Blithe was a Prince, trapped in his castle, trapped into marriage, trapped into being a king.
Blithe was sitting lazily on his throne, a ciggarette hanging looseley from his lips, and a suit on his body. The tail of the gray suit was long, split at the end. His black shooes clicked impatiently on the stone floor, the white collared shirt that he wore underneath the jacket had been stripped of its tie, and the first two buttons remained unbuttoned. It was loosley tucked into his pants, which were a tad too long for him. In other words, he looked like he had just gotten out of bed. Which was quite true. His blond hair shaded his eyes, which were clouded with anger. He was being forced to pick from twenty princesses, all of them staying his his marvelous castle with their maids and helpers. He could marry anyone, from a thief to an orphan, and still be the king, why did it have to be one of those snotty little drama queens.
Suddenly, the throne room door opened and a long procession of dresses and bad perfumes streamed into the room accompanied by maids and butlers of every shape and size. Blithe frowned and stood, tapping his ciggarette, which had become one long cylyndrical ash on the arm rest of the throne to rid it of the ash. Flicking it to the ground, he ground it out with his heel as the last princess strode in.
"Welcome to my home, I am glad to have you here in my....quest for a wife. I hope you all have a good time, and If there are any problems whatsoever, just come and see me." he said with a sigh, his quiet voice pleasant and sweet. Giggles and smiles went through the crowd like a wave, all of them bashfully looking away when his eyes met theirs. They're all the same... he thought to himself before sitting back down on the throne, waiting for his own servants to lead them away.
[[You can be a princess, or a maid of theirs. Or anything else you can think of! ]]
