Once upon a time in a land far away, there lived a King. He was a kind man, and a good ruler, married to one of the most beautiful ladies of the kingdom. This couple was very blessed, for they had six lovely daughters who were each equally accomplished. The King longed for an heir, however, and on the eve before their seventh child was born, he called upon every magical being he knew and pleaded with them for a son. In return, he received enigmatic stares and whispers of a child whose name would become known across the eleven kingdoms and who would usher in a new era of peace and prosperity among the magical and the mundane. The King was grateful for their efforts and attempted to reward the gathering, yet they refused him, and left him in confusion, for none had expressly mentioned an heir. The kingdom of Cheyrel which he ruled was not unaccustomed to magic, and being the godson of a powerful fairy, the King was well aware of the loopholes that existed.
Despite his worries, he put forth a jovial manner that managed to even fool his clever wife. While he greatly desired a son, he would raise this child to be equal to his or her destiny. On the eve of the birth, he paced anxiously in front of his wife’s bedchamber, his footfalls matched with thunderclaps and punctuated with lighting, and awaited the midwife with bated breath. When she finally emerged, it was with the news that—
Hang on, ‘scuz me, coming through. You don’t mind if I take it from here, right? Good. Didn’t think so. Whew. Okay. I figured this is only fair because it is after all my story to tell. Yes, it is I whom old pompous wind-bag was going on about.
Pardon me, young lady, but that seems quite unfair and not at all fitting language for your station in life.
Yeah, whatever. I’ve never actually cared about my “station in life” (can you tell I was mocking his pretentious voice?); if I did you can bet your magical beans that I would not have as much fun as I do.
Hmph.
Go ahead, storm off. I want to tell this tale myself anyway. So. Where were we? Oh right. The night I was born. Don’t believe that affected old coot for a minute, it wasn’t a dark and stormy night, it was actually unseasonably warm. And those magical beings? One rather tired old unicorn who quite possibly was just trying to keep a hand (or hoof) in the business, as it were. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of a terribly grand destiny does sound rather interesting, but trust me when I say it is not so amusing to be brought up having something like that expected of you. But I’m getting ahead of myself…My name is Gretchen. I know. Not very princessy, is it? Don’t worry, my older sisters are all suitably named. However, mum was going through a Nachtian phase when she was pregnant (oh, excuse me, with child is apparently the appropriate term) with me. She refused to eat anything but strudel or shnitzel which was rather problematic for my dad seeing as the kingdom of Nacht is quite literally on the opposite end of the continent from Cheyrel. Luckily, a sorceress who lives in the village just a few minutes walk from the palace also has a thing for Nachtian food and conjures it on a regular basis.