The sheer, paralyzing horror of her terrifying reflection instantly snapped her back to a harsh, unforgiving reality, forcibly reminding her of the crucial, life-saving instructions she had just frantically read in that mysterious, ancient book hidden away in her chamber.
If she truly wanted to keep this monstrous, scaly truth completely hidden from the glittering, judgmental crowd of nobles currently occupying the grand hall, she absolutely had to reign in her chaotic, volatile emotions.
She desperately needed to find her inner calm right this very second, or else everything she had meticulously planned would burn to ashes.
'Take a deep breath, Isla, calm down immediately,' she commanded herself, digging her small, manicured fingernails so deeply into her soft palms that they threatened to draw blood, desperately trying to ground her racing, panic-stricken mind through the sharp anchor of physical pain.
'If you do not forcefully suppress this boiling, venomous rage right now, these deeply judgmental, gossiping nobles will completely freak out.
They will point their jeweled fingers and treat you exactly like the horrific, bloodthirsty monster from the cursed tale of Beauty and the Beast!
And if that absolute disaster happens, both my grand, lifelong dream of becoming the ruling Queen of this kingdom and my ultimate, bloody purpose for revenge against those four wicked bastards will be entirely flushed straight down the gutter!'
Closing her eyes tightly against the terrifying image in the glass, she focused all of her magical energy inward.
She forced her wildly hammering heart to slow its frantic, bird-like fluttering against her ribs, aggressively pushing the dark, agonizing memories of the Queen's brutal death back into the deepest, most heavily locked corners of her mind.
She visualized the scorching heat beneath her skin cooling into solid, impenetrable ice.
A few agonizingly long, breathless seconds later, she finally dared to peek through her dark eyelashes at the towering gilded mirror.
Much to her profound, immense relief, the terrifying, iridescent dark scales had completely vanished beneath her pale skin, and the glowing red slits of her eyes had returned to their brilliant, sapphire blue.
A perfectly normal, innocent, and breathtakingly beautiful seven-year-old girl was staring back at her, adorned in magnificent silk and pearls.
However, as the lavish, extravagant evening dragged on, a seemingly endless, suffocating parade of glittering nobles, haughty aristocrats, and overly-perfumed dignitaries approached to formally greet her, leaving Isla feeling incredibly, agonizingly bored out of her mind.
She stood quietly and obediently near her father's towering throne, observing the massive grand hall with deep, hidden disdain as she realized that these shallow, superficial guests were entirely engrossed in their own selfish, political gossip, completely ignoring the actual birthday girl whose existence they were supposedly celebrating.
The grand orchestra played a sweeping, elegant waltz, but the music was entirely drowned out by the continuous, grating buzz of aristocratic chatter and the clinking of crystal wine goblets.
'They are all standing around chattering amongst themselves so enthusiastically, entirely abandoning me in the corner as if they haven't come to celebrate my birthday party at all, but rather to use this royal gathering as their own personal, exclusive networking club,' she thought bitterly, her brilliant blue eyes scanning the massive room with a sharp, calculating coldness that belonged to a much older woman.
'Everyone is so utterly absorbed in their own petty alliances, backroom deals, and endless social climbing.
Or even worse, they are desperately trying to introduce me to their snot-nosed, arrogant, absolutely cringe-inducing little princes,' she noted with sheer, unfiltered disgust, watching as another group of elite families began making their way toward the royal dais.
'The pathetic way they keep aggressively shoving these useless, pampered brats into my face makes it feel as though this isn't my seventh birthday celebration at all, but rather a grand, highly competitive Swayamvar organized specifically to auction off my royal hand in marriage to the highest, most influential bidder!'
Her jaw clenched tightly, the muscles feathering subtly beneath her skin, yet she remained perfectly hidden behind a meticulously practiced, flawless smile as yet another overly-perfumed, heavily jeweled Duchess practically dragged her incredibly awkward, sweating son forward by the arm.
The boy looked absolutely terrified, his velvet suit looking far too tight around his neck as he offered Isla a remarkably clumsy, trembling bow.
'Every single one of these greedy, plotting vultures is desperately trying to secure my royal hand to magically elevate their own worthless, counterfeit coins and boost their fading family prestige,' she fumed internally, silently glaring at the blushing, fumbling boy while offering him a polite, entirely hollow nod of acknowledgment.
'Honestly, it is an incredibly good thing that I am currently bound by the suffocating, rigid rules of being a delicate, well-behaved princess, and not living out my past life as the fiercely independent, no-nonsense Miss Francisco! Because if I were still that grown, fiercely independent woman today, the sheer amount of irritation and absolute fury I am feeling right now would have undoubtedly resulted in me ruthlessly kicking these arrogant lords squarely in the stomach, or brutally breaking a few aristocratic noses without a single ounce of hesitation.'
A young, particularly obnoxious lordling from a neighboring territory—who couldn't have been older than nine but already carried the sickening arrogance of a full-grown tyrant—awkwardly tried to shoot her a flirtatious, supposedly charming wink. Isla had to bite the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper just to stop herself from screaming aloud in pure frustration.
'But unfortunately, since I am a royal princess, I am forcibly required to display absolute grace, delicate refinement, and flawless elegance at all times, no matter how deeply I wish to strangle them,' she sighed heavily in her mind, her external expression remaining perfectly sweet, angelic, and utterly unbothered to the outside world.
'Otherwise, I swear to the heavens, I would violently teach these absolute dogs exactly what the painful, bloody consequences are for daring to shamelessly flirt with me while possessing a face that looks exactly like a tragically squashed pig.'
It felt as though every single young prince in the grand hall had their eyes entirely fixated upon Isla, tracking her every graceful movement.
Even that utterly insufferable, cow-dung-sniffing Lucier was staring intently at her from across the glittering room, swirling a crystal glass in his hand with an incredibly arrogant, knowing smirk playing on his pale lips.
Isla knew with absolute, terrifying certainty that she had to keep a tight, iron-clad grip on her volatile emotions to prevent her monstrous reflection from returning, so she simply stood there, projecting a beautifully serene, unwavering smile that completely masked her boiling inner turmoil and the overwhelming urge to burn the entire hall to the ground.
Yet, even whilst completely surrounded by this massive, suffocating crowd of wealthy aristocrats and supposedly important dignitaries, her heart fiercely ached with a sudden, deeply poignant longing for Dorian.
Amidst all this suffocating fakeness, she desperately wished that he could have been there standing beside her.
She longed for his genuine smile and his honest, unpretentious presence, even though she already knew with crushing, absolute certainty that such a beautiful reality was impossible.
Her mind inevitably drifted backward into the shadows of a heavy, discouraging memory, pulling her forcefully into a vivid flashback of the exact moment she had innocently stood in the King's grand study and asked her father if she could possibly invite Dorian to this grand birthday celebration.
The King's expression had instantly darkened with a sharp, cold aristocratic anger, his booming voice echoing through the silent study with absolute, uncompromising authority.
'Isla, I am certainly pleased to see that you possess a kind, generous heart and wish to treat everyone as equals, but that absolutely does not mean we can simply erase or forget the rigid, undeniable boundaries of our royal station.'
He had stepped out from behind his massive mahogany desk, looking down at her with a stern, deeply judgmental gaze, his words dripping with the elitist pride and heavy prejudice of the monarchy.
'If common dust settles upon your shoes or the hem of your clothes, it is of no real consequence and can be easily brushed away; however, if you allow that exact same black stain to touch your face, it completely ruins everything and tarnishes your entire majestic image forever... therefore, I strictly command you never to forget your limits or the high status into which you were born.'
'Okay, Dad,' she had murmured back then, looking down at her small shoes, her spirit entirely crushed by his harsh, unapologetically classist decree that firmly reminded her she was a prisoner in a golden cage.
'Isla? My sweet child, what on earth are you thinking about so deeply?'
The Queen's gentle, inquiring voice abruptly shattered the gloomy flashback, pulling Isla violently back into the loud, vibrant reality of the grand hall.
The heavy scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries flooded her senses once more, replacing the stale air of the King's study.
'Nothing, Mom, it is absolutely nothing at all,' Isla replied quickly, blinking rapidly to clear the lingering sadness and bitter resentment from her bright blue eyes as she seamlessly reconstructed her flawless, polite facade for the world to see.
'Then why are you just standing here all alone in the corner like a beautifully carved, silent statue?' the Queen asked, gently nudging her daughter forward with a warm, encouraging maternal smile, entirely unaware of the dark monsters lurking just beneath her daughter's skin.
'Go on, my darling, step out there and mingle with the rest of our esteemed guests! This entire glorious night is for you.'
'Yes, Mom, I will,' Isla nodded softly.
Taking a deep, incredibly steadying breath, she lifted her chin with aristocratic pride and prepared to throw herself right back into the exhausting, glittering, and deeply treacherous sea of judgmental nobility.