“You may have heard, your highness, of the evil rumored to be gestating in the Yzbethian Mountains. Alas, the rumors hold truth. The very fabric of reality has begun to tear,” intoned the Chief Wizard. “If it is not repaired, our universe will begin mixing with parallel universes and oblivion itself.” He shuffled some scrolls around in his hands as if arranging the anonymous parchments would support his claims.
“The prophecies of yore say that only a virginal princess of the realm may seal patch the tear and save the world from corruption with chaos. To do so, you must retrieve the Thread of Conqrodyne, the Needle of Impag’gthorpe, and the Thimble of Tenthesia, and then sew it up wth your own hands. It is not only our kingdom, but the entire world, friend and foe alike, that depends on you, the one and only true candidate. Do you accept your task?”
Princess Emmalyn released the bite she held on her lower lip. “Of course, Wizard. I have no choice but to accept and it shall be an honor to save the lives of my people.” She dismissed the Chief Wizard from her chamber and ordered her servants to leave her and gather supplies for the adventure that awaited her.
She sat down at her vanity and looked at her fingers, front and back. They trembled ever so slightly; her hands had always been unsteady. Embarassed and frustrated at her failure to draw a straight line before her diagram instructors, she conspired with her sewing instructor to bypass the lessons and falsify reports of her studies to her father, the King.
The journey she could weather. The monsters she could slay. The artifacts she could retrieve. But when the time came, she feared, the tear she could not sew.