I grew up fighting dragons and chasing shooting stars on the back of magical beasts. My world was one where a math test was felled with the swing of my sword and hearts were won with smiles and dress-up costumes. Everyone loved a princess after all. Most people didn’t know that I was an immortal being with little fear of heights, failure, or rampaging yetis.

Mortality finally struck me as a real possibility when I began to turn from child into woman. I was hospitalized and the rampaging yetis were running amok inside my body, exhausting me.

“Diabetes,” They called it.

“Oh.” I said to the Dr. with the sad pumpkin face.

“Denial,” They called it.

“Oh.” I said to the nurse with the pitying frown and ogre eye.

I slept and did not care. The yetis were my company as they tickled my insides and stomped on my organs. Eventually ‘They’ drove the yetis out, and I felt their loss with a detached sadness that cannot be explained.

“You will poke your fingers and give yourself shots.” They ordered.

“Oh.” I said to the strangers surrounding me. Evil elves with wicked schemes.

They showed me how and I put the sword to my flesh. It didn’t hurt. It gave me life and kept the yetis at bay.

They made sad faces at the young woman, beaten by her own body.