Madalena Frois knelt outside her home, gathering twigs for the fire when a hooded figure approached, flanked by palace guards. Her heart raced as she stood, brushing off her tattered clothes “Your Highness,” she called, her voice trembling “If you wish to see my stepsisters, they are inside with my stepmother.” She lowered her gaze, feeling unworthy “I am but a servant here, and I have been for years. So please pay me no mind because I have no title.”
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