When she was a little girl, her father would run after her with an open umbrella whenever they walked to school. No strong sun nor fat raindrops could fall on her shiny hair. This is the image that her old best friend from grade school remembered most about her.
Somewhere along the way, this tiny princess with the sad eyes and thick, black hair turned into a regular girl. Ordinary and no longer special. Her father passed on and like everyone else, she eventually got bruised and battered, neglected and wounded. So often, she became unsure of herself, her actions, her words, even her feelings.
Until one important day came that shook her to the core and forced her to rise from the ashes, so to speak, and reclaim her title. Prinsesa Imelda. Her crown is no longer dusty.
These are my stories.