A TALE OF THE PERTURBED PRINCESS

Our Holy Righteous Humble King has a conundrum to confront -

His daughter, ripest of them all, still hesitates to choose consorts!

And just the thought of unwed offspring, with flawless effort, makes him wince:

"How come a 16-year-old woman still has no man to call 'my Prince'?"

WIse King decreed to gather experts who practice art and all who wield

Abudant esoteric knowledge in beauty and the fashion fields.

Seamstresses and make-up artists gathered in the Royal Hall

To turn his soon-to-be wed daughter into "the fairest of them all!"

The seamstresses, with tools on ready, have gathered all around the girl,

The needles pierce, the threaders shirr, fabric rolls never cease to twirl.

A symphony of cloth and metal plays rampant with no signs to stop

For they shall all spend countless hours to make the dress fit for the gods.

A dress like that makes any woman look like a flower in full bloom:

The sofest silk, most splendid jacquard - a sight to see any groom!

It feels just like second skin, you walk in it with no duress;

To wear is so satisfying, and all more pleasant to undress...

But, lo, the princess stay the same, the smile is nowhere to be seen!

The tips of her burgundy lips are reaching downward to her chin.

The seamstresses have failed the task- the royal is no way to blame,

And so they are left with one choice - to come back whence from they all came

And when the stitchers' are no more, the make-up artists take their turn -

The brushes of all shapes and sizes run through the colour tiles and churn

Hues into iridescent shades akin to those from fairy tales,

The tones are ready to bestow themselves upon the face most pale

The clouds of powder simmer down, the artists lay their final strokes

To show the praxis, all their skill... Oh, the emotions it invokes!

Every citizen of kingdom, yes, everyone must have a chance

to see the craft of artisans that rivals works of Renaissance!

But Devil always lies in details – one detail noone could redraw -

A downward arc below the philturm that shows no effort to withdraw!

No colors could make show her teeth, no brush will wipe perennial frown...

The artists gather all their tools to go back to their native towns.

All this fabric, all this makeup - all of that to no avail;

The princess has made no advancement to putting up the wedding veil.

When all hope was thought to be lost, one man deemed fine to share his thought:

"There's one solution to this problem – cleanse princess of the inner rot!"

The Executioner stands tall, he reaks of death, pain and decay,

But at this point we all are beggars, so he decides the words to say...

"That heart that faulters, soul that quivers, foul thoughts that fester in her brain -

All that makes folk look down upon her with scorn and unrestrained disdain

I wield no needles, wield no brushes, my hands caress bloodthirsty steel,

But I know what are people made of, know how they think and what they feel.

I see you want to solve this problem, and solve it posthaste you all strive;

Entrust me with your spinster daughter – I'll turn her into perfect wife."

So Most Compassionate King decreed: " For now, she is under your wing."

So, Executioner has summeoned, with no delay, his underlings:

"This little girl – the kingdom's princes - is our responsibility.

So help the King to solve his problem to your best abilities."

The Dungeon's peons, as display of kindness and phylogyny,

Overpowered and dragged down Our Brilliant King's progeny

To deepest depths of kingdom's castle, where sinners spill their blood and taers

There they will teach the stubborn princess how to overcome her fears

The tailors' dress is but a layer that hides impurities of flesh -

We'll burn them all away with iron until there's naught but pile of ash;

The artists's makeup hides the filth that's in your face, but fear no more -

We'll drown it in the freezeing waters until it diches every pore.

And when all options reexplored, and when all tools have been perused

The Tzar of Penitentiary puts persuasion skills to use:

The Executioner himself will treat you with his favourite "toy" -

A pick that pierces eye's caruncle and grants you carefree life of joy.

And now, the princess does not mind the bleakness of a wedding dress,

The brushes are no longer tickling, and make-up causes no skin stress.

Her future groom will get a spouse who always listens and abides.

A wisdom was born in the cell – a bridewell creates perfect brides!

And now the only thing that's left is to arrange a holy bond

With any blueblood that has all it takes to be her own betrothed.

Chefs will cook food most delicious ,nuns shall take care of her brood;

Just smile and wave, like every princess; be glad, as any princess should.