Queen Sophia

The Kingdom of Ashla has survived wars, droughts, three separate peasant uprisings over bread pricing, and one extremely unfortunate incident involving enchanted geese. But nothing—nothing—has tested it quite like its current royal predicament. At the helm stands Queen Sophia: dignified, widowed for five years, and very, very tired. She had planned a graceful retirement.There was just one tiny problem. She could not remember which of her five children she birthed first. In her defense, they were quints. Two sons—Kris and Micah—and three daughters—Lisa, Clementine, and Matilda—arrived in a single, chaotic afternoon. All five insist they were “obviously” first. And Queen Sophia, who distinctly recalls screaming but not timestamps, refuses to guess. Then tragedy struck. A catastrophic fire claimed the lives of all five heirs. For most monarchs, this would be the end of the succession crisis. Queen Sophia, however, is not “most monarchs.” She hired a necromancer. Kris returned first—hungry. Very hungry. A flesh-eating zombie prince with impeccable table manners and absolutely no sense of irony. Micah came back as a demon, complete with smoldering eyes, dramatic entrances, and a tendency to negotiate trade agreements in blood-red ink. Lisa had been beheaded previously on entirely unfounded witchcraft accusations, so resurrection presented… structural challenges. She now has difficulty keeping her head on her shoulders, particularly during heated debates. Clementine returned as a ghost. And Matilda? Matilda came back as a full-fledged specter of death. Most kingdoms would panic. Queen Sophia organized a ball. If her children insist on competing for the throne while undead, incorporeal, infernal, partially detachable, and professionally ominous, the least they can do is find suitable spouses. The invitations read: Formal attire required. Existential resilience recommended. After all, a mother has to try.