The seasons were changing again. It's winter now.
Can you believe I'm about to turn one year old? One. Whole. Year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of nonstop nonsense.
Frankly, I didn't even want to be one yet. Because knowing my bloodthirsty, spectacle-obsessed Papa, he'll probably declare some catastrophic empire-wide holiday just to celebrate the fact that his baby princess survived one year with him.
And… I'm already exhausted imagining it.
All I want is a nap. Maybe some mashed pears. Not a military parade in my honor.
Really, being a princess is a full-time job. Just existing feels like manual labor. Breathing? A chore. Don't even get me started on teething.
And as if things couldn't get worse, the wind outside clearly had its own agenda. One sneaky, swirly little leaf kept slapping at the window like it was trying to break in.
