Tonight I’m in a frivolous mood. This is tale that was once told around the campfires of the Valley of the Deer, amongst the misty crags of the Side of Spey. It goes something like:
Once upon a time, in a magical land far, far away, there lived a young girl called Nucleria.
Nucleria was beautiful, full of life and song and smiles, and had been raised by her parents to always mind her elders, to behave kindly to strangers and never to raise to insults. She was what one might call the very embodiment of well behaved young ladies everywhere.
Just as all the young girls of Dunklenifestin did, Nucleria went to the gym every day, in preparation for the Grand Prom, when the virginal beauties of the kingdom would be presented to the boys in a grand celebration of song and wine and dance, so that they may meet and engage in much merry-making under the auspice of the powerful Vapour gods.
Competition was fierce but Nucleria, under the gentle tutelage of her parents, who worked 21 shifts in order to afford her education, toiled bravely and made herself ready for the Grand Prom. She slowly grew into a splendid creature of grace and potential, her slender body toned by exercise and blessed with a radiance that only the truest parental love can bestow.
Day after day, she timidly covered herself, arriving early and leaving late, keeping to herself, fearful that the other girls may mock her. Nucleria worked through the intensive cardio training programs at the gym of the realm, listened to her playlists, and thought of her eleven daddies at home. No combination of sweet nature and reserve, however, can ward off the hateful attentions of those who dread competition.
There were other girls in the gym, and they whispered amongst themselves, their sharp chattering coiling around the dark recesses between training equipment racks at the gym. They found common enemy in the innocent, pure Nucleria whom they could not in their lifetimes understand. Who could ever derive such obvious pleasure in the simple act of training to become something better? How dare she show such serenity and conviction where they felt none?
Those who burned with the hottest hatred spoke up against Nucleria, the girl they did not care to even talk to or understand. Imperia was first: a wizened girl past her prime that no one really cared about anymore, she started by delivering the first venomous, derisive jibes.
“Who does she think she is? I had breasts long before she did! Look at her parading those vulgar, round, firm things. Boys could have mine for free!”
Naturia’s friends, trying to cull favour, joined in the chorus. “Hah, look at her, prim and proper. Our friend has been sneaking over the wall to meet boys every night, playing with them all in private celebration long before you will all be ready for the Grand Prom!” They stood secure in Naturia’s mother’s past glories in Grand Proms past.
Nucleria kept her countenance and kept exercising. The sharper the daggered tongues that spoke against her, the harder she trained, dedicating her every waking breath to simply giving the best of herself, knowing she could stand tall, head high over the hunched forms of her rivals.
The time for Nucleria’s Grand Prom draws close, and she is in trim shape, firm buttocks and full breasts encased in glowing youthful skin with a complexion to make the moon herself jealous. She is ready to engage in long, intense sessions with up to 32 young warriors at once, as they fight for the ravaged landscapes of her homeland.
On the dawn of battle, Nucleria allows herself a smile and a fleeting, proud thought, wondering whether those who spent so much time talking in depth about her shortcomings are equally prepared, for the Grand Prom is almost upon us.