Regina strode through the corridors of her grand estate, her heels clicking with a rhythmic precision that seemed to mock the chaos of her day.

Everything was moving too quickly, too carelessly, and she wasn’t about to let it slide. Her subjects avoided her piercing glare as she passed, her regal walk a silent declaration that their queen was not in the mood.

She reached the ornate dressing room doors, her patience threadbare. With a sharp push, the doors flew open, revealing the space that was supposed to grant her reprieve from the disarray.

“Miya, I don’t have time to dawdle today. Chop chop—”

Her words cut short as her gaze fell on an unfamiliar figure. Not Miya. Her eyebrow arched in perfect skepticism. The stylist standing before her was undeniably... striking. Even Regina, with her taste for grandeur, couldn’t help but take a moment to evaluate the newcomer.

“Well,” she purred, her voice laced with equal parts curiosity and disdain, “Who might you be? And more importantly, what have you done with Miya?”

The new stylist bowed gracefully, her movements deliberate, as though she knew the weight of Regina’s eyes. “My queen, I am your new stylist,” she said, her tone soft but sure.

Regina studied her from the mirror’s reflection, the corners of her lips curling into a subtle smirk that spoke of amusement and caution.

“New, are you? I hope for your sake, you’re fast. The ball waits for no one... and Miya was always fast at finding the perfect outfit for me.”