"Oh, my princess... do you feel tired?" Nanny held me in her arms, warm and loving as always.
Of course I'm tired, Nanny. My tiny bones are screaming. My little muscles are begging for mercy. I don't know why Papa is so determined to make me walk so soon, but the man is on a full-intensity mode. Now I understand why they call him blood-thirsty.
I mean, come on. Who puts an eight-month-old through cruel training?
Ugh. Whatever. Thinking takes too much energy too.
Right now, I have one priority. Hunger.
Nanny, feed me. I want apple pudding, I wiggled, kicking my arms and legs.
"Oh, princess, are you hungry?"
I wiggled in her arms. Yes. Yes. Apple pudding. Get me apple pudding.
She smiled knowingly and placed me in my crib. "I'll get you your favorite apple pudding, okay?"
That's my Nanny. She always gets me what I want.
But then she paused and glanced around. "I wonder where Mareilla is?"
Oh. I wonder too.
