When the princess is born we give her a crown of teeth
pried from the skulls of the forest’s predators
so that she will always know that she is something to fear.
She gnaws at our ink-dipped fingers
while we sing to her lullabies in languages not yet spoken
and dab her cheeks with the ashes of burned books;
she will never fear the future or knowledge
or anything else that she does not yet understand.
In her crib we lay thorns
thistles
until she learns not to feel the sting.
We teach her our best tricks.
We tell her how to weave shadows
and scare away princes.
What?
Did you think we would make her beautiful?