The air in the grand Williams mansion, once filled with laughter, now felt heavy with unspoken cruelty. Ten-year-old Iliana, clad in a faded, ill-fitting dress, moved silently through the opulent halls, her small frame a stark contrast to the imposing surroundings.

Downstairs, the sharp, mocking tones of her aunt Juliana and cousin Melina echoed, punctuated by her uncle Mark's booming voice. They were discussing her, of course, as they always did – a pathetic, orphaned child who dared to exist in their newly acquired kingdom.

Iliana clutched the worn, silver locket hidden beneath her dress, the only tangible link to the parents she desperately missed. Their faces, vibrant and loving in her memory, seemed to mock the stark reality of her present.

“She’s such a crybaby,” Melina’s voice drifted up, followed by Juliana’s brittle laugh. “Couldn’t even handle a night in the basement.”

Iliana flinched, her knuckles still aching from where she’d pounded on the cold, unyielding door. She closed her eyes, remembering her father’s last story, a fairy tale of a princess who lost her kingdom but found her prince. Her prince was nowhere in sight, only the crushing weight of her uncle’s heavy hand.

“Iliana!” Mark’s voice suddenly bellowed, cutting through the mansion’s silence. “Get down here! Now!” Her heart pounded, a frantic drum against her ribs. It was time for another performance, another dance of humiliation. She took a shaky breath, squared her shoulders, and began her slow descent down the grand staircase, stepping into the lion’s den.