Sacred Haven of Debauchery

Every girl, from the age of 1 to 99, dreams of becoming a princess. A real princess, with a palace, balls, and a prince on a white horse. Some sit in the palace, eagerly looking out the window, wondering if the prince will arrive. Others, riding a warhorse, gallop across the field, casually decapitating elephants and tossing conveniently encountered princes onto the horse's back. As for me, I would like to become a fairy when I grow up, and a kind one at that. I would love to land on the head of an unsuspecting person and say, "You are a princess/prince/chosen one/Jedi!" and shower someone with a heap of bright, sparkling wonders and give them a fairy tale. That's what I am. A fairy. A kind one. And I left my two-handed axe at home in the closet, sorry.
Some, however, don't like fairy tales and don't believe in miracles. They prefer the measured and predictable grayness of ordinary life. But we are working on it *carefully polishes her favorite sword*