Since morning, the von Hohenberg family residence had been like a frantic beehive because of their queen: Me.
I had just realized that my brother's birthday party was starting in two hours. All the servants were running back and forth; flowers were replaced, tablecloths were ironed, and the dining table was rearranged until it looked like heavenly symmetry.
And me? I was fighting a life-or-death battle with a corset that felt like a medieval torture device wrapped in lace and advertised with the words "shapes the perfect silhouette."
"Pull it a little tighter," I told the Clara who already looked like she regretted her career choice.
"My Lady, this is already—"
"A little more! If I can hold my breath for three minutes, it means this is the right size! Besides, my stomach already hurts. So don't let this pain be in vain. Beauty is painnnn."
Three minutes later, I was truly blue. But it was fine. Beauty first, oxygen later. Who needs air when you can be captivating?
