perhaps it left?”

I closed my eyes and counted to three. Damn me for making Ulgafrag clean up after herself anyway. I went for earnest. “I assure you, on my word as a royal, that he is here.” I hesitated. An obvious way to get rid of the good Sir Samuel would be to reveal that I was… well, not a princess. But if I did and he ran off, he might spread the word, and then I would have to spend the rest of my life dodging gatherings. So I tried for non-specific.

“Also,” I begin tentatively, “I’m afraid to say I’m under a terrible curse.”

I waited with bated breath. But he was not to be dissuaded. “Do not fret, m’lady! Surely true love’s first kiss shall free you! I shall be there anon!” And then I heard the clatter of hooves as he charged into the courtyard and started pounding on the door to the tower.

I gaped at the window, then shouted, “Oh! You, you man!” Which managed to simultaneously make me feel worse about myself, and better. I gripped my hair in my hands, then let out a breath and forced myself to relax. He would come up here. I’d tell him my curse, and he’d leave - surely he wouldn’t be willing to kiss another man. Or Ulgafrag would stop him - where in the hells was she? Surely she’d heard what was going on by now. Although… he did seem fairly nice.

I almost felt bad for him.

* * *

I was at the bottom of the stairs, heading to open the door (you’d think knights would be taught something useful, like lockpicking) when Ulgafrag materialized out of a corner to my right. I manfully squealed and then held my hand over my heart, gasping for breath. Apparently Sir Samuel heard me - he shouted something and redoubled his futile efforts.

Ulgafrag regarded me, eyes serious. But her voice was soft. “This will end badly.”

I looked away, then turned back and met her eyes. “I don’t…” I trailed off, then forced myself to continue. “I don’t want anyone else to die for me. I’m not… there’s no point.”

We sat in silence for a moment, then she reached out and ruffled my hair. I sighed. “Really?” But she just looked at me. I was tempted to continue as is… but if I was going to convince Sir Samuel I needed to look my best. I rolled my eyes, then shook my head rapidly and twirled in a short circle. I ended up facing back toward her, and felt my hair fall back into place, perfectly brushed and arranged.

Ulgafrag was watching me with a half-smile on her face. “I’ll never get tired of seeing that.” Then she shook her head. “I won’t stand in your way, Willhelm. But I will be close if you call for me.” She faded back into the darkness, vanishing before my eyes.

I swallowed hard. The use of my real name underscored how seriously she was taking this. But I stiffened my spine. I’d explain, he’d leave. Everything would work out, and no one had to die.

And as silly - and as girly - as it was, the little hair trick had made me smile for a moment. It was a little piece of childish delight against the grey sameness afflicting me, but it was enough to put a small spring in my step as I walked over to the door.

* * *

I studied him as we walked to the rather dusty sitting room. He fit the standard mold almost perfectly, a blond, blue-eyed tall slab of a man. Probably well muscled too, but it was hard to tell. Still, in his plate he moved competently, if not really gracefully. I refrained from shaking my head. Plate, against an ogre. You’d think he’d have been taught better. Really, I should write a book on the proper skills for princess rescuing.

It had been a few months since we’d seen a knight, and the last had been one of the intelligent ones who had retreated. Still, the memory of what happened to the one before that was still seared into my mind, and I felt somehow obligated to at least attempt to save Sir Samuel. It occurred to me that I was not being precisely logical - after all, I had simply sat and waited earlier - but now that he was here, it was like I had found an untapped reserve of will, and I drew on it desperately.

We sat down, and I was about to smile at him but then thought better of it. He had a terrible naivete to his character, a raw, flawed innocence that shone through as he stared at me. He beheld me as if I was the greatest jewel in the universe, the most valuable thing he had ever laid eyes on. It was immensely uncomfortable, especially since I knew that my outside appearance was twice a lie - I was neither the princess he was seeking, nor of the character to deserve such devotion.

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So I opened the conversation feeling as though I was about to kick a puppy. I kept my expression serious and made my voice gentle. “Look, Sir Samuel. There has been some sort of terrible mistake.”

He winced, then reached up to scratch his head. And now I winced, because really? With a metal gauntlet? He swore and took them off, then looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, My Lady. I forgot for a moment that I was in the presence of your radiant words.” He looked alarmed at his own phrasing. “I mean - I could never forget I was with you, I was just blinded by the site of your sparkling hair.” He looked at me solemnly. “I normally go by Samuel. But, of course a princess of your ravenous charm can call me whatever she wants.” He visibly brightened at the end, as he found this latest justification for my behavior being special and acceptable.

I blinked. Sir Samuel certainly had a… unique way of complimenting a lady. And an interesting grasp of language. Well, here goes. I shook my head, then gave him an apologetic smile. “Sir Samuel... it’s just that I am not, in fact, a princess.”

He stared at me uncomprehendingly. I resisted the urge to fidget. Would I have to rephrase it? But eventually a thought apparently appeared and made its way out. “But you’re in a tower.” Uttered as if it would end all argument.

I nodded, trying to look thoughtful. “That is true. But you are also in a tower, and you’re not a princess. And the ogre was here earlier, and s- he’s not a princess either.”

He appeared befuddled by this logic. More cogitation. “You’re wearing a dress?”

I gritted my teeth. “Yes.” I would have worn men’s clothes - I had a few left, still - but due to the magic they tended to fit, well… tightly. And I suspected that wouldn’t have helped my situation. “But that still does not make me a princess. Anymore than you wearing a dress would make you a princess.”

He considered this, frowning. Then his eyes lit up. “Ah! But you swore as a royal earlier!”

I sighed. I’d been hoping he’d forgotten about that. I considered my options. I could try telling him I was a queen, but… fairy tale queen in a tower? Always evil. I’d be lucky to escape with my life. Nothing for it then. I took a deep breath. “I know. The truth is… I’m afraid, Sir Samuel, that I am a man.”

I braced myself. Based on the few times I’d done this in the past, I was expecting him to - ideally - curse up a storm and then leave. Worst case, he’d hit me a few times before Ulgafrag showed up. I was not prepared for sympathy.

His eyes filled, brimming with tears. “Oh, Willhelma. That must be prettily horrible.” He reached out and grasped my hand. Still boggling at his reaction (and word choices), I let him take it. His fingers were rough and firm against my skin.

I reached out and weakly patted his hand with my free one. “I- thank you, sir Samuel, for understanding. You’re a good man.”

He shook his head, then stood. I yelped as he pulled me to my feet. “Don’t worry, bounteous Willhelma. I will make you a princess again. You won’t have to suffer in a body not your own. Not while I have breath in mine.” He reached up and tenderly cupped my face with one hand, pulling me toward him.

Oh. Son of a bitch. He wasn’t understanding, he was misunderstanding. I struggled futilely in his grip, trying to twist away, but his hands were like iron. I tried words. “No! Samuel, Samuel, I am not - I am a prince! I’m not a princess at all! Let me go!” I tried to get my free hand up to push him away, but he pulled me roughly against himself and it was trapped. I could feel the urge to swoon into his arms rising, and fought hard against it.

He looked down at me, compassion filling his annoying, wonderful eyes - fuck. I tried to look away, to think of something else, but he cupped my chin and pulled me toward him. Defiantly, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth together. He pulled me up, my feet dangling, and his whispered breath was hot against my lips. “Don’t worry, my darling. True love will see you free.” And then he kissed me.

And it was…

It was…

Perfect.

I was transplanted, a rhapsody of sensation exploding over my mind like the rapturous fury of a thousand maidens yielding for the first time. I moaned and went limp, his strong arms gathering me up as I relaxed and let myself be melded into him. My lips parted, and I could feel his tongue teasing at… at my…

I opened my eyes and pushed him away. This time he let me, confident as he stared down at me. “Yes, my dove?”

My voice felt strange. “Samuel. I think I’m…”

“Yes?” He sounded triumphant.

“...going to throw up.”

* * *

I sat in the corner while he hovered over me and tried to be useful. I was perversely glad for the taste of vomit in my mouth, and for the fact that Samuel had not been entirely successful at cleaning himself up. The combination had completely killed any desire to let him kiss me again.

“So, do you think that was the curse lifting? Will you transform now? Become even more majestic and perky?” He sounded so hopeful.

Unfortunately, I was completely past that. It was puppy kicking time. “Sir Samuel. My name is Prince Willhelm. I am cursed to be like a princess.” He opened his mouth, but I continued ruthlessly. “I am not your love. I do not really even like you. And even if I was a princess, you don’t get to just come in and kiss me when I’m telling you no!”

He gulped at me, mouth opening and closing like a fish, but I plowed on full steam ahead. “And you’re an idiot, you’re wearing plate against ogres! Do you know how silly that is? You need to leave, and find some other princess, but you should really train some more or maybe read because right now you’re just going to get yourself killed. So-”

“Shut up!” He screamed it, and I stopped and stared. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He grabbed his hair. “This is all - you’re doing it wrong! You’re ruining it! You’re supposed to be perfect! I-”

I took a step back, and searched for calm while he ranted about what a disappointment I was for not immediately falling into his arms. Calm was good. This would also be a nice time for Ulgafrag to show up. He paused his tirade, and I went for soothing. “Sir Samuel, I apologize for earlier. I must have been overwrought. Now, I know you’re disappointed, but…” I trailed off as his eye twitched.

In two swift strides he reached me. Hands gripped my dress, and I gasped as he lifted me into the air. My voice was high and tight. “Sir Samuel-”

“Shut up.” Now he was icy calm, and it was even more frightening than his tantrum. He examined me closely, and I shivered under his gaze. “And you look so beautiful on the outside.” Even though he murmured it, it was like a knife to my gut.

I closed my eyes, tears leaking out. It was like the final nail in the coffin for my self-respect. I was a man? I was helpless. Beyond pitiful. Crying, weak. The shame took all the fight out of me. Why was I even attempting to stand up to him? “I’m sorry.” I whispered. Then I cried out as he dropped me.

He towered over me, breathing hard. I wished desperately to know what was going through his mind, so I could avoid aggravating him further. I was considering trying to read his soul for a hint, a clue, when to my astonishment he dropped to one knee before me.

“My Lady.” My heart sank at the appellation, but I held myself still. He shook his head. “I am - I am a callous brigand to have inflicted myself on you this way.” He looked at me, that same earnest look, and a thrill of fear ran through me. “It is this place, you see. You are not in your right mind. Leave with me. We’ll, we’ll find a healer that can fix you, and everything will work out-”

I tuned him out. Enough. Enough. I was so tired of trying to be tough, to handle things on my own, to save this delusional moron from his own stupidity. Clearly, I was… I started laughing, high and helpless. I was a damsel in distress. So as Samuel stared at me in bewilderment, I did what any good princess would do in my situation.

I threw my head back and screamed. “Ulgafrag!”

She materialized out of the stairwell, appearing to move slowly but walking with that deceptive swiftness of her ten foot height. In two strides she was standing over us, eyes blazing as she looked down.

I will give Sir Samuel due credit. Despite his obvious fear, and the acrid scent of urine that filled the air, he moved in between us and went for his sword to try and protect me. Ulgafrag waited for him to start to draw, then reached down and closed her hand on his upper arm. There was a moment of resistance, and then the metal crumpled inward. I could hear his bone break, and he screamed in shock. Which is what happens when you go up against someone who can bend metal with their bare hands while wrapped inside of it.

She kicked the dropped sword off to the side, still holding Samuel up, and I let myself fall down onto my back so I could stare at the ceiling. I heard the crumpling crunch of his other arm, and he screamed again. She held him off to the side and peered down at me, her voice a low concerned rumble. “Are you alright, Willhelm?”

I considered the question gravely, then nodded. “No. Yes. I’ll be fine, Matron Ulgafrag. Thank you for rescuing me.” I gave her my second best reassuring smile.

She frowned down at me, not fooled, then shrugged. “Well, I’m going teach Sir Ass here a few lessons. Let me know if you need anything.”

I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to do so. But I levered myself up and called after her. “Ulgafrag?”

She turned around, Samuel under one arm, and cocked her head as she looked at me. I hesitated. He really was an ass. But it just didn’t seem right, somehow. “Don’t kill him, please?”

She stared at me for a minute, then turned and started down the stairs with Samuel in tow. I wondered vaguely if she was going to leave him alive, then shrugged and let myself fall back down. I’d tried. And I somehow couldn’t bring myself to care anymore than I already had.

* * *

I stayed there for perhaps two hours. My body ached, bruises and small cuts covering me. Sir Samuel had not been gentle. The floor grew cold enough that I was shivering. And yet I could not muster the will to move. Instead I did my best to ignore the sounds coming from downstairs. To my surprise, I found it useful to lose myself in the episodes of vapid, overly descriptive prose. It was mindless and distracting, and when a sound finally drew me out of it, amusing. Who knew that one could describe a stone ceiling as a peasant mosaic mastercraft of the flawed futility of life?

Ulgafrag appeared first. She was carrying a bedroll and a bandaged knight, which she dumped in order in the middle of the floor. She then walked over and scowled down at me. “Willhelm. What on earth are you doing?”

Over my mumbled protests she gathered me and pulled me to her chest. She was like a furnace, and I curled up and soaked in her heat. She walked us over and sat down next to Samuel, then nudged him with a toe. “Hey, Sir Ass. We talked about this.”

He turned his head slowly and looked at us. It took him a few minutes to track and find me, and then he smiled mechanically. “Yes. Of course. Hello, Princes - Prince Willhelm.” He cringed away from Ulgafrag when he made the mistake, but she didn’t move and he slowly relaxed. He continued on in a monotone. “I- I have learned very much that I should respect when I am told ‘No’. And I am very sorry that I touched you without permission.” He shuddered almost imperceptibly. “A-and I now know that it was very wrong of me to-”

I was warm now. But I still shivered. It had been a while since I was reminded so strongly that Ulgafrag is an ogress. I once heard one of the matrons describe it as a comfortable illusion - a lie that we humans tell ourselves for comfort, to pretend that everything around us is really the same, even if they look or talk a little funny.

And most of the time it’s true. We couldn’t all get along if we weren’t fairly similar, so it is easy to look at an ogress and think of her as a strange kind of woman. So the trick works because she acts like one of us. Until suddenly she doesn’t, and then the illusion shatters. I wasn’t sure what Ulgafrag had done to Samuel. I was quite sure that I didn’t want to know.

I realized Samuel had stopped talking, and was looking at me hopefully. I took a guess, and nodded to him. “I accept your apology.” He relaxed, and Ulgafrag grunted and stood up with me still in her arms.

Her voice was stern. “I will be locking this room. Willhelm, you will not be in here without me. Ever. Am I understood?” I nodded against her chest, and I assumed Samuel did the same. She exited the room, holding me with one arm as she locked the door behind her. I relaxed in her arms. I felt like I could fall asleep right there.

Her voice was quiet, and it took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. “-tell me truthfully now, please. Are you ok, Willhelm? What he did back there…” her voice darkened. “He should face justice. More than I can give him.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then yawned. Apparently I was even more tired than I’d thought. I nestled into her chest as she went side to side up the stairs. “It’s ok. He’s trapped in the magic like we are. It’s all the same.”

I could feel her shake her head. “No, Willhelm. It was his choice. His actions. Some story whispering in his ear doesn’t excuse him. Any more than it would if he’d done it drunk.”

I thought for a moment. Then I shrugged. “Perhaps. But I don’t think you should kill him for it, either.”

She grunted uncommitedly, then shouldered her way into my room and set me down carefully on the bed. Away from her heat I started shivering again for real, and she wrapped my blanket around me and then crouched down to look me in the eye.

I reached out tentatively with one hand, and she took it in hers. I squeezed gently. I wasn’t sure how to handle Ulgafrag. The careful distance, the manipulations… it all felt childish, immature. The actions of an ungrateful brat. I had treated Ulgafrag like an enemy, like my jailer. And if I was a real princess, maybe that would be the case. But she was also my protector. I had just been too wrapped up in being manly to see it before. Sure, sometimes we disagreed, and ogre discipline wasn’t very fun. But that paled before the sacrifices she’d made.

I looked her in the eye. “Thank you, Ulgafrag. For today. And for… everything.” I hesitated. But it’s not like there was any point to it, and it felt wrong to still keep it hidden. I swallowed hard. “There’s… a case, under the bed. It’s… I was trying to be different. To be something I’m not.” I looked away. “You can take it away. I’m sorry for hiding it from you.”

She tugged on my hand, and I looked back at her. Her face was sad, and I ducked my head in shame. She tsked. “Really, Willhelm. You’re going to give up on your needlework?”

I looked up, eyes wide. “You knew…” I trailed off, shame fading. Now I just felt.. silly. Of course she knew. All the times I’d left, or she’d cleaned… and I thought I’d been so clever, arranging the daggers and armor to be delivered through Ophelia and claiming it was a new set of petticoats. I hung my head.

Ulgafrag tapped my chin. “None of that, now.” I looked up, unwillingly. “Now, I’m not the best matron.” She held up her other hand as I started to protest. “No more lies. I’m not dumb, but I’m not clever. I see you struggle. I see you fight the magic that changes you. I don’t know how to fix it. I tried to help - I called you Willhelma. Thought it helped you stay in character. I ignored your Needlework. Played a little dumb so you could try different things. But really…” she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know magic. Don’t know how to help you fix things. Would if I could.” She looked past me. Quietly, “I see you spending a lot of time staring at that window.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Then she squeezed my hand. “The one thing I do know? It’s not over until you’re dead. There’s always hope, Willhelm. Never forget that.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead - the first time ever, I think, that she’d done so. Then she squeezed my hand again and stood up.

I stared at her numbly. She looked a bit uncomfortable and scratched her head. “Well. Just my thoughts. Anyway, I’m going to go stare at Sir Ass for a while. See if I can get him to piss his pants again.” She gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder, then turned to leave. “Take a nap or something. You’ll feel better later.”

I stared after her. Then I was giggling, and then laughing. And at some point that turned into crying. I wasn’t sure if it was that funny, or just the emotional release. And when it was finally over I closed my eyes and thought about Ulgafrag’s words. And drifted off to sleep.