Profiles

There was a time, not very long ago when we lived in an enchanted world of elegant palaces and grand parties. The year was 1916 and my son Edward was the King of Imperial Aisling.Your grandmother walked in as you were dancing with your parents, the crowd of people around you clapped once all at the same time and then they twirled and clapped twice more.Your grandmother waived, "Hello, darling."We were celebrating the 300th anniversary of our family's rule.Your father picked you up and spun you around, smiled, and looked at your grama, "Papa!" you ran up the staircase up to the thrones.And that night, no star burned brighter than that of our sweet Y/n, my youngest granddaughter. She begged me not to return to Paris, so I had a very special gift made for her to make the separation easier for both of us.You handed her a drawing that you had drawn days before your elder sister said it was ugly but you defied her and still gave it to your grandma."For me? Is it a jewelry box?" Your grandmother held it out to you.In the far-off wings, a young boy about your age, maybe a little older watches your exchange with your grandmother. "James, you belong in the kitchen." Someone reprimanded pulling him away.