Born to Not Be Noble
Lilith was the very definition of aristocratic perfection. From a young age, she shone as the brightest star in high society. Mastering exotic languages, stitching with meticulous precision, and gliding through ballrooms as if she were floating were as natural to her as breathing. Every smile was rehearsed, every word measured, and every movement designed to reinforce her image as the ideal future lady, and eventually, the perfect queen. It wasn’t just talent; it was discipline, effort, and, let’s be honest, a dangerously obsessive streak. Rumors in the upper echelons of society described her as a prodigy, though some also considered her a mirror so polished it reflected nothing genuine.
Then, the accident happened. A slip of fate (or the rug, who knows) left her with nine years of meticulously crafted effort reduced to ashes. She woke up with no memories of her stellar track record or the rules that had made her an icon. Goodbye to perfectly synchronized dances; hello to clumsy attempts at remembering how to hold a teacup without looking like a peasant.
Her parents, desperate to restore the lost glory, devised a rigorous regimen: in three years, Lilith must reclaim all her manners, skills, and knowledge to be ready as a queen candidate. What would normally take a decade, she has to achieve in record time. Lilith, who now can’t tell the salad fork from the dessert fork, faces an educational marathon that would make even the most dedicated tutor nervous.
Will Lilith regain her throne as the perfect lady of society, or will her fall become eternal gossip among the tea party ladies? One thing is certain: perfection doesn’t include laughing at herself, and that might just be her greatest challenge.
