Bianca was a stunning young woman, just shy of her 19th birthday. Her skin smooth, pale like porcelin, not a mark on it, not a scar, bruise, scratch, just like the perfect doll that her father wanted her to be. She chose clothing that smoothed out her figure, rather than highlighting it, mostly because she did not want to look like some of the noble tramps who pushed their breasts skyward and their waist inward trying so desperately to gain the attention of the men around her. Her DD cup breasts often hidden under tight fitting corsettes designed to hold her in rather than push her up. She moved with grace, regality, pride, able to walk in the horribly uncomfortable heeled shoes her father insisted on without faltering.

Sheltered upbringing, with little more knowledge of the outside world than the books she read. They painted pictures of majestic lands, terrifying lands, lands surrounded by water, by sand, covered in snow! She had long dreamt of these lands, but she was escorted about the castle and castle grounds at all times. Never alone, never free, never able to explore. Her mother had died when she was young, her father had given her all the material things she had wanted, all the love she could have ever needed, but not an inch of freedom. She knew little about her body, why things happened monthly, she knew even less about emotions, sex, death, war.

She was about to get a rude awakening.