A Fairytale

Once upon a time in a Kingdom called Now there lived a winsome little Queen. This Queen adored a charming, rakish Prince. And the Prince? Let us just say he enjoyed dallying with the Queen. They spent many days and nights cavorting in an enchanted forest and the Queen was joyously glad.
Seconds slid into minutes transforming into hours which made days and very soon years went by. There was less frolicking in the enchanted forest as the Prince had many Dragons to slay and such. And the forest was turning out to be a not so enchanting place. More and more the Queen heard tales told of an Ogre who haunted the forest scaring damsels and scullery-maids alike. So the Queen sent word to her Prince, for he was dashing and chivalrous, much more a summons than a simple word though. She bade him come to her aid and help her rid the forest of the menacing ogre.
Our Queen went forth on the appointed night to meet her prince. An Ogre was to be slain and maybe, just maybe a romp of celebration to be had. The night was overcast. The moon hidden by scudding clouds that would not leave it be. She stood alone in the enchanted forest and all at once the ground began to shake and tremble and rumble most noisily.
Through the trees, as deer took flight and owls took to the skies also in flight, came a giant. With each step the earth moaned and the trees shimmied and our Queen was jolted and bounced. It was the Ogre and our wayward Prince had still not yet arrived. The Queen stood firm not one to balk in the face of danger, she was a winsome little warrior our Queen surely was. She simply lifted her crossbow, for one should always have a crossbow when one plans to hunt Ogre, took aim and let fly an arrow.
It flew fast and true, that silver shaft, and buried itself - to the fletching no less - in the giant's heart. He grunted and then was silent. He stood for a moment and then without so much as a by-the-queens-leave, toppled heavily to the ground and lay still. Ding Dong the Ogres dead but we will not sing that song for fear of copyright infringement kiddies. Our Queen smiled her most winsome smile and approached the giant, for one should always kick a dead thing at least once to insure that it is firmly and solidly dead.
The moon fought valiantly to wrest itself from the clutches of those bothersome, however rapidly, scudding clouds as the Queen neared the body of the Ogre. And our Ogre? Well, he was shrinking. Yes kiddies, shrinking as I hear the tale told. With each step the Queen took he grew smaller and smaller. Not a very scary Ogre after all. When she was upon him, the moon won free and shone most shinily down on the forest.
Our Queen looked down upon the man-sized Ogre and you guessed right if you guessed that she gazed upon the mein of the Prince. Sharp thinking kiddies. There he lay with the still quivering bolt buried deep in his chest. My, that bolt quivered everlong!
Our Queen shrugged a most fetching, winsome shrug and said "Who'da thunk it?" Then she kicked him. Prince or no, one should always kick a dead thing at least once to insure it is most certainly dead. Yep. He was most assuredly dead, so she shouldered her crossbow, lit a cigarette and took her leave of the not so enchanting forest.
The Moral of the story? There is none... the Prince is dead. The Queen had a drink and considered finding a King but realized there was no where to cavort... the forest had burned down and I hear tell at the edge of the smoking ruins was found a cigarette butt.