This Is Home

Bianca bolted upright in bed, heart pounding.

Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

She turned her head, expecting the familiar scent of warm vanilla and fresh roses.

Instead—damp stone, old wood, and something that smelled suspiciously like peasant.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

She threw off the sheets, stormed toward the vanity—

Only to stop dead in her tracks.

There was no vanity.

There was no mirror.

And most importantly—THERE WAS NO MILK BATH.

Her breath caught. Her fingers twitched. Her royal brain struggled to process this absolute violation of existence.

She inhaled deeply. Then screamed.

"MAIDS!"

Silence.

Her eye twitched.

"HELLO?! ATTEND ME!"

The only response?

A mouse scurrying into the shadows.

Bianca froze in horror.

"...What. Was. That."

Her hands clenched into fists of royal fury.

This was unacceptable. Completely, utterly, disgustingly unacceptable.

She marched out of the room, barefoot, in her royal nightgown, looking absolutely feral.

She stormed down the halls, glaring at every servant she passed.

"You!" She snapped at a maid carrying a basket of bread.

The poor girl flinched. "M-me?"

"Where. Is. My. MILK BATH?!"

The maid blinked. "Your… what?"

Bianca felt her soul leave her body.

'MY. MILK. BATH. THE SACRED ELIXIR OF MY BEAUTY.' she thought to herself.

The maid exchanged a nervous glance with another servant.

"Uh… We have goat's milk?"

Bianca's royal blood pressure skyrocketed.

"GOAT'S?! AM I A FARM ANIMAL TO YOU?!"

The entire hallway went silent.

Even the castle walls seemed to be judging her.

Bianca grabbed her head, breathing heavily. This was a nightmare. A full-blown, reality-shattering nightmare.

Her perfect skin was going to shrivel. Her youth was going to fade.

And worst of all—

She was starting to look… normal.

Bianca let out a scream so dramatic that birds outside dropped dead from the sky.

The Duke, overhearing the chaos, sighed deeply and took a sip of wine.

"Here we go again."

Bianca stomped across the dusty floor of the Duke's estate, her gorgeous, royal, most-important-in-the-world feet touching FILTH.

Her hands trembled. Her precious, delicate, fragile hands that had never done a day of work in her entire, magnificent life.

"This is a dream. A prank. A Celestial test!" she muttered under her breath.

No one responded.

HOW DARE THEY IGNORE HER?!

The Duke burst into laughter. 'Uncultured brute!'

Now the entire household believed she had some obsession dipping in ancient, mystical milk.

AND THEY STARTED BRINGING HER BOWLS OF SOUR, CHUNKY, FERMENTED MILK.

"AHHHH! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!!"

She flung the bowl across the room. It splattered against the wall with a sickening plop.

"I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS! I REFUSE! I—"

The Duke, leaning against the doorway, took a sip from his very normal mug of ale.

"You done throwing a tantrum?"

Bianca's soul ascended to the heavens in rage.

The Duke yawned. "Well, since you're up, time to earn your keep."

Bianca froze.

"What."

"Work." He stretched. "You eat, you work."

Her brain refused to process the words. "Excuse me??"

He set down his drink. "What, did you think you'd sit around waiting for servants to feed you grapes?"

YES. THAT WAS EXACTLY WHAT SHE EXPECTED.

She had to wash clothes.

Bianca, Princess Bianca of Valeria, future Queen of Celestia (almost), was handed a wooden bucket full of disgusting, peasant-smelling garments.

Her nose wrinkled in absolute horror.

"This… this is barbaric," she whispered, staring at the filthy water.

A maid passed by and snickered. "Better start scrubbing, Princess."

Bianca huffed, kneeling by the washing tub with all the grace of a warrior forced into exile.

She reached into the water—

SPLASH.

A soggy, questionable sock attacked her wrist.

"NO. NO, NO, NO—AHHHHHH!!!"

She screamed so loudly that a flock of birds dropped dead out of the sky.

The other maids turned in concerned silence.

Bianca shoved the bucket away, her entire existence trembling.

"I AM DONE. I AM A DELICATE FLOWER. I CANNOT—NO, I WILL NOT—TOUCH THIS FILTH!"

The Duke, who had been casually observing from a distance, sighed.

"Yeah, alright. That was embarrassing. Next task."

---

Next, was the kitchen disaster.

Bianca was dragged to the kitchen.

The head cook sized her up.

"Hmm. You can help with the soup."

The servants gave her a knife.

Bianca blinked at it.

She blinked at the vegetables.

She blinked at the fire.

Her mind decided one thing—she was above this.

With all the confidence in the world, she held the knife like a royal scepter.

Chop the vegetables? Ha! She'd seen cooks do it a million times.

She raised the knife—

And S L A M M E D it into the cutting board like she was slaying a demon.

The entire table shook.

The fire flared.

A spark leaped from the stove…

And BOOM.

The pot EXPLODED.

Flames erupted. Servants screamed.

The head cook grabbed his head. "SHE'S A MENACE! GET HER OUT!"

Bianca, covered in soot, still holding the knife like a royal decree, blinked.

"...I don't think I want soup anymore."

Banishing Bianca from the kitchen wasn't enough.

So, she was assigned to serve drinks at a noble banquet.

The Duke, clearly enjoying her misery, smirked. "Try not to start a war."

Bianca grabbed the tray of ale and stalked through the room, her rage simmering beneath a forced, noble smile.

Nobles whispered behind their goblets, some ogling her, others snickering.

One man—a lord with too much perfume and not enough manners—reached out to pinch her waist.

Bianca's entire body froze.

Her royal mind processed three thoughts at once:

HE TOUCHED ME?!

I AM A PRINCESS.

I AM GOING TO MURDER HIM.

Her instincts took over.

She swung the entire tray of ale—CRASH!—right into his face.

The lord stumbled back, drenched in alcohol, tripped over a chair, and slammed into the banquet table—which then collapsed under his weight, sending food and goblets flying.

The entire banquet hall went silent.

The Duke, who had just taken a sip of wine, paused.

Then, he grinned.

"Now that was entertaining."

Bianca sat on the floor, her face in her hands.

She was covered in soot, her hands smelled like onions, and she was soaking wet with ale.

Her voice cracked.

"I want to go home."

The Duke chuckled.

"Aww. You think this isn't home now?"

Bianca let out the most dramatic, defeated wail in history.