Letters to Zell Read Online Free PDF

what I have.
    We’re princesses, damn it. Our job is to become queens. Our job is to wear pretty dresses and have even complexions and carry on inane conversations with other queens and wear crowns and capes and furs and ride sidesaddle and be demure at dinner. Our job is to love all of these things more than anything else. Our job is to churn out progeny and hand them over to nursemaids. Our job is to enjoy bread pudding when we really want chocolate mousse. Our job is to forget what we want and do what’s expected.
    I don’t understand how you just quit that job, how you pulled on a set of riding breeches, tossed your circlets in a saddlebag, and rode off into the sunset. Bianca says that Jason’s mother has petitioned the Fairy Council to have you stripped of your title. When she’s done, not only won’t you be a queen, you’ll be homeless.
    You probably think it doesn’t matter because you have your new place in Oz, but have you fully thought out the repercussions? I get it. You never want to find yourself trapped in another tower, metaphorical or otherwise. Maybe you don’t want another woman—your mother-in-law instead of that old kidnapping witch Gothel—calling the shots. But was it necessary to throw all of your old life away in order to ensure your autonomy?
    I think of Darling and Sweetie spending their entire lives trying to become what I am now. They sacrificed their feet, their minds, their own desires to fit into a damned shoe. Then Figgy’s filthy starlings took their sight as they left my wedding. Ever since, they’ve clung to one another, frightened and miserable. They’re finally safe, and here I am contemplating risking their futures for a few scones?
    I hear them all day, shambling around the hallways, Lucinda yelling at them to do this or that while I consider abandoning all my good fortune for one selfish desire. Don’t I owe it to them to just do my job, to be a good princess? How could a ridiculous dream be worth the risk in the end? Please tell me; you seem to know. I miss you.
    Love,
    CeCi

Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White
    Onyx Manor
    West Road, Grimmland
    Z,
    So, now that you can’t come to my wedding, you’re the most prolific profferer of postcards ever? Or just the penpal who’s most curious about my adventures?
    Yes, I flirted with a Human. Big fucking deal. I mean, I know what I used to say. But I can change my mind, just like the rest of you, can’t I? Humans can’t all be assholes, right? Head of Soufflés herself can’t be responsible for techno music, Chia Pets, and pies in a jar.
    Besides, here I am, back where that nonsense exists safely between the covers of Cosmo . So yeah, maybe I’d like one of those cell phones. But who wouldn’t? They’re a lot more pleasant than pigeons (sorry, Cliff) but only because they don’t shit all over the floor.
    Stupid Figgy and her stupid scare tactics. When we were young she told us there would come a time when the Humans died off, their imaginations blinking out like stars, and us along with them. Even if she’s right, that day isn’t today. It won’t be tomorrow, either. Their imaginations seem as healthy as ever.
    Case in point: We get Outside and some kid tells Rory about this park full of princesses called Disneyland . Head of Soufflés corroborates the tale. Not only is it a real place, they apparently tell Rory’s story to little girls—some sort of gussied-up version that’s all a pile of cakes and singing birds and Fairy Godmothers warring over evening gown colors instead of philosophy. Their retelling is nicer. It skips over the part where Rory’s parents kept her in isolation under lock and key and the part where they burned all of her belongings to play the old “No princess here!” card whenever Malice returned. Most bafflingly, Humans don’t even seem to know about the Fred business.
    Figgy would say their minds are shutting down—they’re forgetting. But I think it’s just the