There's a fine line between the unplagued comort of normalcy and the second your life changes forever. Some call it fate; others, tragedy-- yet the physiological response to either is the same: heart palpatations, rapid breathing, lightheadedness. Its almost cruel how congruent the lines alientating fate and tragedy look; just two sides of an unforgiving coin. That's what this particular Sunday was on a chilled October. Just a mess of lines trying to tell me that as of this day I was no longer Pistol Brandwin, princess of Commonore and daughter of the fairest royals within four kingdoms. I was a lady crossing the bridge between youth and woman into a land of beasts; where no man dared to venture and titles meant nothing.