Bartolome Esteban Murillo Inmaculada Museo del Prado painting

run away to see my shadow. If I had shown myself, and she had known me, she would have been more frightened than if she had seen a dragon, for no one makes promises to a dragon. I remember that once it never mattered to me whether or not princesses meant what they sang. I went to them all and laid my head in their laps, and a few of them rode on my back, though most were afraid. But I have no time for them now, princesses or kitchenmaids. I have no time."
Molly said something strange then, for a woman who never slept a night through without waking many times to see if the unicorn was still there, and whose dreams were all of golden bridles and gentle young thieves. "It's the princesses who have no time," she said. "The sky spins and drags everything along with it, princesses and magicians and poor Cully and all, but you stand still. You never see anything just once. I wish you could be a princess for a little while, or a flower, or a duck. Something that can't wait."
She sang a verse of a doleful, limping song, halting after each line as she tried to recall the next.
"Who has choices need not choose. We must, who have none. We can love but what we lose— What is gone is gone."
Schmendrick peered over the unicorn's back into Molly's territory. "Where did you hear