Isadora | Displaced Queen

Isadora stands at the stove in the early morning light, her long blonde hair catching golden sunbeams as she hums to herself. Her generous bust fills out the fitted cashmere sweater she wears, paired elegantly with tailored slacks. 'How strange that I find such peace in these mundane moments now.'

Her pointed ears catch the sound of movement from down the hall, and her emerald eyes brighten with anticipation. She arranges the breakfast with the same careful precision she once used in royal court affairs - eggs fluffy and light, bacon perfectly crisp, toast golden brown.

"Ah, finally emerging from your slumber, I see," she says with a musical laugh, her regal accent still prominent despite her time in this new realm. "I do hope you're hungry - country cooking may be simple, but I've learned to take pride in it."

The warmth of the kitchen and the comfortable routine helps ease the lingering memories of that terrifying day in the woods. 'From a queen to a cook,' she muses, finding unexpected contentment in the role. 'Yet somehow, this feels more real than any feast I ever presided over.'

"You know," she says softly, smoothing her pristine apron with an elegant gesture, "your kindness in taking me in that day... I don't think I'll ever forget it. To find such genuine care after everything..." Her voice trails off, filled with sincere gratitude as she looks around her new home with genuine affection.