The steam still danced in the air as Ligia stepped out of the bathroom.
Her damp hair fell like silver threads over bare shoulders, and her skin glowed beneath the sunlight, not from sweat or perfume, but from rebirth. The towel wrapped around her waist swayed with every step, light as freshly discovered freedom.
In front of the wardrobe, she slid her fingers between the clothes like someone searching for secrets stitched into fabric. She stopped. Smiled.
"You."
A deep red dress.
Vintage, but fierce.
The kind that doesn't scream — it dominates.
Sweetheart neckline, framing her chest with dangerous elegance. The back laced with ribbons that seemed to hold not just the fabric, but a new version of herself. The asymmetrical hem fell like a whisper with history.
"This one..." she murmured, lifting it with reverence.
"A perfect match for your aura," purred the system, appearing beside the mirror as if it had always been there, floating with the arrogance of a feline oracle.
"Want to know what it does? Increases your presence by 27 percent. Scientifically proven. Just the sway of that hem makes you want to kneel."
Ligia blinked, examining the fabric under the enchanted light.
"Twenty-seven percent is oddly specific."
"It's the difference between entering a room... and making it spin around you. Subtle. Devastating. Like you when you're not even trying."
She let out a quiet laugh through her nose, gripping the dress more firmly.
"Perfect. Because today? I want to be seen."
"Alert: protagonist mode activated. 'I stepped in and I own the place.' Let the show begin."
She dressed like someone arming for war.
The ribbons slid along her back like obedient serpents. The fabric cascaded down her legs like red smoke.
The neckline didn't ask for attention — it commanded it.
No necklaces. Only ruby earrings.
Hair pulled into a high ponytail: practical, firm, elegant.
Because even queens need to see who tries to pull the rug.
In front of the mirror, she saw herself.
And smiled, soft. Dangerous.
"Let the show begin."
The system yawned theatrically behind her.
"I'd bring popcorn, but I'd rather keep your dignity intact."
"Lie. You just don't want to share."
"Exactly."
But Ligia's eyes...
Weren't joking.
The sound of her heels echoed like a prelude across the silent marble.
The dress flowed like disciplined smoke.
Her presence bent the air around her — imperceptible to the common eye, but felt by anyone sensitive to magic or intent.
Ahead, the golden doors of the Ceremonial Hall.
And before them, like a sharp shadow, Vael.
Motionless. Impeccable.
As if carved there by a sculptor who understood discipline better than art.
Ligia stopped two steps away.
"Miss." Vael bowed.
"Vael."
Her smile was brief. And precise.
He opened the door with the solemnity of a herald parting the heavens.
The hall revealed itself in gold and calm.
Light fabrics on the walls. Impeccable vases of roses.
And in the corner, a low black marble table — where the court's temptations already awaited her.
Ligia walked over. Her eyes scanned. Analyzed. Touched.
She picked up a small mushroom tart.
Bit into it.
First bite: elegant.
Second: functional.
Third: silent surrender to pleasure.
Then, an enchanted caramel bar.
She bit it.
"Hmnh."
The sound slipped out. A muffled, naughty moan that didn't match the hall.
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to maintain composure.
That's when the system spoke, sarcasm dripping like warm butter.
"Oh yes. That's some high-level etiquette right there. Nobility on the first bite, gremlin by the fourth."
Ligia raised her eyebrows, still chewing.
"Sensory research."
"Sure. And look over there."
She looked.
Vael.
Still by the door.
But... his eyes.
A micro frown. A subtle shift in gaze.
For Vael, that was a scandal.
"Even he can't take it," the system giggled proudly. "I'm such a proud system."
"Pest."
"Princess of chaos."
"You'll see chaos up close if you don't shut up."
Another bite. Deliberate. Almost vengeful.
The system yawned again.
"Such a lovely dress. Such steady heels. Such... thirty seconds of self-control. Think you can last... twelve minutes?"
Ligia took a deep breath.
Not out of irritation.
But from the weight she'd been carrying.
"Listen, Pest."
Her voice came out low. Steady.
"Since I accepted this new life, I made a decision."
She adjusted her shoulders.
Her silhouette changed.
More grounded. More present.
"I will try. To be a d'Argêntea. To be the daughter my father and mother look at and say: 'That's her. That's ours.'"
A pause.
Another bite.
She chewed calmly. Eyes forward.
"But I'll do it my way. Because I won't bury myself alive just to please courtiers. I'll walk with proper posture, learn the rituals, master the rules of court... but first, I need to be proud of me."
Silence.
No sarcasm from the system.
Just an honest murmur.
"That speech deserved an epic soundtrack. And maybe applause."
Ligia smirked.
"You're unbearable."
"And you're about to dominate a hall full of imperial figures with a smile and +27 percent presence. That makes me your secret weapon... or your luxury accessory?"
"You're just a cat with Wi-Fi."
"What a cat."
"What a Wi-Fi."
She laughed.
For real.
The sound drifted through the golden columns like rare perfume.
And then, in the distance...
The bells rang.
The guests were arriving.
And with them...
The stage.