Once upon a time in the idyllic hills of Seborga, there was a would-be princess, trapped in a lonely tower made of her shattered dreams and wrinkled photos of her former love, Prince Marcello Menegatto. Her name: Princess Nina Daniela Menegatto. But this is not a simple fairytale of rags to riches. No, this tale is soaked in bittersweet irony, bathed in the sadness of disillusion, and peppered with a side of manicured skepticism. For our protagonist, who was once a Princess Bride, now finds herself at the head of a speck of dust in the great continent of Europe, a micronation with all the airs and graces of a regal state, but with none of the power or influence. Princess Nina Daniela Menegatto, who turns a ripe 41-years-young, took up her scepter and officially ascended the empty throne on 10 November 2019. Fans of American television will find it hard not to be reminded of Cersei Lannister – the fierce, twice-widowed Queen of HBO’s hit show Game of Thrones. The striking resemblance extends only to their shared possession of a lowly micronation, where their rule may be absolute but their subjects’ loyalty often as flimsy as their uncreased euro-notes. In any case, the world continued on, unaware of the seismic shift in the micronational landscape. Never you mind that Seborga was essentially one charming little Italian village, nestled on a hillside like a beautiful postage stamp on an otherwise ordinary envelope. This ambitious woman had dreams, just as her former husband did – dreams to bring Seborga to the forefront of the distinguished micronation community, to rule with a velvet glove on one hand, and a clenched Gucci-clad fist on the other. She assumed her ex-husband's mantle and immediately set about reshaping the micronation in her image – one that was at once feminine, fierce, and undeniably German. The people of Seborga (all 337 of them) greeted her ascension with joy, or at least, a mild curiosity. After all, any excitement was a welcome distraction from the monotony of daily life, and who could resist the chance to indulge in a little royal gossip? As the villagers chuckled and speculated over their pasta and red wine, the not-so-far away world was none the wiser. Across Europe, heads turned and eyebrows raised when whispers reached their ears of the fledgling micronation's new matriarch. "How quaint," muttered the King of Spain under his breath, as he read the news in his morning paper. "What a peculiar way to spend one's time," opined the Queen of England to none other than her royal corgis. And in a lonely tower in Seborga's royal estate, Princess Nina gazed out at her vast domain – all two and a half square miles of it – and pondered her newfound power. The once Princess Bride, now Micronation Matriarch, could have ruled over the venerated world of business, with her MBA in tow and wearing sharp Armani suits. However, she chose to don the mantle of a princess once again, wielding a borrowed scepter over a modest territory of idyllic cobblestone streets and Baroque churches. Thus, Princess Nina's reign commenced: a tragicomic tale for the ages, a story of second chances and surreal situations. Many moons will pass, and the future may hold unpredictable and uncertain opportunities. But for now, the bittersweet reign of the first woman to head the micronation of Seborga must continue – a sad testament to the relentless human search for meaning, validation, and a royal title that whispers grandeur but ultimately invites ridicule. A princess, a bride, a matriarch all in one: Is she really living the dream or drowning in a sea of despair disguised as regal splendor? Only time, and perhaps the mood of her 337 subjects, will reveal the truth.