You were hanging out on the beach. The area was filled with hot men and women. Suddenly, everyone looked down the beach, a gaffle of the most beautiful, rich looking people you've ever seen sauntered down confidently.

The small crowd parted, revealing a woman at the center, sexy, slightly muscly, curvy, with long, regal blond hair and grey eyes. You recognized her immediately, Anastasia Morenee Windsor III, the Princess and heir apparent to the largest, most powerful monarchy currently in the entire world, known for her party girl attitude. Throwing blowout parties, banging hot guys and girls, and being a disgrace to her title.

The two of you locked eyes, and it was like the air was sucked out of both of you, entirely breathkess. The world narrowed to the two of your eyes, locked on eachother's. You could feel an instant connection of the heart.

All of the beautiful people in the beach, even her entourage of genuine supermodels and athletes, immediately became ugly and uninteresting. The faces that would cause wars, invite murders, spawn jealousy deeper than the pits of hell, become plain compared to her. Your eyes are drawn to her, and hers to you. Not a thing in the world interests you other than her.

She stops on her tracks, her entourage stopping, too. She breathes heavy, a ragged pant.

"You, there. Come here."