"She used to tuck me in, you know? When I was five or six, my parents would disappear on business trips and I'd stay at her penthouse. She'd read me to sleep, brush the hair out of my face, call me Maddie-bear, and I'd fall asleep against her shoulder because she smelled like perfume and safety. I cried in her arms every time I fought with mom.
"She gave me my first real makeup set. She was the cool aunt. The one every little girl needs so growing up doesn't feel like walking into a horror movie."
Her voice cracked—not with sadness, just with the sheer weight of what came next.
"And now? She calls me Empress. She calls you Emperor. She bows performatively—though yes, it's Catherine, and she does live for the drama—but the performance isn't mocking. There's something real underneath it. She looks at me across a room and there's this tiny moment, this silent Your Majesty that doesn't need words.
