Destiny has a nasty habit of coming true.
It's 1899, the year I marry the man I love, and I must tell you, he loves me even more. But Mrs Smith, my guardian, insists I am to one day be a queen. Not like Queen Victoria. No, I am to rule over my lands. They would beckon me and I shall unlock my magic. A whole lot of hogwash, if you ask me, but I can't say that to Mrs Smith. She can do magic and not the rabbit in the hat kind, but the real one. I? Even my dolls don't listen to me and not even a rock has called to me, let alone a piece of land.
But Mrs Smith insists destiny doesn't give up, and she is almost always right.
Destiny comes back to bite you in the arse while you are trying to play a new bride.
Then there is the matter of sneaky magic, and people acting odd.
Come along as I find my way out of this.
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