'This is how it's always been,' laments Lycoris as her gloves become wrinkled as a result of her clenched hands. Her chest rises and falls as her lungs breathed in, then breathed out. Her hands straighten, coming down to smooth down the fabric of her skirt. And her fingers come up to fiddle with the pendant sat in the hollow of her throat. With one final gulp of air, Lycoris pushes open the doors of her father's study.
But she freezes upon the threshold. In front of her, waiting with varied amounts of patience, stood the entirety of Quinn family, the lords and ladies residing in the Quinn duchy, representatives for the outer villages, and---Â
'Wait.'
Stood sandwiched between the Duke and Duchess Quinn, in a white gossamer wedding dress... floor-length lace veil pooled slightly in front of her and along her side as if she had just turned around... and a...
A...
A... fucking crown.