Princess Gasmine

Not so long ago it seems, there was a rather liberated princess who wouldn’t exactly conform to how a princess was supposed to behave. When her wise great-grandfather finally passed on, besides finding herself next in line after her father for the throne, she inherited fourteen dogs, a stack of books she hardly opened, and one motorcycle. Mounting it, the princess would race along the kingdom’s roads, cutting corners wherever she could, and even where she couldn’t. Because her name was Jasmine, as the people in the kingdom saw her all the time on her motorcycle. They took to calling her “Gasmine”.

Gasmine was constantly arguing with her father, who had ascended to the throne, and with her mother, the Queen Consort. You are well aware of people who love each other dearly occasionally fighting.

“I’m not going to wear these stupid pale blue frill dresses and keep learning German, Indian, Russian, and Hungarian,” screamed Gasmine, running down the castle steps. “I want to go out, out, out!”

“Do you think you can just stomp on the kick-starter and run away from your duties as a royal?” her mother shouted, trying to stop her. “You’re no princess, you’re a BIKER GIRL!”

And that’s exactly what she had become. Most of all, Princess Gasmine liked ripping the throttle, revving the engine, and roaming about the royal estate on her motorbike. If she had taken the occasion to open her great-grandfather’s books, Gasmine would have found once upon a time, long ago, that far off in the United States there was a boy called William with whom she would have gotten along very well.

Like her, he was delighted to pedal his bicycle as far as he could go.

Had Gasmine continued the story, she would have read…