Dorothy Catalonia walked in through the front door of her house, barely nodding in reply to the staff she met, and speaking to no one. She walked directly up the stairs and went to her room.
Dorothy stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind her. "Grandfather..." she whispered, walking across the room to look at the picture she had of Duke Dermail displayed on her end table. "Grandfather!" she cried. She cast herself down at the bedside and wept into the sheets like a small child.
War, the most interesting subject Dorothy knew of, had deprived her of one loved one after the next, even her dear grandfather, whom she had begun to think of as almost invincible. She had gained nothing but heartache.
After a minute or two, when her tears were spent, she stood, walked to her bookshelf, selected an old, well-worn book on war, and went back to sit on the edge of her bed, staring down at the book in her hands. She could still remember climbing into her grandfather's lap and begging him to read it to her. He would always protest, but he always seemed proud despite trying to hide it. Then he would read her a chapter or two, skipping over anything she wasn't old enough to handle yet. Then, he would just as patiently answer all her questions and offer opinions of his own as she listened with wide, fascinated eyes. But now he was a memory, someone she could remember with pride for him in his final moments of bravery.
But...
That wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to remember her grandfather yet! She wanted him to be around to see her put the finishing touches on growing up.
Dorothy opened the book to a random place and tried to read it, but she couldn't focus on the words because she saw only her inner thoughts and feelings. With a small smile of admitted defeat, she closed her eyes and the book. "There's no one to study with anymore," she said quietly. She looked down at the book again. "I suppose I've grown out of this subject now."
Setting the book down beside her, she got up again and began to throw out her books on war, decimating her bookshelf. She picked up the old book from her bed and paused. Then, she smiled and slipped it underneath the picture of Duke Dermail.
Finished with that task, she got out some stationary and her pen, and began to compose a letter.
Dear Miss Relena, she began. How do you overcome human nature?