There once lived a beautiful princess in the snowy mountains of Lendor, said to be so beautiful that men all over the land would travel to the palace to see her, get a glimpse of her—and maybe, if they were lucky enough, become her lover. Her parents, however, decided that she must marry into a royal family of equal or higher status. When she turned eighteen, she was told that she was to marry the oldest son of five of the neighboring kingdom.
He was an impossibly handsome young man, yet, there he was, perfect, smiling, princely. He was everything she ever dreamed of and more, and she found herself in love with him—so deeply that she was blind to the fact that his heart lay in another’s hands.
A week before they were to marry, the princess found a note on her bed beside her wedding gown, and it only had two words on it—I’m sorry.
After that, her handsome prince was never seen again, and the princess died alone. She refused to marry anyone in the years to come, and no one stayed for very long. She could not, and would not love anyone else, and she was known throughout the kingdoms as the Ice Princess.
For unrequited love does not die; it’s only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before. - babyneorago
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