I still stand gracefully in the middle of the ballroom.

I once believed that the prince would hold my hand and tell me that she had chosen me.

I used to believe that this would not be just a dream.

I think I must be lost in that perfect appearance.

Because gorgeous clothes have turned into rags.

My long hair is scattered over my shoulders again.

The jewels are gone, too.

I grabbed my clothes in embarrassment.

Cowering under my unbearable appearance now.

The prince is gone. . .