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And so the mouse searched to bring fair maidens from far and wide, and although they were beautiful and pure and wise, none of them managed to melt the prince’s heart.

“I’m doomed,” the prince wailed, “to live this life,

With a heart as cold as a knife.

Maybe this is why I can’t break the spell.

My frozen heart will not fell.

The cold has seeped into my bones.

My love no more than solid stone.”

“Fear not, my prince,” the mouse declared, even though she felt quite scared.

“Your heart will love, your life be spared.”

Because it was she who truly cared.

And so she scoured the land again, fighting the coldest winds, swimming the largest oceans, and baring the blazing heat, looking for beauties who glowed bright enough to be worthy of the prince.

Upon her return, the prince ran to meet her, but he knew she had failed.

“I’m sorry, my prince,” the little mouse wept.

“I’ve failed you so, my promise not kept.”

The prince regarded his faithful companion.

“Do not cry, my gallant friend.

You’ve travelled the earth from near to end.

And I thank you by the stars and sea

For caring enough to help me.”

And with that, the prince picked up the little mouse and kissed her on the end of her nose.

In that instant, a warmth spread from the prince’s fingertips, right up his arms, and burned into his chest. And a blinding light erupted in the room, causing him to close his eyes.

When the light had faded and the heat worked its way through his body, he opened his eyes to see that the mouse had vanished, and in her place stood a woman—no golden halo of elegance, no blazing light of glamour, but with the most beautiful heart he had ever felt.

He took her into his arms, the warmth travelling through them both.

“With love’s true kiss,” he said, “my heart did melt, as my love for you is all I felt.”

And the darkness lifted, the land was freed, joy and rapture carried by the wind.

There was no wedding, no fanfare, no bells of harmony, no declarations of how they felt, for the little mouse and the prince needed none of these things. They only needed each other.

Setting the papers on my desk, I recall the advice I gave Alice when I told her she should give writing a go. I told her to take something from real life and run with it. Which is exactly what she’s done.

What she’s written is so clear. She’s the mouse. I’m the prince. Pippa is the butterfly, and Alice is telling me I’m worthy of love.

So why am I still so afraid of admitting to her that I feel the same? Why am I so terrified about what will happen if I tell her that she’s my mouse?

Because I’ve been in love before and it let me down, dropped me from such an enormous height that I felt there was no way of getting back up again.