It was on August 11, 2052, that a war erupted between the United States of America and the Constitutional Monarchy of Niamh.
The war itself was something of an accident, roughly akin to a man stabbing an intruder he didn't realize was a friend. Then again, if an unknown country made itself known via volcanic eruption, then you'd be rather grumpy too.
Regardless, the USA and the CMN were now at war, and as any speculative fiction fan can tell you, it's never a good thing when magic and science clash.
The war lasted a good 10 years before the people fighting it realized, as all belligerent generations do, that war is awful and called it off with the Treaty of Ys. Ever since, the US and Niamh have shared lukewarm relations, likely due to the fact that we tried to nuke their royal family.
"Did you have to be so...sarcastic?"
Millicent Tenenbaum Ysilde, a fifteen-year-old with curly dark hair, amber skin, and glowing green eyes and wings, crossed her arms and scowled at her history teacher. The paper, you see, had been written by her for an assignment, one that would've been right up her alley if it weren't for the fact that she was a), bitterly sarcastic, b), learning a version of history whose rot had been prettily painted over.
Needless to say, it was not going to net her a good grade.
"The stuff you're trying to teach me is about as historically accurate as a fairy tale," Millie snapped. "What about the Genocide of Boston? The nuking of Changeling's Point?"
"None of those are accurate to the topic at hand-"
"And all of them happened during that war!"
Her teacher - an old lady with soft edges and even softer eyes - removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"Look," she said, "you're a very smart girl, Millie. You have so much potential, and you're throwing it all away with this inexplicable defiance!"
"It's not defiance if it's the truth."
"...I don't get paid enough for this," she muttered. "Look. I'll give you the chance to rewrite this paper - I'll even give you full credit! - but you have to remove the snark and stick with what's in the textbook. Alright?"
Millie bit her tongue to keep from saying anything, but the words slipped out regardless. "Alright, I'll write your propaganda."
She clamped a hand over her mouth. Her teacher scowled, but handed her back her paper.
"Get to your next class. I'll see you tomorrow."