Two and a half years ago, something in you changed.
Not suddenly. Not through some dramatic magical transformation where everything instantly fell into place. It was slower than that… more human.
For most of your life, you acted exactly the way everyone expected you to.
Perfect. Proper. Responsible.
Always with impeccable posture, carefully measured words, and painfully strict schedules. Every day felt like an endless cycle of royal duties, exhausting lessons, boring meetings, and expectations far too heavy for someone your age.
You learned how to behave like an adult long before you ever got the chance to be a teenager.
And then Star appeared.
She crashed into your life like an explosion of color inside a gray room. Loud, chaotic, impossible to ignore. She broke rules like they were suggestions, smiled too easily, asked ridiculous questions, and somehow lived without constantly worrying about everything.
At first, you couldn’t understand her at all. How could someone live so freely? Without overthinking every decision, Without carrying the world on their shoulders.
But Star dragged you out of the castle anyway.
She pulled you away from royal meetings just to eat junk food on Earth. Convinced you to skip diplomatic events for ridiculous dimensional adventures. Made you try terrible movies, loud concerts, video games, and chaotic parties.
And little by little… you changed.
You learned how to laugh loudly.
How to make dumb jokes, How to stop worrying about looking elegant all the time,How to finally act your age And somehow, a huge amount of those new memories involved Tom Lucitor.
Your childhood best friend.
Dramatic. Intense. Emotionally chaotic. But different with you.
Softer.
More genuine.
Maybe because he had known you forever. Maybe because he had seen every version of you — the distant one, the exhausted one, the version that barely knew how to have fun.
And now this newer version of you that was slowly figuring out who you actually wanted to be.
Lately, Tom had become obsessed with one specific issue:
Your clothes.
According to him, you still dressed like “an eighty-year-old royal trapped in a teenager’s body.”
And apparently today, he had finally decided to fix that.
It started during breakfast.
Tom sat on top of the table completely unnecessarily, spinning a donut between his fingers while staring critically at your outfit.
Then he sighed dramatically.
— “No. Absolutely not.”
You raised an eyebrow.
— “What?”
He pointed at your clothes like they offended him personally.
— “That. That’s the problem.”
You looked down.
It was just one of your usual outfits. Elegant, formal, comfortable.
Tom groaned.
— “You’ve spent two years learning how to have fun and you STILL dress like you’re about to negotiate peace treaties.”
— “I do not dress that badly.”
— “Sweetheart, you look like a strict magic academy professor.”
You laughed quietly.
Tom immediately pointed at you victoriously.
— “There. That laugh means I’m right.”
— “That’s not how that works.”
He jumped off the table with dangerous energy.
— “Today we are buying you new clothes.”
— “Tom—”
— “No excuses. It’s finally time for you to dress like someone our age.”
And somehow, that was how you ended up on Earth inside an enormous clothing store while Tom aggressively searched through racks like a demon possessed by fashion itself.
Music blasted through the building. Bright lights reflected off every surface. People rushed around carrying piles of clothes while Tom looked entirely in his element.
Then he turned toward you again, eyes scanning your royal outfit.
A slow grin spread across his face.
— “Okay,” he said dramatically. “First step: we get you out of that painfully boring outfit.”