Twenty one years spent in the process of education; from her first steps in Naomi’s bedroom to her most grandest of perfect scores in advanced calculus (as of now, she had not yet actually used any of those advanced derivatives or integrations) — this young ensolian woman had lived simply to learn. Dusted in between of course were the ever existing horrors of her consuming donuts and sweetened seltzer water; weekends spent in reading either long winded romantic comedies or inglorious smut; and the utterly insanity of staying up overnight just to finish her pleasure readings.
Sophia really hadn’t done anything with her life.
Naomi had her legion commanded to an intense discipline even under fire -- the prestigious, ceremonial First Legion inherited from mother tuned to a broadsword of warfare feared across the Adranic. Natan had his numerous businesses and dealings; his fingers grasping manufacturing centers in Cineris all the way to the Reichland’s budding biofuel refining companies — enough capital under his name that it was said instead of dealing with the bureaucracy of Montglace, he went and bought the small province’s Central Bank outright. Although close to the Fourth Princess, Beatrice was an alien: always taking the court with her. Her natural presence was a stark reminder of the ever present Elise family in formal events both domestic and international (she was, out of them all, probably the most traveled). And even little Alice, with her mouth’s extreme lack of diplomatic filtration, was always reliable in communicating the malarkies of the common people to the ruling classes of the Imperium.
Sophia was… Sophia Elise the Eighth: disappointment of the family, true master of the rot, and the Imperium’s finest connoisseur (and consumer) of smut. Perhaps this was mother’s final political move; to finally rid themselves of what was ultimately the greatest drag on her reputation and familial productivity.
But through the small window in this bathroom the light of Unudo filters in, the house speaking to the young woman in its quiet wisps.
Some souls burn like fiery explosions, illuminating the world as beacons of guidance, comfort, and glory. Others burn simply for themselves. But is a lighthouse, casting its light across the coast, truly greater than a humble lantern that brightens a home? The captain may owe his life to the grand beacon, but no less does a family cherish the glow of their candle. Comparing oneself to the grandest of examples is the quickest path to self-doubt—the death of the mind. Love who you are, reach for what you can be, and find happiness in the journey.
Her internal monologue was right.
This wasn’t some conspiracy or awful fate that was put before her to survive through —this was at worst a favor given to her by a goddess she half-worshipped and at best the greatest opportunity of her entire life. In this foreign kingdom, away from the prying eyes of nagging maids, overbearing parents, and concerned siblings this was her perfect environment. Like a ghost bear released onto a polar ice sheet fresh with baby seals, this was a world created just for her.
No more hiding away the vast columns of smut, no more makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes, and no rules on how many donuts she could eat, bottles of seltzer she could drink, or hours she could sleep.
This was her paradise.
The world listens as she laughs with evil intent, the bone chilling tone echoing into the depths of this washroom and into the spirits within the earth, the sky, and the stars.
“IT'S MINE, ALL MINE!” She declares victoriously. “I WON!”
There’s nobody, and truly no willing body, to celebrate with her. A victory declared without a single battle, a speech prepared and proclaimed on a throne of porcelain and plumbing.
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There’s silence as she presses the last drops of waste from her body, a mind now focused on reconstruction, on building this new normal that she would have to adapt to.
… so, what do we need to live this new life?
I’m a simple woman. Sophia unabashedly declares to her internal monologue. All I wish to do is lie in my bed, eat as many donuts as I wanted to, and read romance novels all day!
There’s a momentary contemplation as Committees across the body and the brain begin to dredge and draft requisition forms from this simple objective; project scopes, material costs, and even personal infrastructural developments brought through the hierarchy of a body’s subconscious bureaucracy and finalized within the council chamber of the highest level of consciousness.
Three objectives are put before us:
- Lie in bed
- Eat donut
- Read as much smut as humanly possible
We have already been successful in executing these things in the past, though we will need to make some significant changes to adapt to this new environment. Tianci is a foreign country, full of current unknowns and we can’t be lax in any sort of planning or execution of any steps taken to this objective.
Thought processes all nod, confirming the warning given by one of their members.
Sophia pauses as she herself thinks of the dozens, and hundreds of complications placed upon this once simplistic definition of living.
LYING IN BED. The thought process actually went through the difficulty of drawing this out as a presentation, ripping out a massive sheet of paper as it begins its presentation.
The beds of Tiancin were utterly different from those of central Ensolia; mattresses stuffed with padding and pillows filled with soft feathers. Soft to an uncomfortable degree, especially now that Sophia was already suffering from ‘falling body’ syndrome not even twenty hours into this little adventure. She’ll have to figure this out some other time, maybe some mattress dealer in town could be selling an ensolian bed.
EAT DONUT. The diagram of an average donut, calculated with centimeter precision, makes the council salivate at the very thought of giving this imaginary item a bite.
Sophia stops utterly. Are donuts even part of Tianci cuisine?
Of course not! The hippocampus of her mind snaps. This is Reichland cuisine at its most stereotypical. Take garbage, fry it in garbage, and then cover the garbage in even more garbage. That’s right, donuts are garbage. How dare you even consider that the Tianci people would even dare create a food of this horrible sort!
Heresy! The central consciousness committee snarls at the words. Donuts are the food of the goddess. You dare speak of such thing as garbage?!
It is utterly innutritious, the dough terribly difficult to get to a perfect, delicate fry, and they are all so desirably unhealthy! In fact, I would want to eat one right now -- as a demonstration of how awful they are!
There’s silence at the admittance from this normally quite logical part of the brain, the rest of the mind nodding along.
Sophia blinks; Tianci did not have donuts.
Oh my Goddess Tianci did not have any donuts.
Sophia was living on borrowed time, if she couldn’t have a donut before the five day limit then she could very much die an agonizing…
SMUT.
Romance was the universal language of humanity. Intertwined with violence, falling in love and making love were inseparable to even the foundational proteins of DNA. Hells, even the Goddess had in her time within heaven fallen in love with a human, took on flesh to the worlds beneath her to meet him, made love to him, and…
IF THE HOLIEST BOOK OF THIS WORLD CAN CONTAIN SMUT, IF THE MONSTER YOU WORSHIP AS A GOD FELL IN LOVE AND MADE LOVE, THEN THIS NATION WOULD HAVE IT TOO.
Perfect, if nothing else this indulgence of hers would be fulfilled easily.
Uh…
We can’t even read the Tiancin Alphabet. The council concludes with a slight hesitation. And all the books that you’d want to read would probably be in Tiancin…
Oh.
Sophia sits in shock.
Oh no.
Sophia really hadn’t done anything with her life.
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