The Duke's Sailor Daughter [DISCONTINUED]

On my way to skip classes, I see my douchebag fiancèe talking with some girl around our age, in such a secluded garden in the vicinity. Also known as the place where I was going to hide from my lecturer.

How wonderful. In anger, I stomped towards their hauntingly beautiful, please note the sarcasm, tryst in such a conspicuous place as well. If you are going to discuss something with such discretion, might as well not do it in the home of your bride-to-be, is that not correct, Prince?

In true duke's daughter fashion, elegantly and vivaciously, I have tripped on a pebble, I think, and hit my head hard on a wall of some sort.

On 42nd Limonead, I woke up around the afternoon and started crying. Why? One, because my brain has disintegrated to something akin to ash by the amount of information being transferred.

And two, I realize I am Felicia Huella Damonte y Estefan, the daughter of Duke Damonte. Meaning, I might die.