Prince of the Painting

You realise that it’s, in fact, a painting, not a mirror. And, riding towards you with a head full of glamour, is the most gorgeous prince you have ever seen. With tousled brown hair underneath a round crownlet and eyes of azure under that, he is, to be cliché, ‘picture-perfect’.

He smiles, and you see the word ‘welcome’ form on his lips. His arms stretch out in that welcome, and the prince begins to speak- you can tell by the movement of those glossy lips, but you cannot hear a word of what is being said.

“What?” you whisper, finding your breath being taken away.

He points to what is, for you, the edge of the mirror, then to himself, shaking his head quickly. He shapes a box with his hands, but still you do not understand.

“What is it?”

The prince rummages around in a tiny riding-satchel that is on his back. He pulls out some parchment and, carefully but most diligently, begins to write. You wait patiently for the minute; he canters closer to you so that his hands are near yours, but still undersized due to the shape of the mirror.

He holds the parchment up to you, and you see the message, written in neat italic script:

You’re in the stables of my home. I was trapped in this mirror, in some other land, by an evil Queen-Witch, who I believe is now trying to rule the land in my stead, catching my subjects and turning them into animals, her mistreated pets. Will you free me? All you have to do is smash the glass.

You nod, merely saying that you understand. He smiles, turning his horse around, before he dismounts and stands back, eagerly waiting for you.

You want to help, but, then again, you have no idea who this prince is. He might just be the only beast to entrap you. However, is there any other way to leave this storeroom?

The End

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