I can see that, my question is why?
I have no answer.
You are a princess now.
Servants can do this.
God, I know! I know! Why do you think I’m here?
Don’t they clean well enough?
They clean most excellently, giving me very little to do. No complaint there.
Then why -- ?
I can’t stand the way they look at me.
Ah, jealousy --
No! Not jealousy.
Contempt? Show me the ones who --
No! No contempt…just…they look at me, and I know they are thinking, “Why you? Why you and not me?”
So they are jealous.
No. Never jealous. Curious. Puzzled. I’m puzzled, too. Why me? Why…me? Two questions, when you actually come to think about it.
I love you.
You are very kind to me, but do you love me, or do you love the idea of me? You knew nothing about me, not even the fact I existed, until that night.
I know you now.
But what do you know of me? You know of my cruel stepmother and stepsisters, but thousands of other children suffer as I did. Why didn’t you go save them?
If you want me to establish a charity --
No. I mean…yes…please…a charity. Anything to pay back a fraction of what we owe.
“Owe”?!?!? We owe nothing!
Really? All this opulence, all this pleasure, all this power comes from someone, someone who can ill afford it.
We are their leaders, their protectors.
Protectors from whom? Others who want to collect their taxes? We protect them for ourselves.
Do you want to return to their level?
…no… You have been kind…to me…and generous…to me. I would be ungracious to not reciprocate.
Then what do you want?
I want to feel innocent again. I want to feel guiltless. I want to feel good.
And this cleaning, it will help you?
You missed a spot.
text © Buzz Dixon art by Edmund Dulac