Kachi
Just a lowly apple.
"Tydra, dear, you're a noblewoman. You need to wear a befitting gown."
Again, for the umpteenth time, her mother was scolding her. When wasn't her mother scolding her? Tydra thought she might die from the boredom that came with the usual scrutiny and chastisement, and it certainly didn't make her feel very appreciated. Tydra, you must do this. Tydra, you can't do that. Tydra, if you aren't the pristine image of perfection I'll slit your throat. That's how it all sounded to the young princess.
"But mom! It's impossible to do anything in these stupid frilly dresses! They're heavy and warm and when I wear one I feel as though I might be smothered to death, not to mention the fact I can hardly move!"
Her mother's cat-like ears lowered and her brows furrowed, creating an impatient, slightly threatening expression upon her face. "Now, dear, I'm aware of how you feel, but if you don't look presentable, what will the other nobles think of me? They'll spread rumours, say I don't know how to raise a child. Do you want that?"
Tydra pouted. Why did she even bother arguing? She never won. She never won anything. She was weak and immature, according to literally everyone ever, as she so loved to put it. The only thing she was considered good at was sitting on her throne like a dead body someone dressed up to look the part of a princess. She was always complimented on her looks. She got the best of both of her mother and father's genes, appearance wise. But truth be told, she was weak. She had never been able to face up against anyone in hand-to-hand combat, and her magical abilities were non-existent. It was pitiful, for someone of royal blood. But it wasn't as though she could help it. She trained. Oh yes, she trained, she trained and trained and trained and it never seemed to make a difference. She just remained frail, small, and pitiful.
Releasing an exasperated groan, she gave in. "Oh, fine, I'll wear the dress. Give me some time to brush my hair and I'll be out."
Pleased, her mother stood up and left the room. Tydra angrily swished her red tail about but complied, lifting her brush and furiously dragging it through her long, strawberry-coloured locks, though this didn't last for very long before she tugged out a tangled clump of hairs and whimpered in pain, deciding then that perhaps it would be best to take her time.
@Idea
Again, for the umpteenth time, her mother was scolding her. When wasn't her mother scolding her? Tydra thought she might die from the boredom that came with the usual scrutiny and chastisement, and it certainly didn't make her feel very appreciated. Tydra, you must do this. Tydra, you can't do that. Tydra, if you aren't the pristine image of perfection I'll slit your throat. That's how it all sounded to the young princess.
"But mom! It's impossible to do anything in these stupid frilly dresses! They're heavy and warm and when I wear one I feel as though I might be smothered to death, not to mention the fact I can hardly move!"
Her mother's cat-like ears lowered and her brows furrowed, creating an impatient, slightly threatening expression upon her face. "Now, dear, I'm aware of how you feel, but if you don't look presentable, what will the other nobles think of me? They'll spread rumours, say I don't know how to raise a child. Do you want that?"
Tydra pouted. Why did she even bother arguing? She never won. She never won anything. She was weak and immature, according to literally everyone ever, as she so loved to put it. The only thing she was considered good at was sitting on her throne like a dead body someone dressed up to look the part of a princess. She was always complimented on her looks. She got the best of both of her mother and father's genes, appearance wise. But truth be told, she was weak. She had never been able to face up against anyone in hand-to-hand combat, and her magical abilities were non-existent. It was pitiful, for someone of royal blood. But it wasn't as though she could help it. She trained. Oh yes, she trained, she trained and trained and trained and it never seemed to make a difference. She just remained frail, small, and pitiful.
Releasing an exasperated groan, she gave in. "Oh, fine, I'll wear the dress. Give me some time to brush my hair and I'll be out."
Pleased, her mother stood up and left the room. Tydra angrily swished her red tail about but complied, lifting her brush and furiously dragging it through her long, strawberry-coloured locks, though this didn't last for very long before she tugged out a tangled clump of hairs and whimpered in pain, deciding then that perhaps it would be best to take her time.
@Idea
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