I picture her shimmering in the wind
sin, etched on her face
in the shape of a grin
disorderly conduct
a glimmer in her eyes
the girl without a name
always dropping by
and when she comes close
stories rise
about the miles and miles she’s been
looking for frogs to kiss
and now she knows there is no prince
Your protagonist needs to meet with my antagonist, perhaps.
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I see that.
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