The Nutcracker | [Prince Eric X Reader]

December, 1874
VICTORIAN LONDON, England

(Y/N) admired the earthly-toned wooden ornaments stuffed throughout her Grandfather's overly large Christmas Tree, most of which she had crafted over the years when she was younger. Some resembled roughly carved Gingerbread Houses, Gingerbread People, Thistles and Father Christmas...but, her most favourite of all, was the wonky little Baby Christ, cradled in the arms of Virgin Marie. Other larger ornaments were in the form of clumsy clogs, miniscule Jingle Bells, and Rudolf, the red nosed reindeer. Those stayed at the back of her mind, for they had no sentimental value. The decorations looked very pretty, though. As were the classic, standard cinematic Christmas Balls.

Seldom, there was one made by her Aunt Elizabeth that stood out most: the fine ornament made of pure glass. It was young girl, who wore a beautiful rose-tinted skirts and a cream lace corset, complimented with the most dainty of peachy ballet slippers. And on the unknown girl's neck, hung a gold pendant in the form of a little heart, perched atop her miniature head, was a silver-gold tiara; glittering with the smallest of crystals and gemstones - it was her Mother, Aunt Lizzy's sister.

Her chin rested at the top of her open palm as she gazed dreamily at a snow globe, also a gift from her aforementioned Aunt - one she received the year prior, which was the year she finally reached maturity, and she attended her very first coming out ball. (Y/N) was not fond of society, or people for that matter. She preferred rather being tucked away in her bedroom, locked away from the rest of the world as she read science or, even cheap adventure novels, fiction, non-fiction, crafted, painted, journaled...anything, lest it wasn't quite as dull. Also known as, dam-dada-dum, drumroll please, society.

Duh.

Grandpa Fritz Drosselmeyer of course, did not approve of her over-active imagination, feminist antics and adventure humbug - ergo, it was quote unquote, 'unbecoming of a proper lady', such as yours truly, to 'behave as such when in proper English company', AKA, the folks with running mouths bigger than their actual brains. Yes. Yes, the grumpy old man had actually said that to her face. And not so long ago, either. Boy, how she loved the grumpy, stubborn chunky old man.

In the background, (Y/N)'s Grandfather noticed her blatantly obvious daydreaming, and he ordered firmly, pointing a sausage index finger her way, "(Y/N), please. No more daydreaming. We have to finish decorating before our guests' arrival!" He barked into the eerily quiet room.

She faced him and wrung her much smaller hands behind her back sheepishly, "Um. Yes, of-of course, Grandfather." She bit on her bottom lip to conceal a growing grin. (Y/N) quickly hid her mouth behind her left hand, using her free one to pick up her ruffled skirts of her (in her opinion) extremely modest, rich magenta winter dress, embroidered with delicate white lace patterns, completed with dated trimmings stitched at the front and lightly puffed sleeves. The only thing out of place, was her hair, which was plainly hung off her exposed shoulders, straight, unstyled and rather messy. Less than a fourth of her straight (Y/H/C) locks was pulled back by a silver pin in a half-up, half-down hairstyle. Pretty!

She did not quite like anything too fancy.

Or expensive.

Or frivolous.

Or...unnecessary!

Just don't tell her dear, dear Grandpapa that she had said that.

The doorbell chimed and Fritz Drosselmeyer grunted loudly before fishing out his antique Drosselmeyer Heirloom pocket watch from his black trouser pocket with a leathery hand. His highly wrinkled face pulled into an expression of agitation as he took his thin, chapped lower lip between his two yellowing front teeth. He sighed dramatically, "Twenty-two minutes early! Such bad manners." Grandfather Drosselmeyer growled, partly to himself, partly to no one in particular. But she knew that he was indirectly referring to her.