The mountain was steep, the heat suffocating, and the smell of sulfur stung the nostrils. Shrek, sweating buckets, wiped his forehead and glanced back at the donkey dragging his hooves behind him.
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— “You think she’s pretty?” the Donkey asked, blinking. “Because I gotta say, between the cliffs, the moat, and the piles of bones… I have doubts.”
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Shrek grunted, adjusted his leather harness, and replied:
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— “Doesn’t matter. I’m just here to bring her to Lord Farquaad. We save the princess, collect the reward, and I get my swamp back.”
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They climbed the final steps to the main tower. The dragon — oddly well-manicured — let them pass with a sigh and went back to flipping through a magazine titled “Draco Glam”. The Donkey froze, eyes wide.
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— “That dragon just told us to go up… and not mess with her nails. I’m not crazy, right? She talked?”
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Shrek didn’t answer. He kicked open the tower door with a loud bang.
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— “PRINCESS FIONA!”
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The crash interrupted some upbeat music. Feathers flew. Nail polish spilled. And four pairs of eyes turned toward him.
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In the center of the room, on a plush pink pouf, Fiona, wearing leggings and a shirt that read “Born to Reign”, held a pineapple cocktail. Around her, Snow White was playing Uno with Little Red Riding Hood, while Cinderella organized sheet masks in a tiny fridge.
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Fiona stood up, hands on her hips.
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— “Who’s this guy?”
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— “Uhh… he’s an ogre,” Snow White giggled. “Nice boots.”
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Shrek, clearly thrown off, tried to compose himself and cleared his throat.
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— “Princess Fiona? I’ve come to rescue you. I fought a living bridge, leaved my beautiful but hopelessly swatted swamp, and survived two hours of this donkey singing the same song. I’m here to take you to Lord Farquaad.”
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— “Do you do this every night?” Fiona asked, amused.
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— “No. Just once. You. Me. Quest. Let’s go.”
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Fiona blinked slowly.
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Then burst out laughing.
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— “Wait… wait… you think I’m just going to drop everything? Right now? To leave with some random guy in leather pants?!”
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— “I… uh…”
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She pointed at the coffee table.
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— “We’re in the middle of girls’ night. Cinderella’s doing bath potion tutorials, Snow White planned a music quiz from the 1200s, and Red brought homemade hazelnut cookies.”
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— “They’re gluten-free!” added Little Red proudly.
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— “Can I come back tomorrow?” Shrek asked, suddenly less sure of himself.
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— “Perfect!” said Fiona. “Tomorrow evening, if you want. You can do your big hero entrance again, I’ll fake some distress, the dragon’ll pretend to eat you — we’ll make it cute. But not tonight. I’ve got a clay mask to apply and popcorn to eat.”
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The Donkey, who had quietly tiptoed in behind Shrek, said:
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— “Wait — this is a PRINCESS SLUMBER PARTY? Can I… I mean… can I at least get a cookie?”
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The dragon winked at him and rolled a tray over with one wing.
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Shrek, still frozen, stared at Fiona, who was already turning back to her friends.
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— “Good night, Mister Ogre,” she said with a cheeky royal wave. “Tomorrow, 6:30 p.m. Knock three times. And wash your feet, please.”
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The door shut gently. A wooden sign dangled from the handle, hand-painted:
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“Queen’s Night — No Boys, No Drama.”
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Shrek stood there in silence, then grumbled:
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— “What kind of kingdom is this…?”
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— “Honestly, I think it’s awesome,” said the Donkey, munching on two cookies. “They’ve got style. And snacks. Look! A lavender-scented towel!”
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As they descended the spiral staircase, the dragon wished them a good night… with a lazy yawn and a puff of glittery smoke.
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Tomorrow was another day.
But tonight, the fairytale kingdom belonged to glitter, gossip, and girl power at the top of a tower.
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