In her private chambers within the heavily guarded castle of Damcyan, Princess Jessica lies in a deep sleep, undisturbed apart from routine checks from her servants.  She looks peaceful, with her silken bedcurtains drawn to protect her from the dust, the sun making gentle patterns over her sheets through the windows.  In fact, she’s anything but.  She’s been this way for years now, ever since entering adulthood.

Jessica finally stirs from her sleep, disoriented and confused.  Numbness attacks her entire body, along with an inexplicable pain which she can’t quite locate.  It’s not severe enough to warrant a call for the palace doctor, so she doesn’t move.  Her head feels heavy.  Heaviness, in fact, is what Jessica feels most of the time she’s conscious, especially when she wakes up.  Her eyelids, her head, her body, everything demands so much energy from her that she frequently wonders what her body sleeps so much for.  Often, when she wakes from such long spells of slumber, she wishes she could live in her dream state forever, lighter, unknowing.  Probably happier.  But she knows that wishing for eternal sleep is as good as wishing for death, and works to erase those thoughts from her head.

Jessica grew up as a normal girl; well, as normal as a princess could be, anyway.  She’d led a structured life of ritual and tutoring.  Her illness befell her gradually enough that no one had been too concerned at first, yet its severity was completely unexpected and seemed to weaken Jessica greatly when she’d been just fine the day before.  She often lapsed into fever spells and was in a constant state of fatigue.  The King and Queen sent for physicians from all across the land, yet no one could identify the cause of her sickness.  All remedies, from herbal ones to advanced ones and even to magic and prayer, failed to affect Jessica in the slightest.  Although the kingdom was otherwise peaceful, the King and Queen worried daily about their frail daughter who was once so full of vitality.

And so life goes on.

One day, a wandering traveller approaches the unfriendly gates of the Damcyan palace.  Only, he hasn’t just been wandering, but travelling tirelessly on foot towards this very location.  He’s grimy and his clothes are shabby from wear, and he’s afraid that a person like himself has no right to enter the castle of one of the mightiest kingdoms.  But he sounds the doorchime anyway because the message he bears is simply too important.

“Yes?  Who comes?”

The reinforced stone door slides open and a guard, dressed in plated armour, questions the traveller.  Everyone knows there is really no need for the palace guards to be so heavily protected; Damcyan hasn’t seen war in centuries.  The King simply feels that traditions are important, and that he should always err on the side of caution.

“I am Anselm,” the traveller immediately responds, dropping to one knee.  “I come bearing an important message from the Village of Mist, which concerns the possible improvement of the health of Her Royal Highness.”

The guard stares at the traveller with a gaze that penetrates his soul.  It isn’t often that the palace receives visitors, and even less often that their visitors make such bold claims.  The traveller simply remains completely still, even though he wishes very much to shake in his soiled boots.

“Wait here,” the guard says curtly.  He disappears behind the door for about ten minutes before returning to the waiting traveller.

“The King and Queen wish to see you.  Follow me.”

The traveller trails behind the guard, who walks briskly and with purpose through long, convoluted hallways before they finally reach the throne room.  The traveller is painfully aware of the riches that surround him here in the palace, lining the walls in the form of oil paintings, furniture, and various other valuable artefacts, that will remain out of his reach forever.  He doesn’t mind this because he desires only a simple, honest life.  He just hopes that his tattered appearance won’t offend the King and Queen, and that they’ll listen to what he has to say.

“Sir, Ma’am, this is Anselm from the Village of Mist,” the guard says to the King and Queen, bowing deeply to them before stepping aside.

“H- Hello, Your Majesties…” the traveller kneels again, this time unable to prevent the tremor from entering his voice.  “I am Anselm fro