shnitzeltheshihtzu
In 1813, Melody de Mariposa lived in the remote hills of Scotland, a bright spark against the gray mist. Her curls, a reddish-brown river, tumbled to the floor in braids she barely had time to care for. Amber eyes, bright and curious, noticed more than she should, freckles and beauty marks scattering across her round face like constellations. She was sturdy and wild, full of energy and questions that no one answered.
Her father, the Duke of Edinburgh, claimed her as legitimate for her fiery looks alone. But the only title she would ever know was wife.
Whispers followed her-the servants' hushed warnings, the wind's strange patterns, shadows that lingered a moment too long. Some said the gods watched, some whispered of creatures older than memory. Her mother's death, her father's obsession... none of it felt quite as it seemed.
And soon, Portugal awaited. Not just the court, not just a prince, but something larger. Something that would not wait for her understanding. Perhaps there, threads of destiny would tighten, some entwined with a bond not yet known, but somehow inevitable