On this most auspicious day eight fifths a decade ago, a beautiful princess was born. The bright, clear morning had never beheld a fairer nor sweeter child with unrivaled raven tresses.
As she grew, so did her beauty: her jet black curls quickly gave way to golden locks, and these to a golden brown and this to a rich oaken river sparkling with red gold loveliness. As her stature rose, so did her sweetness; though it must be confessed that in very early times her charm lay dormant under the crust of less amiable mannerisms, but the true personality burst forth in due time.
As yet the young fairy had neither suitor nor matrimonial offer, for the young knights had been duly barred from glimpse of her enchanting face. Yet all were eager to make her acquaintance on account of the whole wheat potato rolls which were regularly delivered to all with the Lady's compliments, wrought, it was said, by her own white hand.
On the night of her sixteenth birthday, however, all was about to change.....