The sun peeked through the heavy curtains, bathing the room in a lazy golden light full of warmth and promises.
But for Ligia, morning arrived with the flavor of emotional hangover.
She yawned. A long and dramatic yawn, more a protest against the universe than a physical need.
Her eyes blinked, defeated by the light. Even the sun seemed complicit in the torture of last night's lesson.
"I'm alive..." she murmured, voice raspy and filled with disbelief.
She turned to her pillow and slammed her face into it.
"...Damn you, Lady Asvalira."
The room was just how she liked it
Disorganized enough to look natural
Scented with lavender and a magical incense still burning on a floating shelf
Boots tossed like fallen soldiers after emotional war
Last night's dress draped over the chair, hanging from one shoulder like it had given up on life.
"Good morning, shooting star"
The slow voice came from the edge of the bed — the cat, floating lazily, stretching like nothing in the multiverse was urgent.
Ligia didn't even look
"Don't start"
"You started it. You accepted the lesson, remember? Now it's part of your personal development program"
"'Development program' my ass"
Her voice was muffled in the pillow
"Yesterday I was tortured with staged crushes, seductive gazes, and poses that left my soul bruised. My hips hurt. My pride hurts. My butt hurts"
The system purred, mocking
"That last one's your fault. You locked the basic lust muscle trying to sway with grace"
"If you say 'lust' before coffee, I'm turning you into a rug"
"Chic"
It smiled
"But I prefer my form in 3D Cat"
Ligia pushed the sheets aside and got up with effort.
Her muscles screamed. Even her soul seemed jet-lagged.
"No seduction today. No looks. No lessons on 'how to make a man beg with a wink.' I just want to brush my teeth, eat, and sleep for another week"
In the bathroom mirror, the reflection of someone who fought internal demons and lost both rounds.
"Great. A princess in zombie mode"
While brushing her teeth, the system perched on the sink like an interdimensional judge.
"You know today is the formal presentation of the new heiress, right?"
Ligia stopped. Very slowly
"...Which heiress?"
"You"
"YOU'RE KIDDING"
"I wish. But no. The entire elite will be there. Even your grandfather, maybe"
"I'm going to kill my father. I SWEAR I'm shoving the toothbrush down his throat"
Minutes later, still grumbling, Ligia stepped out of the bathroom and walked right into three maids waiting.
Holding a dress designed to steal breath.
And oxygen.
An embroidered corset. Enchanted tulle. A skirt with magical sparkles that shimmered in the sunlight.
"Lady Ligia" one of them said with the patient smile of a saint on death row
"Allow us to dress you"
"I allow it..." she sighed, resigned, like a martyr heading for the altar.
Then came the tugs. The knots. The bust-tightening enchantment.
The waist was pulled so tight she let out a "hnnghh" that sounded like a gasping lady having an asthma attack.
"This is too tight"
"It's perfect" said the maid with the serenity of someone who has ignored nobles screaming in five languages.
When it was done, Ligia looked in the mirror.
"Okay... I look like someone who knows what they're doing"
The system floated next to her
"You look like a lethal noblewoman. But you walk like someone who left a seduction class with injuries"
"I have injuries"
She grabbed a silver tiara, adjusted her hair with an enchanted comb that hummed opera (whoever invented that, she would never know), and left.
The hallway was calm, bathed in golden morning light.
The portraits of ancestors stared at her as always — silently judging her posture, her neckline, and maybe even her existence.
"Say what you want," she muttered, passing a particularly judgmental painting
"Today I just want coffee"
Turning right, the Solar Hall revealed itself.
Natural light
The sound of clinking porcelain
Soft conversations
Fresh-baked bread
Fruit floating in enchanted bowls
A subtle symphony played by invisible magical instruments
Ligia paused at the entrance.
She inhaled.
Lifted her chin.
And stepped into the light.
The first thing she saw... was her mother.
Selène, seated at the end of the long table, silver hair cascading in perfect waves.
In her lap, Clarisse — too small for such spotlight — chewing on a strawberry with divine concentration.
Selène smiled with tenderness.
She blew on another strawberry, as if that had some magical purpose beyond just being adorable.
Ligia stopped.
That scene...
Simple.
Warm.
Unexpectedly devastating.
Family.
Not as a title. But as presence.
She looked away before emotion took over and then saw Michael and Dorian by the window.
Michael spoke softly
Serious. Austere.
Dorian listened like someone who already knew the answer before the question.
The father gestured with a gloved hand
The son responded with a nearly imperceptible nod.
A sigh.
A general's.
A father's.
Ligia turned her eyes back to her mother and sister.
And smiled.
Small. Tender. True.
"I have this"
No longer the emptiness of an isolated childhood.
Now there was hot coffee.
Soft laughter.
Comfortable silences.
A father.
A mother.
Siblings.
Imperfect, but real presences.
She took a deep breath.
Let her shoulders relax.
Started walking.
Even with the corset tight.
Even with the system floating beside her
"Look who's trying not to trip on the rug today..."
She just gave it a look.
Poked its floating belly with magic.
"Shhh. Don't ruin it"
The system chuckled. Soft. Almost affectionate.
"Alright. Just enjoy it"
And she did.
She walked toward the table.
Where her mother fed her baby sister
Where coffee was served with enchanted jams
Where her family waited — flawed, but rooted
And in that moment, Ligia knew:
She finally had a place.