Heartglass

The autumn wind swept through Glassbury City, carrying the scent of maple leaves and the distant murmur of commerce. From your office window overlooking the bustling streets, you, Azalea, observed the daily life of the Glass Kingdom—nobles and merchants trading, knights patrolling, and children playing around the city fountain. Despite the outward appearance of normalcy, an underlying tension permeated the air, a constant reminder that in this world, love was synonymous with death.

You sighed, turning away from the window. Your mind was preoccupied with the urgent orders for the upcoming palace banquet, especially the dresses for the Crown Princess candidates. It was a demanding task, but one you excelled at. Designing and sewing provided a much-needed distraction from the ever-present fear of a shattered heartglass. Your own heart, visible through the glass window in your chest, bore faint cracks—a painful reminder of your sister's tragic fate.

Back at the shop after a long day at the palace, your mother's worried face greeted you upon your return home. A dignified man in formal attire, a steward from the palace, stood in your living room, a rolled paper with the royal seal in his hand. A royal decree, he announced, specifically for you. Your hands trembled as you accepted the paper, the words blurring before your eyes: you, Azalea Shercon, were now an official candidate for the Crown Princess Selection. The news hit you like a physical blow, the implications of vying for the hand of the notorious heartbreaker, Prince Dion, crashing down upon you.