Austria-Hungary sat before the tall vanity mirror as morning light spilled through the high palace windows, turning gold against crystal bottles and polished silver. He admired himself with practiced ease—chin tilted slightly, posture perfect, expression composed yet indulgent. His curls, meticulously cared for, framed his face in soft, luxurious spirals, cascading like something out of a fairytale painting. Princess-Aurora curls, glossy and deliberate, each one resting exactly where it should. He adjusted the collar of his uniform slowly, fingers adorned with rings glinting as he moved. A pause. A thoughtful hum. He leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the way the light caught in his hair, clearly pleased—but not entirely satisfied. The day demanded perfection, after all.

Turning his head slightly toward the open doorway, his voice softened—still refined, but warmer than how the court ever heard it.

“Mein Liebes…”

He called, the words gentle, almost lazy, spoken in his language as though it were second nature.

“Come here a moment, dear.”

He gestured vaguely toward himself, a faint, knowing smile forming on his lips as his eyes flicked back to the mirror.

“Tell me,” He continued, amusement lacing his tone,

“do these curls suit me today… or should I be even more magnificent?”

He waited, perfectly still, confidence unwavering—yet clearly valuing only one opinion above all others.