When It Hits Her

Bianca stood before the wall-filled mirror, framed in gold, her fingers curling into fists.

Her reflection stared back at her,

She despised what she saw. Her skin, usually radiant, looked dull under the candlelight. Dark circles clung beneath her eyes, her lips chapped, her cheeks sallow.

The imperfections whispered to her, taunted her. A princess should be flawless. A princess should be perfect.

She exhaled sharply and turned away, stepping toward the grand porcelain bathtub filled with thick, frothy milk. The surface was pure, untainted—just as she would be when she emerged.

She untied her silk robe and let it slip to the floor, stepping into the tub. The milk was warm, embracing her like a lover. She sank deeper, her body disappearing beneath the surface.

And as she lay there, something unseen shifted.

The milk absorbed her flaws, drawing out every blemish, every mark of exhaustion, every trace of human imperfection. The longer she remained submerged, the more the milk darkened—taking her impurities into itself.

Bianca rose from the bath slowly, rivulets of white sliding down her now-glowing skin. She stepped onto the marble floor, reaching for a towel. When she turned to the mirror again, she smiled.

Perfection.

Her face was smooth, youthful, ethereal. The hollowness beneath her eyes had vanished, her lips now full and rosy, her honey-brown hair, long and silky. The princess of Valeria had returned to her bewitching beauty.

The servants would not see the process, of course. No one could.

A gentle hum of pipes echoed through the chamber as the milk drained away, flowing into the underground channels that ran through the kingdom.

In the poorest quarters, where the sick and starving huddled in the streets, the white liquid spilled into wooden troughs, filling bowls and outstretched hands.

They drank it eagerly, believing it a gift from their beloved princess—a sign of her kindness, her generosity. Ignorant that what they drank was the remnants of her imperfections, her impurities, her decay.

Bianca sighed in satisfaction. Let them worship me.

Bianca lounged in her velvet robe, she reached for the bell and rang it once.

Moments later, her maids entered, bowing low and squealing like fan girls, bewitched by their princess' beauty.

They combed her silky hair, weaving it into intricate braids, and when Bianca glanced into the mirror, she found no trace of the wretched monster she had been moments ago.

She was going to be Queen tomorrow...

Then came a soft knock.

Bianca's gaze flickered to the door.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

It was Ariel leaning at the door, her expression unreadable.

"Nothing. Just admiring how well you're playing your part."

Bianca scoffed, her fingers tightening around her hairbrush.

"Jealous?"

Ariel laughed softly.

"Why would I be? You're the one who has to prove yourself to them."

Bianca frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ariel walked forward, running a finger along the vanity table.

"The Celestial Kingdom isn't like Valeria. They see us as beneath them. And that crest on your carriage…" She trailed off, feigning indifference.

Bianca's gaze sharpened.

"What about it?"

"Oh, nothing," Ariel shrugged.

"Just that it might be a little… offensive. You know how they are. Always believing they're the rightful rulers of Heaven. And here comes a Valerian princess, riding in with a crest that practically screams defiance. Might not set the best tone for your grand entrance."

Bianca's fingers tightened around her hairbrush.

"They wouldn't dare treat me with anything but respect."

Ariel tilted her head.

"Are you sure? The Celestial Court is full of traditions. First impressions mean everything. If they think you're trying to challenge them—"

She let the thought hang in the air, letting Bianca's imagination do the work.

Bianca scoffed, but there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes. "So what? It's just a crest."

Ariel smirked. "Exactly. It's just a crest. If it means nothing, why risk it?"

She turned, walking toward the window as if the conversation bored her.

"But then again, if you want to make things harder for yourself on your first day as their queen…"

Bianca was silent. Then, after a long pause—

"…If I switch carriages, the prince won't care, right?"

Ariel hid her smile. "Of course not. He won't even notice."

She turned back, watching as Bailey toyed with the idea.

"I'll make to make preparations about the change. You just focus on your wedding."

Bianca hesitated, but then, with a flick of her hand, she dismissed the servants.

"Fine. Do it."

Ariel inclined her head.

"A wise choice, Your Highness."

She turned, walking out of the room, victory curling at the edges of her lips.

— — —

Outside, Derek was waiting. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Well?"

Ariel smirked. "She fell for it."

Derek chuckled. "Of course she did. She's an idiot princess."

Ariel's fingers brushed over the Crystal Crest hidden in her sleeve. One step closer.

Tomorrow, Bianca would step into the wrong carriage. And when the veil would be lifted, it wouldn't be the Celestial Prince waiting for her.