One does not speak of heirs in the sunny kingdom of Corona. Bright-smiling Queen Gothel is generous to the guildmasters, to the convents, to children dancing in the street. She has built a friendship with almost everyone, in a century-long reign. But Coronan faces harden when visitors ask about what is missing from the castle: Old Age.
To the northwest lies Arendelle. The trolls fear Corona, & will not sail upon its waters. They believe its clear sunlight will turn them to stone.
To the west lies Germany. The relationship between Queen Gothel & the Mirrorqueen is long & wrinkled with complications. Recent betrayals have poisoned the trust that was cultivated over a century of stable cold war. Queen Gothel stares into a basin of shimmering quicksilver. In the unnatural reflection, the Mirrorqueen's Garden of Fey Flowers shines in twelve colors, none quite as fair as sunlight.
To the southwest lies Pleasure Island. "Back at home," the children often say mid-horseplay, "did you ever see anything crazy? Did you ever see anything that glows?" For there are such things in this world. "Cause you should never talk about it! Or the purple people will lock you up!" And indeed, there are grownups in purple finery sometimes, grownups more interested in children than in donkeys. They ask you if you've ever seen a fallen star, or a sad little angel, the same color as your hair, perhaps.
To the south lies Mount Olympos. One night per year, the Titan Tethys lowers her bone-cold palm to the gate of Corona, to collect three wagonloads of tithed gold. The following night, as they have for decades, the cofferless Coronans light flying lanterns & speak of hope.