It was high noon at the Royal Palace. The sun was out. The guards were bored. Abby (me, the actual knight) was halfway through sword training in the yard, tossing lightning bolts at training dummies and trying not to vaporize my instructor again. When suddenly—BOOM—something exploded near the front gates.
It was… purple?
Everyone turned.
And there she was. Standing proudly atop a wooden apple cart she had commandeered, wrapped in glittering violet robes five sizes too big, with at least eleven glowing artifacts around her neck — one of which was literally a tea kettle she thought was cursed.
"BEHOLD!" she screeched like a goose possessed, “I, Lady Algebra MacMayer, have RETURNED!”
Silence.
A hawk cawed.
Some servant dropped a pie.
One of the palace guards coughed.
Then she threw d
