The revelation that Kyra was the heir to the throne of New France was quite a shock to everyone - to Kyra herself, to her family, and even to the people of New France. Until that point, the little European kingdom had assumed that the current princess would, naturally, be crowned queen when her father died - however, a new investigation into the old records revealed that, hidden beneath a crease in the parchment, an entire other branch of the royal family had somehow been forgotten about over the centuries - and that, as a result, the new queen would have to be the oldest surviving member of that bloodline.
That oldest surviving member was Kyra. Before she even knew what was happening, she’d been bundled into a private jet and she was leaving her old life behind her, her little suburban town shrinking into nothingness behind her as the plane sped across the Atlantic towards New France. She hadn’t even had time to say goodbye to her friends at the orphanage, but she honestly barely cared – sans every single member of her extended family being killed in a freak barbeque explosion at a family reunion, this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.
The seating on the plane was first class, naturally. She was seated at a table opposite an wizened, beleaguered-looking man who had introduced himself only as ‘your humble advisor’. As the land dropped away behind them he pushed a bowl of éclairs towards her and began to explain, as briefly as possible, what New France was like.
However, Kyra was barely listening – the only thing that really made her prick up her ears was when he said that the little kingdom had a strong culture of ‘consuming sweets’. Kyra was a big fan of candy, as evidenced by the now-empty bowl on the table – not that you’d be able to tell from looking at her. Her chestnut-brown hair framed a narrow face, and her top was baggy over a completely flat stomach and chest. Even with a bowl of éclairs inside of it, her stomach didn’t protrude an inch.
A few hours – and several éclair refills – later, the plane finally came in to land.
“Ah, yes – I forgot to mention,” the advisor said as they taxied towards the terminal, “We’ve arrange a little welcome ceremony for you as you get off the plane. Just smile, maybe wave if it seems appropriate – the people are anxious to see you!”
With anxious butterflies in her stomach (or perhaps it was just the many, many éclairs), Kyra waited for the door of the plane to open. She hoped there weren’t too many people out there…
And then the door opened, and she stepped out onto the stairs – and her eyes widened as she saw what looked like the entire population of New France waiting before her. A band started playing what she presumed was the national anthem as she began to descend onto the tarmac, and the crowd roared with delight. A carpet had been laid out before her, flanked on either side by girls about her age to provide a corridor down which she could walk, and as the music built they began to sing.
Eyes wide, she walked down the carpet, staring around at the grinning faces and singers on either side – then, remembering the advisor’s words, she did her best to smile. The crowd cheered with appreciation, and easing up a little she waved tentatively around at them which caused the cheers to swell even louder, almost drowning out the music.
Even amongst all the commotion and noise though, one thing about her subjects stood out to Kyra above all else – how incredibly fat they all were. She’d thought the entire population of New France was waiting on the runway, but on closer inspection many of them were just so large they took up the space of two or three people just on their own. On all sides there were round, flushed faces grinning at her, attached to fleshy necks that connected to massive bodies. She spotted a few slim-looking men, but of the women she saw every single one was huge.
Even the young choir girls flanking the carpet were huge. There were stood some distance apart, but their bellies swelled forwards so much that the space Kyra actually had to walk down was quite narrow. Even the girls years younger than her were enormous; their faces were bright red from the exertion of singing, and swollen potbellies strained the fabric of their dresses to the point where it looked like too deep a breath would probably set them bursting apart.
Eventually she got to the limousine at the end of the carpet and the smartly-dressed chauffeur held the door open for her to get in. She slid gratefully into the comfortable interior, and a moment later was joined by the advisor from the plane. Then they were away, the massive bustle of the welcoming ceremony fading into the distance behind her as they headed… somewhere.
“Um, excuse me? Where are we going?” she called forwards to the driver. As she waited for his answer, she popped a couple of candies into her mouth from a helpful little bowl on the table – did all transportation in New France come with free candy?
“My apologies, Your Majesty, I should have said,” the chauffeur replied, “We’re heading for…”
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