By Lady Charlotte, Age 4¾, Queen of Words and Waffles
📚 It began, quite humbly, with one hand-tied manuscript.
A masterpiece written in purple crayon on thick parchment. Illustrated by yours truly—with heroic stick figures, dramatic splash marks, and glitter made from jam. (Strawberry. Deluxe.)
My diabolical mother laughed until she wheezed.
The head maid dabbed her eyes and called it "deeply moving."
The royal librarian, dear woman, muttered something about it being "disturbing... but creative."
And then—chaos.
Someone pirated it.
A real publisher. With an actual cover.
Gold foil. Fancy letters. A subtitle that read:
Lady Charlotte and the Treacherous Lake
A Survival Story for Young Peers
(Now with bonus coloring pages!)
💥 Then it exploded.
I was suddenly, accidentally, fabulously famous.
My book drop-kicked palace life into something unrecognizable.
Noble families began requesting autographs.
(Unfortunately, I still sneeze halfway through spelling "Charlotte." The palace scribe filled in the rest.)
Story hour in the nursery? Replaced.
Now, every morning began with a dramatic group reenactment—featuring toddlers, pillow-fish, one extremely theatrical plush duck, and a banned water bucket (after the second indoor flood).
One small child asked, "Is slapping lakes how you defeat evil?"
I said yes. Their tutor quietly sobbed into a napkin.
👑 His Royal Highness, the King?
Not thrilled.
Especially after discovering he was portrayed as a secret weeper and an emergency cake supplier. He sent in the librarian, holding a Very Official Scroll™:
"Charlotte. This picture is incorrect, misleading, and libelous.
And, for the record, there were six cakes. Not five."
He didn't ban the book, though. Which means... I won.
I even caught him giggling behind his very serious military strategy scroll, right at the line where I dubbed the guard "Sir Wet Blanket."
🧸 Merchandising Madness
Soon the royal gift shop was bursting with treasures:
Tiny replica books
Grumpy plush fish villains
Capes labeled "Tiny Lake Warrior"
My face (slightly off-center, still adorable) on lunchboxes and napkins
Did I receive royalties?
Not exactly. But I did get bonus pudding and an "Author of the Year" sticker on my toy box. (Which, fine, is almost as good.)
✍️ Then came the edict.
The royal tutor—now only twitching occasionally—declared my book "rich with life lessons about bravery, caution, and fish-induced trauma."
So now?
Compulsory reading. For all royal children under ten.
Right next to the alphabet scroll and How Not to Eat a Crown: A Guide to Royal Manners.
When I walk into the nursery, children bow. One tried to knight me with a spoon.
I am now, officially, part of the curriculum.
A literary legend.
A published author.
An icon with jam on her sleeve.
📖 As for what's next?
Perhaps a thrilling exposé on the haunted sock-stealing closet.
A forbidden love story between two rival snack cupboards.
An epic where the royal cat becomes a pirate.
Whatever it is... it'll be glorious.
Because Lady Charlotte is officially a literary icon.
At age 4¾.
Take that, reincarnation.