Let me tell you a story, a story about a prince who was a rover, and a princess who did not know she was a princess. Now I hear the question asked, "How can this be, a princess being unaware of being a princess?" The answer lies in the midst of a war that lasted a thousand years.
There is a place, on a bay, where the red tiled roofs slope gently down to the sea, a place where men go down and ply their trades as they have for thousands of years. It is a place where palm trees sway gently in the breeze, and birds sing their songs of love, and romance stirs the air. In this place, women and men go about their daily lives without the slightest idea of events beyond the borders of their land. In this place where Jasmine scents the air, and smell-by-night trees blast the unsuspecting evening with their scents, I have made my home. I found a wife, a lovely dark skinned woman, with moonlight glinting in her eyes, and my past I tried to forget.
I am completely mad, at least there is a strong possibility that I am; for reality could in no way be as warped as I see it. Perhaps I had best explain though, for mad men are rarely lucid enough to realize their sanity has slipped, and I have just stated that I theorize that mine, too, has slipped.