by Christine Stoddard

Created on: September 06, 2009

She swayed like a cat in heat, waist and hips fluid as an arboreal stream. From behind, a trance seemed to grip her with the Sandman's grainy hands; from the front, she suffered the obvious consequences of international airplane travel. Though slightly bloated and discolored, she was as beautiful as the tittering princesses she had worshipped as a child. Perhaps five-hundred years ago, a sweet-minded squire encountered her in a dream. To begin with, her dark lashes extended at least one inch beyond her heavily powdered eyelids. Her eyes shone an irresistible shade of gray that verged on gloominess but still emanated enough liveliness to hypnotize weaker souls. Those souls might wake up if someone whispered the fact that she wore contacts, but that event remains hypothetical. (Who would be cruel enough to destroy the spell?) Despite the smudges of concealer under her eyes, the gray-purple bags of jet-lag were still visible above her cheeks. If any of the men who wanted to touch her had the chance to do so, they would have felt the stickiness of serum in her crimped, blonde hair. It had not dried properly because, shortly after applying it, she had fallen asleep on the shoulder of somebody's grandmother during the plane ride. When she woke up to the pilot's voice that morning, Kimberly was not sure if the puddle of goo on the old woman's sweater was saliva or stray hair product. She had touched her full lips to find out; not a drop of spittle jiggled on top of them. Conveniently, she deemed herself innocent.

Now as she glided across the plane's carpeted floors to the front door, velour sweatpants cupped her round buns and neon green stars graced her shiny nails. It was just another stylish day. The moment that her ballet slipper-clad foot stepped out of the plane, Kimberly popped in her earbuds to drown out the noises of an airport that mocked her native language. She glanced up from forcing the unicorn charm on her necklace to face the right way. She barely made out the letters reading "Charles de Gaulle." The words wavered back and forth like her stomach at take-off. She slipped through Customs with an enchantress' smile and then rolled toward the baggage claim in a trance. Somehow she avoided falling asleep standing up as she waited for an epiphany of some kind.

"Where am I going?" she mumbled to herself, now that her full entourage of bags encircled her. "These Frogs better-"

"Kimberly!" A fifteen-year old boy, gangly and red-faced, jumped up and down,

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