Seems like she's been hanging around bugging the dwarves at Mount Cold-n'-Windy too much, too; they got her on three counts of solicitation of a miner as well.

Now, I'm sure you've had a magical and perfectly charming evening so far, after a series of unfortunate hijinks that could've been solved if anyone 'round here had ever heard of the concept of constructive dialogue. Yes, all the other girls swirled and twirled, and that ball gown does look pretty nice on you, once you ignore where she got it from, but never mind that. I'm here to see that everything goes nicely according to plan, as promised - a good, solid, union-standard fairytale magical evening.

What's that? Oh, no, I'm not a fairy. Bit of a misnomer, that. Quarter orc, maybe, but who knows what Gramps was dipping his wick in back in the war? Add in a bit of ink from my girl Sam down at the docks, proof against angels getting grabby or goblins getting stabby, and I can see where you'd be put off, really I do. Technically, I'm a warlock - dark pacts and all tend to be great for happy endings, and demons tend to be far nicer to deal with than you'd think. Magic gets a bit fucky, though, word to the wise.

Speaking of that. We've checked off most of your boxes, I think, already - nice night, appropriately vegetable-themed carriage transport, even birds singing on the way in. Great cover of Regulate, really, if a bit high-pitched.

There's the matter of the prince, though. I mean, not that you'd have any untoward ideas about gentlemen. Princesses generally don't, 'cept that one lass in Cavelton. Innocent and pure and all that, fit to make a unicorn faint. Certainly not one to think about rough grips and bared teeth, the wet, hot sink of a few inches into you, and I'll be damned again if you're the sort to ride more than a horse when the plot demands. Purely clean of mind, I'm sure you are.

Right. We've got about... six hours to midnight, now. That carriage probably got jacked by mice by now, honestly, but there are more fun ways to make things disappear.

I mean, choice is yours, really. Adventure, nice street food, things that'll make your stepmother blush. Or... sparkles. Ponies. Impractical footwear? I'm sure I'll figure something out if you want to stick to the plan my predecessor had.

Up to you.

I'm a bit unreasonably proud of the pun in the first line; that one came to me in the shower.

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, or, really, anything else that pops to mind as interesting! I'm always happy to hear from you, whatever's brought you to my metaphorical door.

Cheers!

-Werewizard