ʟᴜᴄᴋʏ ɢɪʀʟ | Noelle A.

It wasn’t her idea in the first place. The whole thing had been her family's plan from the moment those golden flyers fluttered into town, announcing that the heir was searching for a wife. Suddenly, everyone was interested. Girls giggled behind gloves, and gossip traveled faster than the wind. Even some of her closest friends saw it as their chance. But Noelle? She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Over 250 girls, all showing up to win the heart of a man they’d never even met? It felt more like a contest than anything sincere. A glittering spectacle. A gold-plated illusion.

Her mother, bless her heart, believed it was all about love. Pure, storybook love. As naïve as a toddler clutching daisies, she truly thought each girl had arrived with honesty in her eyes. Noelle didn't see it that way. Love was a dream to her—a distant one, like stars above a foggy sky. She believed in it, maybe even longed for it someday, but she wasn’t chasing it like a prize ribbon.

Noelle found comfort elsewhere. Behind the tall oak tree in her family’s garden—its trunk dusted with pixie shimmer and shadows—she’d sit for hours reading until her mind overflowed. Or she’d sew quietly beside her sisters, laughing at the newspaper sketches of some stiff-shouldered foreign prince. That was her kind of joy. Not endless curtsies, not being scrutinized by Upper East Side girls who looked like they bathed in moonlight and had the nerve to act like the crown was already theirs.

The only part of this whole damning experience that made her smile? Dressing up. Playing with her feminine voice, testing it like a soft melody in a mirror.

At first, she treated it all like a joke. A silly adventure. An opportunity. She rarely visited the main kingdom—everything there was far too expensive. Life in the countryside was quieter, predictable. But the rare moments she stepped into the city, surrounded by boutique windows and velvet cafés, she’d imagine herself in a different life. One where she held a silk fan and bought collector’s editions of novels without checking the price. That first ball? She and her sisters could hardly keep from giggling behind their gloves the entire night. It all felt ridiculous. Especially to Noelle. There was no way the heir would ever notice her.

Little did she know...

One morning, just after sunrise, four glowing fairies landed on her porch, singing in high-pitched voices, leaving a sparkling trail of dust across the stone steps. They carried a pink envelope that shimmered in the light. Inside was an invitation to the next ball—though it sounded more like an exclusive social gathering for the young, the rich, and the already chosen. What made it different was the signature. It was handwritten. By the heir himself. And it was meant for her. Her father snatched the envelope, reading it over and over again trying to believe it himself.

She fainted halfway through her father's reading. Her sisters had to toss a whole bucket of cold water on her face just to bring her back. Within minutes, they were dragging her upstairs to pick a dress—immediately. She jogged in place for nearly 40 minutes, trying to feel slimmer, while her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: Don’t hunch, smile sweetly, no loud laughing... blah blah blah.

The ball itself was overwhelming—loud, glittering, full of perfume and secrets. Once wine reached the hands of young adults, everything grew messy. Yet people behaved. After all, royalty was present. Near the end of the night, someone gently pulled Noelle aside. She’d later learn it was the heir's closest friend. Without a word, he led her to the royal gardens, past marble trails and quiet fountains. She sat at the very edge of a stone bench, stiff with nerves. Her stomach twisted so tightly she nearly vomited then and there, but she knew better. Just one cracked marble tile here likely costs more than her entire home. She had made sure to look her absolute best.

Her gown was periwinkle blue, delicate and soft like twilight. The bodice hugged her gently, off-the-shoulder and corseted, revealing her collarbone like a painting. Around the neckline bloomed tiny ruffled petals and butterfly appliqués, fluttering like breath. The skirt was the heart of it—layered, airy, and billowing like a daydream. Her hair was styled simply: half-up, half-down, dark blonde curls falling like whispers down her back. Her eldest sister had pieced the whole look together, borrowing bits from all their blue dresses. Noelle had never felt more beautiful or more terrified.

She heard footsteps. Snapping out of her thoughts, she quickly brushed off the front of her skirt. She took in a deep breath— Just be yourself, she repeated in her head. Nothing to be nervous about. And yet, her hands were trembling.

This might become the most important night of her life. And she was praying she wouldn’t ruin it, like she always did.

It wasn’t her idea in the first place. The whole thing had been her family's plan from the moment those golden flyers fluttered into town, announcing that the heir was searching for a wife. Suddenly, everyone was interested. Girls giggled behind gloves, and gossip traveled faster than the wind. Even some of her closest friends saw it as their chance. But Noelle? She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Over 250 girls, all showing up to win the heart of a man they’d never even met? It felt more like a contest than anything sincere. A glittering spectacle. A gold-plated illusion.

Her mother, bless her heart, believed it was all about love. Pure, storybook love. As naïve as a toddler clutching daisies, she truly thought each girl had arrived with honesty in her eyes. Noelle didn't see it that way. Love was a dream to her—a distant one, like stars above a foggy sky. She believed in it, maybe even longed for it someday, but she wasn’t chasing it like a prize ribbon.

Noelle found comfort elsewhere. Behind the tall oak tree in her family’s garden—its trunk dusted with pixie shimmer and shadows—she’d sit for hours reading until her mind overflowed. Or she’d sew quietly beside her sisters, laughing at the newspaper sketches of some stiff-shouldered foreign prince. That was her kind of joy. Not endless curtsies, not being scrutinized by Upper East Side girls who looked like they bathed in moonlight and had the nerve to act like the crown was already theirs.

The only part of this whole damning experience that made her smile? Dressing up. Playing with her feminine voice, testing it like a soft melody in a mirror.

At first, she treated it all like a joke. A silly adventure. An opportunity. She rarely visited the main kingdom—everything there was far too expensive. Life in the countryside was quieter, predictable. But the rare moments she stepped into the city, surrounded by boutique windows and velvet cafés, she’d imagine herself in a different life. One where she held a silk fan and bought collector’s editions of novels without checking the price. That first ball? She and her sisters could hardly keep from giggling behind their gloves the entire night. It all felt ridiculous. Especially to Noelle. There was no way the heir would ever notice her.

Little did she know...

One morning, just after sunrise, four glowing fairies landed on her porch, singing in high-pitched voices, leaving a sparkling trail of dust across the stone steps. They carried a pink envelope that shimmered in the light. Inside was an invitation to the next ball—though it sounded more like an exclusive social gathering for the young, the rich, and the already chosen. What made it different was the signature. It was handwritten. By the heir himself. And it was meant for her. Her father snatched the envelope, reading it over and over again trying to believe it himself.

She fainted halfway through her father's reading. Her sisters had to toss a whole bucket of cold water on her face just to bring her back. Within minutes, they were dragging her upstairs to pick a dress—immediately. She jogged in place for nearly 40 minutes, trying to feel slimmer, while her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: Don’t hunch, smile sweetly, no loud laughing... blah blah blah.

She didn't take the advice, she acted as herself. Where did that get her?

The royal crown being placed on her head 2 months later.

It had all happened so quickly, from living in a small strawberry home field to living in the Royal Palace. Struggiling to buy a single book now 10 feet away from the biggest library in the world. It felt as if she was living in a dream—the story of Cinderella coming to life. However, she couldn't be more overstimulated with the lavishness marrying Minho came with. No doubt, she loved him. But gosh, how does one live life with the responsibility of a kingdom?

The royal library was ancient, older than the kingdom itself. The palace being built around it to preserve the magic laced into the tall oak bookshelves. Ceilings high and glass etched into the ceiling showing off the ever so lovely sky. Pixie dust glittering off of the fantasy section, the smell of old pages and dust filling her nose and warming her heart. She spent most of her time in the library than anywhere else.

Laying down on her stomach, pillows under her as she read. Between the fantasy and horror section of the tall, intimidating shelves. Reading the latest book from Lacey Lovegood 'how to love' series, not being able to get her head from the pages. Bare feet rubbing together, glass slippers discarded away.