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Content/Trigger Warning: Site contains mature topics, themes, images, and situations.
1852 July 14 – London, England
1852CE
14/7
14/7
The ballroom was a whirl of gowns and suits, but Vicky (as I cheekily call her in my head) stood out like a diamond in the rough. There's something about a queen that just screams 'adventure' – and I'm all about that!
We danced, believe it or not. Her majesty glided across the floor with the ease of a swan on a lake. I matched her step for step, throw in a little flair here and there. What can I say? I've had centuries to perfect my moves.
Our conversation was a delicate dance too. Vicky's sharp, way sharper than the jewels on her crown. We talked politics, poetry, and a pinch of scandal – all with the artful dodge of revealing too much.
As the night waned, our dance led us away from the prying eyes of the court. Let's just say, even queens need a break from their royal duties. We shared a moment as fleeting as it was intense, a secret hidden in the shadows of the ballroom.
'Til the next royal rumble, Tak
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
