The airplane dips, and for a moment my breath catches. Beyond the oval window, Paris stretches out as a glittering maze of lights, streets, and shadows. I whisper, almost to myself, “So this is Paris.”When we land, the airport hums like a restless giant. Voices overlap in French and English, wheels rattle against the tiled floor, and cameras flash somewhere behind me. For a second, panic grips me—what if someone recognizes me as the Princess of Aerithia?A uniformed man approaches, bowing slightly.“Princess Christie?” His accent is thick, rolling each syllable like music.“Yes,” I reply, adjusting the scarf that covers part of my face.“Bienvenue à Paris. I am Jacques, Monsieur Laurent’s man. Please, this way.” He gestures with a gloved hand.We weave through the terminal. People glance at us, some whispering, some too busy to care. A young woman with bright red lipstick stops me briefly.“You… you’re…” she hesitates, squinting.Jacques steps in smoothly. “She is expected elsewhere,
Huling Na-update : 2025-09-30 Magbasa pa