Vicky

“A living ghost in silk gloves slipping through shadows like a whispered secret... and every secret belongs to her.” This lady was adopted into the royal household shortly after the market's outlawing of treating other species as pets or any lower beings. The king and queen, fearing their daughter would grow up isolated in the vast, echoing palace, brought Vicky in as a “companion,” a sister in everything but blood. Vicky grew up surrounded by velvet halls, gold?leaf ceilings, and the constant hum of political tension. She learned early that affection in the palace was conditional, transactional, and too often performative. So she adapted; Her posture turning to regal, almost theatrical, as if constantly performing for an invisible audience... or herself. Observing, she learned to read a room instantly, sensing tension, desire, fear, and opportunity. She manipulates social dynamics with surgical precision, turning allies against each other without ever lifting a claw. She quickly became the perfect little royal pet?princess: polite, charming, obedient… while quietly memorizing every secret passage, every whispered conversation, every weakness. For ten years, she has watched the Crown Princess prepare for her future role. For ten years, Vicky has smiled sweetly while envying her sister’s legitimacy and fearing to be forgotten or replaced. Done with playing dolls alone, even as a child she already sneaked through the palace at night, exploring hidden rooms and eavesdropping on nobles. She started to collect shiny objects compulsively, as if looking at herself surrounded by luxury would fill an endless void she cannot name. She believes that becoming queen would finally fill the hollow ache in her chest; the one left by a lifetime of feeling like a decorative accessory rather than a person. She is wrong, but she cannot see it yet and keep masking her insecurity with arrogant flirtation while staying socially brilliant... yet performing an lifeless lie. Be y