A little princess bloomed in the field of orchids, in a land beset with island dreams. She greeted the many travelers to her land and its peoples. She always said hello with her smile. And, sometimes, she waved and smiled at existence itself.
This little princess bloomed in the fields of a land with many strangers passing through the night. As we gaze upon the moon, silver and bright, so too did these strangers gaze upon the little princess. Unlike the moon, she could be plucked from her place in the sky and drained of her light.
I met our little princess, then a young woman, withering in the fields of a faraway land. She still waved, and she smiled, but only towards men. It was men that conspired to muddy her soul. I met with her briefly but stood as her equal. I did nothing special but see a little girl still wishing to bloom.
A young woman still withers in the fields of a distant land. At night, when the strangers are gone, she lays her head to the pillow, hoping to suffocate, or at least, drown in her own waters. Through sobs you can hear her- if you actually listen to her- say a repetitive phrase; a small but important reminder: "I'm still a princess." She's the courtesan princess.