Presenting to you Lord Pringsley, born and raised quite kingsly. In the land of chocolate aplenty his time fluttered along most freely. For in the land of White Chocolate the Nobles live most lightly: what was there to do when nothing should be done, importance didn't matter, stand straight and have some fun.
There were ways, you see, of living in this land: for the Noble, specifically, the day had just one plan. No work, indeed, as where's the sense in that, in a life aplenty where every want was met. A life was thus lived through word, through smoke and through glass; this life was lived with dancing, with performance and with class. Nothing was ever 'done', though, it was a matter of fact; the only reason to have a head? Why only to wear a hat.
The Noble life was lived, through light and through night, striding the streets in clothes all new and all bright. Fluttering and light this life about town, it was the only life to envy for every region around.
What could one do, then, to make his heart matter? Our young Preston, Lord Pringsley, reveled as a rebel. At night, anyway, he molded his hero: while everyone slept he waked as a Tailor. Oh but to 'do' was such a nasty sin; to accomplish anything at all would lose one their friends. Again what's the point if everyone want is met, just live life most easily, there is no need to fret.
A life that's worth living is lived in bespoke, at least in 'Whichowo' this rule was never broke. Our hero's heart sang loudly and he wore his suits quite proudly, but no one could ever know the secret of his show: this most perfect suit was crafted by his hands. He needed to make and to create, he needed to be the best; his heart just needed something so not to be depressed.
With the ease in his hands and a nimbleness of mind the suits were really right, most assuredly divine. He could not share with others, though, this love that he had for if he lifted a finger, oh what an embarrassment for his Dad. His family would need shun him, although it wouldn't be their choice; and his friends would find him lacking, no longer an envious source.
Lord Preston von Pringsley would have to be content with being the greatest tailor that never ever did. The 'Whichowo' way was blessed to everyone but him, whatever could be done, though, this was the life to live.