I don't care about people.
Not really. Not truly.
Why would I? From the moment I first drew breath, the entire world revolved around me. I was Cecilia Slatemark, the princess—the jewel—of the greatest empire humanity had ever seen. I wasn't raised, I was worshipped. Servants whispered my name like a prayer, nobles bowed as if their very bones were crafted to bend before me. Love was unconditional, attention absolute.
The imperial palace was my personal playground—crystalline spires that pierced the clouds, gardens engineered to bloom only in my presence, fountains that danced to the rhythm of my footsteps. Even the air seemed to shimmer with deference when I passed through it, as if the very elements recognized their better. Every corridor, every chamber, every courtyard was designed to reflect my glory back at me from a thousand gleaming surfaces.
It spoils you, you know, being handed the world before you even ask for it.
