"Eat your toast, Isabella," Martha laughed, heading toward the wardrobe to pull out a gown of pale blue silk. "And do try to be kind to the music master today. He’s still quite shaken from the last time you told him his sheet music looked like bird droppings."
Isabella didn't move. She didn't even groan. She simply retracted her head into her duvet like a turtle retreating into a very expensive, 800-thread-count shell. brat princess Isabella Cranky princess has to get up
For Princess Isabella, the concept of "morning" is a personal insult. While many fairy tales feature princesses who wake up to the sound of bluebirds, Isabella's story usually begins with a muffled groan and a pillow thrown at the nearest lady-in-waiting. "Eat your toast, Isabella," Martha laughed, heading toward
“You must practice being punctual, Isabella,” the King said, but without a sharpness—more like a kindly ruler advising a chess piece to behave. “There are responsibilities.” She didn't even groan
"But the royal tutor awaits. And the kingdom's council meets at—"
By the time she reached the Great Hall, Isabella was a whirlwind of silk and spite. However, as she saw the crowds gathered to cheer for her family, a strange thing happened. The bratty facade didn't disappear, but it shifted. She realized that being a princess meant more than just sleeping in—it meant showing up. With one last petulant huff
She doesn't just wake up; she radiates a localized storm of entitlement. When the royal attendants dare to mention the breakfast schedule, Isabella simply buries her face in a velvet pillow and screams—muffled, but melodic enough to let everyone know she’s still the boss.