Once upon a time a long, long time ago there lived a widowed king, he had three daughters.  The eldest had raven hair, milk white skin, and was beautiful as one could be on the outside.  Inside, her heart was as cold as ice and hard as iron.  She thought the world owed her and expected to collect any day.  They called her Sarah for the princess she was. 

     The middle daughter had wild red tresses, sunburned skin, and freckles.  She was not fair of face but her heart was as warm as the sun, as soft as goose down, and as strong as it should be.  She enjoyed being close to nature and held all life precious.  They named her Mavelle, their little songbird. 

     The youngest daughter had beautiful blonde hair, the most gorgeous brown eyes you ever saw, and no face was fairer in all the land.  Her heart was kind and as delicate as porcelain.  She loved everyone she ever met.  Her name came easy, Lovena, the joy of all who met her.

     One night a stone ogre stole the youngest princess from her bed.  The king’s knights searched far and wide but couldn’t find a trace of her.

     There came a day where the king offered his kingdom as reward for finding his beloved youngest daughter.  The eldest daughter, not out of kindness but out of a greedy quest for acclaim and the throne, asked her father if she could try to search for her missing sister.  Her father begged her not to go saying he couldn’t bear to lose another daughter.  She laughed at him and said, “Father, I am smarter than your all knights and I will bring her back.  When I do, everyone will bow down to me and call me Queen.”

     She took two knights who were under her sway with her and off she went.  First, she went to the old crone who lived in the woods.  She had her men drag the woman out of her hut and hold a sword to her throat.  “Tell me how to find my sister and defeat the ogre so I can be queen.”

     The Crone held up her hands and besought the cruel girl to let her go that she knew not how to find the sister or how to defeat the ogre. 

     “Cut her.  Make her bleed and cry so that she tells me.”  The cruel princess told her men.

     “I know not.  I cannot tell you what I know not.  Perhaps the wizard of the swamp can tell you.”

     They left the Crone bleeding and sobbing... to be continued