Welcome to Miror

Merah Muda

Male Reader x Female Monster

My father passed away before I was born, so the crown was heavy upon me even before my birth. My mother hoped for a girl - someone who would be like her, gentle and sweet, but wholly unlike my father. My father was a good king, but he was not the best man. He was often cold towards my mother, sometimes even forgetting she existed. She was only another piece to the puzzle that was his monarchy.

My mother, Bianca, was not used to males, having grown up in a household of women, but she did her best to raise me. Until I came of age, she was Regent, which caused more difficulties for her, but ones she took too affably. She had help from the royal advisor, Father Chesterly, who became my adoptive father. Together they made arrangements for my own reign, which would come when I was still a teenager. Looking back, I would wholeheartedly say a teenager should not be made to rule, and I would never press that duty on my own children. They deserve to be children.

I was a handful for my mother, but I was completely devoted to her. I am not afraid to admit that I was a total mama's boy - she was my moon, my earth, my stars. But like all parents, she had her faults, and for the first few years of my life, she dressed me as a girl. She would put me in frocks and frilly clothes, which became fashion for the rest of Miror. As I grew up, I chose more feminine fashion when I was at home. Out in the world, I wore drab military garb, or whatever school uniform I had to. But wearing my mother's dresses, or even my own designed fashion, I felt at home. Even when out and about, I always wore high heels, and nothing under four inches. I had class, after all.

My mother and Father Chesterly - Rossi as he had me call him - are aware that soon I will have to take the throne. This comes with several expectations. During my coronation, I have to read from the Great Tome of Miror. I have trouble reading - it isn't that I am illiterate, but that words scramble up for me when I try to read them. They appear backwards in my eyes, or switch around. Rossi has found a way to help me by creating a font that doesn't confuse my eyes, but the Great Tome of Miror is not written in such a font.

On top of this, I am expected to marry before I turn twenty. My mother is frightened by the prospect, as is Rossi. After all, I am a good young man, but a difficult person to get to know. I am not afraid to admit I can be a cocky asshole. I blame the high heels.

There is pressure on my mother to find me a queen, so she has been searching for someone who would suit me. She was in that position before, and knows the toll it can take. She and my father were no good match. On paper they were great, but in reality, they were oil and and mulch; weird, confusing, and a little disgusting.

So my mother is being thoughtful with her selections. To her, added power and money don't matter if I'm not going to be happy. The best she can do is find me love, and the least she wants is to find me a good friend.

I have more on my mind than that, between school, the coronation, and dozens of nobles breathing down my neck. I don't think anyone is excited about me taking the throne. I am the weirdo prince after all. Because of the way I dress and my flamboyant ways, the nobles think I am not going to look out for their interests. This is true. I hate most of them and their snobby, money-grubbing ways, but not because of the way I dress. My frocks don't tell me to change taxes and funnel money to education. That's my own big brain.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, getting married. My mother has selected a few young debutantes she thought would suit me, and is holding a royal ball where we can all mingle. I love balls - I love dressing up more than anything, and my mother knows this.

My mother is very petite. Her people are fairies, so she is barely five feet tall and dainty like a doll. I take after my father - big and broad, and extremely masculine. Half of my body is red, to match my father, and my other half is white to match my mother. I enjoy the colors. I have to sit on a stool so my mother can do my hair and help me with my makeup, her tiny doll-like hands making quick work of the curls and patting rouge onto my cheeks.