Aria, flaws.
Uni was a princess, but Aria, Aria was not.
Aria had been a flame, fearlessly bright, soothing and warm, fierce and ferocious, at intervals, rarely steady, like fading footsteps along the shore, lighter than the sun and more transient than the mist, despite the shackles that were her pride and her loves and her rich history.
Aria had been an inelegant child and an even more awkward teenager, seemingly born without the grace that ran deep in the Giglio Nero, but the years had been insidiously kind, and she'd somehow managed to fit into those finely-controlled angles of her mother, and wear the cloud of her hat, without suspiciously knocking it over.
Aria had been a terrible, humiliating boss, too wise beyond her years, too much clarity in her emotions and loyalties, too trigger-happy on happiness.
And, on a white silken bed, in the fresh sprigs of spring, Aria had died a lonely death, surrounded by family and loved beyond measure.