His siblings may not remember how their mistress was before, but Dawn remembers, because remembering is all there is to do.

The ground is coated with frost; as it so often is when she passes by in mortal worlds. She has many different names, and many different faces; old or young but forever timeless. Despite the fact that she feels nothing of the cold, she insists on dressing warmly; another mortal habit that she has adapted.

Something of that habit still remains, but she is colder now than she ever was back then. Almost as if the mirror she possesses has stolen something from her when it first came into her ownership, and by draining mortals she somehow hopes to find that missing part again. Instead of dressing like she used to, keeping warmth in, she takes it from other sources, and no longer cares for anything other than herself.

Dawn regrets that he never had the courage to speak before she took another name.

She does not claim ownership over her domain; she simply is.

Before the grand buildings, the great designs she had built to accomodate her changed tastes-

-she has no building, no symbol of office or seat of power. All of this is mine, she says, in a way. She considers it her duty to maintain it, protect it, watch over it, but never truly considers it her property.

She is strange that way; and in assuming stewardship over the vast wilderness she claims it as her own.

Instead of seeking to master it, as her older sister does her domain, she coexists. She is part of it, rather than above it.

Now, however, she crushes that which she once treasured; destroys and warps the things she once considered beautiful in order to make way for something new.

Dawn hates it.

His siblings tease him, saying that he's too old, too stiff to change, but to him, this is not change. Lady Friday she had another name, something else that wasn't just another word copied from a mortal language is still the same, in some ways, but a better way to put it would be that she has warped - the mirror she carries is imperfect glass, and from the moment she took it she was lost.

He remembers when she used to smile.

She is vibrant, laughing and forever infuriating, chasing the wind, erratic. Her lieutenants are forever chasing after her, picking up the pieces of what she has left behind, but none of them mind, not really. She gets things done, with the same amount of whirlwind enthusiasm she puts into everything.

These days, she never does.

She is empty now, a shell without a soul.

Just another reflection.