Disclaimer: I don't own 30 Rock.

This is my first 30 Rock fic, so be nice! I decided to start this story with a chapter from my girl Cerie's POV. Enjoy!

Princess Ceriana Fiore is my name.

Or Cerie Altimont, depending on who you ask.

You may be wondering, then why are you an intern in New York? To that I shall say, I'm not. I'm the Princess of Seychelles.

It all started at daddy's ball that he was throwing to celebrate my stepmother's birthday. It was a nightmare. Ridiculous "socialites" everywhere, all trying to get on my father, King Henri's, good side. He was aging and everyone wanted a place on his will. These vultures were making me sick, so I decided to take a brief stroll around the castle, to cool down and whatnot.

I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. When I opened the door, my chambermaid was being viciously stabbed to death. The stabber: my grandfather. Everyone thought he was dead, the fact that he had gone insane and had spent the last 10 years locked away was only known by me and my father. It was a family secret. How he got out still remains a mystery to me.

When he saw me, he fled out the window. My chambermaid, a wisp of a girl, not more than 16, lay dead on the ground.

O00oo00oo00O

Testifying was easy. What my grandfather had done was horrific, he needed to be punished. But after testifying, I knew I wasn't safe. He was still considered a powerful man, and his followers would kill me.

So I moved to New York. The city of bright lights and dreams. I went by the name Cerie Altimont. It wasn't hard to find a decent life there, the city is populated by idiotic perverts, and, well, I'm pretty damn hot. I flirted my way into The Girlie Show writers' room, which was stupidly easy. My boss, Liz Lemon, was a total pushover, so I barely even had to work.

I pushed an ugly, American accent down my throat every time I spoke, and I brought my voice up an octave so I would sound confused. Being sexy and stupid was the best way to have people see me as a non-threatening girl, so I played that angle to death. It all feels normal now. I've lost my accent completely, I don't own anymore ball gowns and dignified clothing, and my voice is much higher and breathier than it was before.

If anyone finds out that Cerie Altimont is a figment of my imagination, I'm screwed. My grandfather has spies everywhere, and they haven't given up on the lost Princess Ceriana of Seychelles. Not by a long shot.