Wherein her mind would detach from her body, granting her out-of-body experiences akin to the alleged powers of glass candles. During these extraordinary journeys, her consciousness would traverse distant realms, observing people. The Queen Mother's ability to perceive like a glass candle fuelled speculation about the intrinsic connection between the mind and these ancient artifacts.

from "Chronicles of Ancient Powers" by Maestra Gael.

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ELAENA

Elaena dreamed of darkness that night. She was unable to move her body, no matter how hard she tried. Her eyes remained shut, yet she was fully aware of her surroundings. She could feel the cold dampness of enclosed air. The room was silent, so unbearably silent. She couldn't even hear her own breathing.

Was she breathing? She hadn't thought about it before. The notion terrified her. She struggled to take a breath, but her body remained unresponsive. She ought to have panicked; to have her heart beating relentlessly inside her chest. But she experienced nothing. Nothing corporeal.

It was as if her body wasn't there. Only her mind.

Abruptly, a piercing sound shattered the oppressive silence, causing Elaena to startle within her immobilized state. It was the distinct creak of wooden planks, resonating through the air, followed by measured footsteps that echoed ominously. The deliberate pace suggested that whoever traversed the space was unhurried, instilling a sense of unease within her. Straining her senses to their limits, she strained to catch any discernible sound, but all that reached her was the muffled murmur of voices—two distinct voices belonging to men.

As the footsteps drew nearer, the room gradually illuminated, unveiling a ceiling fashioned from cold, unyielding stone. Despite her desperate yearning to shift her gaze, her eyes remained stubbornly fixed, trapped within their immobility. Elaena surmised that one of the men must have carried a torch or a similar source of illumination, as the surroundings bathed in an eerie glow. And now, their conversation reached her ears, spoken in the valyrian of Pentos.

"We must be more cautious," one said, his voice gruff. "The Queen has spies everywhere."

"She must be a witch if you are worried, my friend," the other replied, deeper and more guttural. "How will we manage with such foe?"

"You must remember: our enemy has an enemy. The queen is preoccupied with pursuing shadows with the Dornish, the Lord Hand and his allies, and will soon set her sights on other targets. The Lannisters are forming alliances throughout the land to bolster their power, while Lady Stark is privy to House Hightower's secrets and machinations. The fear of Ironborn's anger for the forthcoming injustice. And all those hungry Tyrells scheming with Lord Renly to make their prettiest little rose a queen. She has so little love for them, she will see blood on the golden rose as soon as she hears." He said. "What am I compared to such?"

"A trusted advisor…" the guttural voice rumbled. "And a good mummer."

The other man's reply came quick. "A good mummer has need of a good patron.".

There was a pause before the other man answered. "How much will you need?"

"Plenty of gold and as many birds as you can muster, fifty at least," replied the man with the gruff voice.

"So many?" rasped the guttural voice, and she sensed the men starting to withdraw. Their voices grew fainter and she struggled to comprehend what they were saying.

"If you want me to keep juggling, yes," the gruff voice replied. "This will no longer be a game of two players, if it ever was. News of Lady Lyanne's and Greyjoy's deaths will soon reach King's Landing… it's only a matter of time. Stark will… Lannister or Tyrell for the death of his niece, and… mistrust his good-sister as well. Arryn and everyone else will… Hightowers and the Queen for the death of Greyjoy, for his sister… to Ser Humfrey. Lord Quellon is old, weak, sickly… now short of an heir. There is bound to be… in the Iron Islands the moment he dies. We must not forget Mace Tyrell… he is a fool who's willing to commit… the Iron Throne. If he can't marry his… the prince, he will muster… scheme. And there is also Littlefinger… gods only know what game Littlefinger is playing, but whatever game… we let him play it… he distracts them from our cause."

Elaena listened to the conversation in horror. Her mind was trapped, a helpless witness to their sinister plans. In an attempt to sooth herself she reminded herself that this was nothing but a dream. A horrible and uncanny dream.

"…the royal family?" the man with the guttural voice urged, now further away and much faintier.

"King Robert… drunk and a fool… wine and his women…. leaves the ruling to his wife… The son… reckless as the father and… as his mother… if he… on the Iron Throne… bring war sooner or later… The youngest… sickly… dim-witted… die soon… and the girl… poor child… same fate as her sister."

"…danced this dance… my friend." The guttural voice replied, then said something else Elaena could not understand and, apparently, changed the subject. "…They made an appearance… khalasar… sent Lady Mellario and… bastard… our plan… what should we do?"

"This… your fault… have kept the princess and the companion… now… niece to get a niece… You… rid of them… but subtle… can't risk…"

"There's… Celtigar… searching… in Pentos and Braavos… Could it be?"

"…that boy… threat… better claim… proof… kill him…"

She strained to listen, but the words became unintelligible as the men's footsteps receded. Frustration knotted within her as the words eluded her grasp. But then, an unexpected interruption shattered the dream's hold on her.

"Nena! Nena! Nena!" The exclamation reverberated through the darkness; jerking Elaena awake. Startled, she bolted upright in her bed, disoriented and breathless.

"Nena! Nena!" The insistent voice persisted, now revealing itself to be a remarkably childish one. Elaena turned her head towards the source of the commotion, her eyes falling upon her nephew. He stood by the side of her bed, his small hands clutching her wrist tightly, his innocent eyes filled with wonder.

It was over. Relief washed over her in a gentle wave, soothing her troubled mind. Yet, even as she attempted to dismiss the lingering remnants of the dream—the haunting voices that still echoed within her —she couldn't shake off the peculiar residue it left behind. This dream had been different, more vivid, infused with a sense of tangible reality. Though most of its intricate details had already slipped from her memory, a peculiar unease lingered, tugging at the corners of her consciousness.

Lyanne Stark —the girl who was meant to marry Prince Edric Baratheon— and Theon Greyjoy's death. People growing suspicious with everyone because of it.

"Remember: our enemy has an enemy…" The cryptic words reverberated through her consciousness. It all appeared to be a web of conspiracy, veiled attacks targeting the Royal House and Queen Alysanne, whom Elaena had last seen nearly six years ago, at Jocelyn's funeral.

"Same fate as her sister…" The haunting words resurfaced, spoken by one of the voices in the dream. Her heart skipped a beat. Were they referring to Jocelyn and the little Cassandra? A chill slithered down her spine, as the implications of such a connection sank in. To add to the disarray, the entirety of the conversation had been flawlessly articulated in the Valyrian tongue of Pentos. The inexplicable fluency caught her off guard, for she was far more proficient in the dialects of Volantis or Braavos. Doubt crept in, gnawing at her sanity. Am I going mad?

Deciding it would be stupid to keep arguing with herself over a dream, Elaena pushed those thoughts away and rubbed off her eyes, removing the small and ever-annoying crusts. "Monty," She said, her voice groggy, "What do you want?"

"Dere's a witch Nena! A witch! A witch!" The little four-year-old boy insisted.

Elaena sat up in her bed, fully awake now. "A witch?" Elaena repeated, her brows furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about, Monty?"

He nodded fervently, his small hands gesturing animatedly. "Yes, dere's a witch! I saw her! She jus' arrived!" His fear seemed overpowered by exhilaration, as if the presence of a witch were a thrilling adventure to him.

Suddenly, the stout figure of Monty's wet nurse appeared, reaching out to scoop up the small boy and release Elaena's arm from his grip. "There you are!" she scolded, as she held Monty securely in her arms. "Forgive me 'bout that, milady," she apologized, before heading out of the bedchambers.

Standing near the doorframe was Elaena's septa, Danelle, who had apparently been silently observing the whole scene. Holding neatly folded smallclothes in her arms, she greeted Elaena with an almost amused expression. "Good morning, my lady."

"Good morning," Elaena replied, her response tinged with ambivalence. "What was all that about? A witch, he said?"

The septa smiled apologetically. "Young Monterys must have seen the Lady Baela arriving."

"Lady Baela?" Elaena repeated. Could this morning get more confusing for her? "And that would be…"

"A distant relative. She is the Lady mother of Lord Whitehead." The older woman carefully placed the smallclothes on a chair by the door before reaching for Elaena's satin nightrobe and approaching her.

"Old Lord Whitehead?" Elaena asked and rose from her bed with a tired groan, her body aching for more sleep. She inwardly lamented not having requested sweetsleep from Maester Kerryn. She slipped into the robe handed to her and reached for the fur slippers resting on the floor next to her bed. "No wonder Monty mistook her for a witch. She must be ancient, around Gran's age, I presume," Elaena mused.

"You presume too much, girl." The septa cast a reproachful gaze; her voice as sharp as any dagger. "And you must be careful with that tongue. Lady Haelen arranged for you to have breakfast with her and Lady Baela."

It was typical of her grandmother to extend such invitations, always welcoming any family member, regardless of their degree of blood ties. Elaena's curiosity persisted. "Will my brothers be there?"

"No. It would be you, Lady Haelen and Lady Baela."

"What about Alyssa?" Elaena asked.

"She wasn't invited. Besides…" The septa hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Lady Alyssa is currently indisposed."

"Is it the humours?" Elaena inquired; her voice now heavy with concern. Alyssa, her good-sister, often suffered from bouts of bad humours that brought on fits of grief so severe she would lock herself away in her chambers for days, and sometimes even weeks.

"I did not inquire, my lady," the septa replied.

Elaena nodded somewhat absently and went towards the side table by the window where a flagon filled with lemon water awaited her. She poured herself a cup, relishing the sharp tang of the citrus as it cleared her mouth of the taste of sleep. As she sipped her water, she gazed out the window at the sight before her. The moon was setting over the morning sea, casting a vague silvery glow across the waves that danced and vaguely shimmered in its light.

"How is she?" she asked.

"I cannot say, my lady," Danelle replied, her expression guarded. "Rest assured, Lady Alyssa is being well cared for. Maester Kerryn attends to her needs, and your brother has taken it upon himself to visit her."

"That's a novelty," Elaena said acidly. "It's high time that Monford begins to treat her as his wife rather than a stranger." Her tone was laced with bitterness, she knew all too well the coldness with which her brother had treated his wife. It had always been that way.

Danelle paused in the doorway, giving Elaena a sharp glance. "Mind your words, my lady." she said, her tone a warning. "Your Lord brother is a dutiful and just lord, and…"

"And a neglectful husband." Elaena interrupted.

"Be that as it may, girl," Danelle interjected, her voice cold and measured. "It is not our place to judge the actions of our betters."

Elaena rolled her eyes. "Of course it isn't…" she muttered and walked to her vanity. As she reached the looking-glass, she paused for a moment, staring at her reflection with a grimace. Her already pale skin appeared paler this morning and her blue eyes were red and tired. She picked up her hairbrush, its bristles soft against her scalp, and began to brush her hair with measured strokes. Through the reflection she saw the septa standing by the door about to leave.

"I'll call some servants to help you get dressed," Danelle said as she opened the creaky wooden door. Elaena muttered her thanks, watching as the old septa made her exit through the looking glass.

Soon enough, two servant women arrived at Elaena's bedchambers, their faces familiar from years of service in the castle. They bustled about, selecting garments from her wardrobe and helping her into the smallclothes that Danelle brought and then into a gown. It was a simple affair, made of fine linen and adorned with delicate embroidery that spoke of the modest wealth of House Velaryon. As Elaena stood patiently as they fastened the clasps and smoothed out the fabric, she couldn't help that her thoughts drifted back to her dream.

They've seemed so real. The men, their voices, they spoke in the Valyrian of Pentos. She dreamt all of that. Elaena have been through that before many a time. Where, in her sleep, her mind would seemingly detach itself from her body, leaving her stranded and utterly paralysed within her own consciousness. But she had never dreamt of voices, much less foreign ones.

As the women finished their work and curtsied in departure, Elaena took a deep breath and readied herself for the day ahead.

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Elaena walked down the dimly lit halls of the castle, her footsteps echoing softly on the damp stones. She headed towards her grandmother's solar where she knew that a breakfast was being held with the distant relative in attendance. Upon reaching the door, Elaena hesitated upon hearing her grandmother's voice, and, as cautious as she was, she decided to peer through the small gap.

Inside, Elaena's gaze fell upon two elderly women enmeshed in conversation. One was unmistakably her grandmother, but the other —a regal figure with hair as white as freshly fallen snow, tightly coiled in a widow's knot and garbed in a black gown with a high, rigid collar— could only be Lady Whitehead. The girl pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Grandmother," Elaena greeted her grandmother and then turned to their guest. "Lady Whitehead." She gave her most polished courtesy.

The Lady Baela Whitehead regarded her with a piercing gaze, her clouded eyes seeming to take in every detail of Elaena's appearance. "You have grown since I last saw you," she said finally. "I can see that you take after your mother."

Elaena hesitated. Looking at her eyes one would come to think that this woman was blind. "You are very kind, my lady."

The old lady seemed somewhat annoyed by her response. "I might be half-blind, but I can recognise those smug Lannister features and manner anywhere. That is not something you should be proud of."

"I beg your pardon?" Elaena said, scandalized. "Forgive me if I gave offense, but one does not insult any noble house, much less in front of some who is part of said house." Elaena raised her chin. "My mother is a renowned beauty, and I am proud to take after her image."

Lady Baela Whitehead leaned forward slightly; her expression somewhat amused. "I am an old woman, and I speak my mind," she stated firmly in a dry manner. "And do not mistake me, child. I have nothing against the Lannisters, or any other noble house for that matter. But beauty and forced courtesy makes a poor boast."

Courtesy be damned.

"Perhaps it's because you lack both," Elaena said she countered, her voice filled with defiance. She fought to suppress the smirk that threatened to form at the corners of her mouth when she noticed Lady Baela raising her eyebrows ever so slightly.

The tension in the room was momentarily broken as Elaena's grandmother interjected, her voice filled with a touch of amusement. "I told you, Baela," she said, addressing Lady Baela. "She resembles you." Elaena's eyes widened in shock at her grandmother's words. She was taken aback by the unexpected revelation and stared at her utterly perplexed.

"I do not!" the girl protested.

Meanwhile, Lady Whitehead appeared mostly amused by the situation, letting out a single, bark-like laugh. "Whatever you say," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You know this girl better, Haelen." Her gaze then shifted to Elaena, and any warmth in her expression vanished, replaced by an icy coldness. "Do you know why you are here, child?" she asked, her voice commanding and oddly calm. "Do you know why you are here, child?"

"No, I do not," Elaena replied acidly, her frustration seeping into her words. "Would you care to tell me?"

"Elaena..." Her grandmother's voice started, but Lady Whitehead raised her hand, silencing her.

"You have been summoned here because your grandmother desires for me to bestow upon you a family heirloom that has been passed down since the days of Aegon the Conqueror," Lady Baela declared, her words punctuated by two sharp taps of her cane against the floor, demanding attention. As if on cue, a servant swiftly entered the room, carrying an ornate box in his hands. He placed the box between Elaena and Lady Whitehead before hurriedly exiting the room, leaving them to contemplate the moment.

She looked at her grandmother, who was smiling encouragingly, her eyes shining with anticipation. "Go on, dearest. Open the box," she urged, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and pride.

Elaena lifted the lid revealing a bounty of luxurious silks, satins, and other expensive fabrics. But as she shifted through the soft cloths, her eyes came to rest on a most peculiar object; a large and very odd egg. It was larger than any she had ever seen, its surface shimmering with hues of silver and blue which caught the light like precious gems. She looked up at her grandmother and then to Lady Whitehead, unsure of what to say.

"Is this..?"

"A dragon's egg, yes," Lady Baela answered quickly and without patience.

Elaena was lost for words, her mind reeling at the sight of the dragon's egg. She had heard stories of such things, of course —tales of Targaryens and their bond with the great beasts that once roamed the skies above Westeros and the many clutches they would lay. But she had never seen one with her own eyes, let alone held one in her hands.

"A dragon's egg," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything, my dear," Grandmother said, her smile warm and encouraging. "It is a precious gift, one that has been passed down through House Velaryon for generations. And now, it is your turn to inherit it."

"Gran…" Elaena's heart swelled with affection as she gazed at her grandmother. She (and admittedly, Danelle and Alyssa) had been a constant presence in her life ever since the death of Joss (who had been her only friend from her childhood) offering comfort and guidance whenever she needed it. Then she turned to the Lady Baela Whitehead.

"Thank you, my lady," she said, bowing slightly in deference.

"Why?" Lady Baela inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Had I cared enough about this useless stone, I would have given it to Alyssa. She may not bear the Velaryon name like you or your brother, but by Andal law, Driftmark and all its titles should belong to her. My own mother, Alyssa's mother and my namesake —the princess who married the bastard— suffered a similar fate, as you're undoubtedly aware." Lady Baela let out a weary sigh. "Although we are of Valyrian stock, the laws of men only seem to apply when it suits our lords and masters."

Elaena's smile faltered at Lady Baela's words. She was well aware of that about her good-sister, Aurane had once told her during their wedding feast five years ago. "He resents that his wife has a better claim to this bloody island," he had told her when she asked him why did he looked so miserable. Aurane called that one of Ford's "Lordling woes".

"Why are you giving it to me, then?"

"It's complicated," Grandmother said hesitantly. "I can only say that this… is meant to be."

Lady Baela snorted bitterly; her gaze fixed on the dragon's egg in Elaena's hands. "You ought to remind yourself that this is not the first time that this happens, Haelen," she retorted.

"Baela, please it has been so long," Haelen pleaded.

"Yes, it has been a long time," she agreed. "And it has also been a long time since I arrived. It's time for me to go." She tapped twice the floor with her cane and the servant return. "Help me stand up," she commanded the servant. "We are leaving."

"You must have some food at least," Grandmother insisted, placing a hand on Lady Whitehead's arm as the servant helped her stand.

But Lady Whitehead shook her head. "I lost my appetite," she replied, her voice sharp. With the servant's support, Lady Whitehead made her way to the door. But before she exited, she turned back to Elaena.

"Elaena," she called out, beckoning for her to approach. "Remember this," she said, her voice commanding. "The only good prophecy is a forgotten one. Live your life, and choose wisely."

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Elaena invited Alyssa to join her for a leisurely bath in her grandmother's Valyrian bath, where they could soak in the warm water, enjoy the steam and converse in privacy.

It was said that the Dragonlords of old often indulged in such luxuries in their grand palaces and mansions across their vast empire, especially in Lys and Volantis where such baths remained popular to this day.

The walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate mosaics depicting scenes from ancient Valyria, their colours still vibrant after all these years, while the floor was made of polished marble so smooth it felt like silk underfoot. At the centre of the room, a large pool of shimmering water beckoned invitingly, its warmth emanating from a sophisticated heating system devised by a masterful Volantene craftsman. Her grandfather, a man she never knew, had had this bath built for her grandmother shortly after she gave birth to a fourth son; her late father.

Taking a deep breath, Elaena plunged into the welcoming waters, feeling the heat seep into her muscles and soothe away the stresses of the day. She had always enjoyed the heat. It made her feel clean. Her grandmother once told her it was because of their Valyrian blood, though Elaena doubted it. Her grandmother was old —too old— and her wits were occasionally muddled by age.

"So, what about your day?" she asked her good-sister, breaking the tranquil silence of the bath. "I heard you were indisposed this morning."

Her good-sister stepped in the pool and submerged herself up to her neck. "I miscarried," Alyssa replied quietly, her voice, soft and calmed.

Elaena froze in the almost scalding water, her heart aching for her. "I'm so sorry, Aly," she said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Alyssa shook her head. "You are kind to offer, but no."

"Does my brother know about this?" she inquired.

"Yes, he was one of the first to know besides Kerryn. Truth be told, he was more hurt by the news than I was," Alyssa mused.

Confusion washed over Elaena's face, her brow furrowing in disbelief. "But... aren't you sad?" she asked tentatively, struggling to comprehend Alyssa's seemingly detached response.

Alyssa offered a small, bittersweet smile. "Not much," she confessed, yet her voice was laced with a hint of melancholy. "The babe was only a quickening, if anything. I am more disappointed."

After a brief moment of silence, Alyssa changed the subject and asked her. "What about your day Elaena? You have breakfast with our aunt dearest? She is quite the character, isn't she?"

It did not escape her the irony of that statement. "Lady Baela is quite a harridan."

"Indeed." Alyssa chuckled a little. "Why was she here anyways?"

Elaena sighed, feeling the tension of the day returning to her. "She wanted to give me a dragon egg… Well, it was Gran's idea." she replied, rolling her eyes. "Apparently, it's some kind of family heirloom that has been passed down for generations."

"A dragon's egg?" Alyssa repeated, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "That's quite a gift."

"I guess…" Elaena shrugged. "But I don't really know what to do with it. It's not like I can hatch a dragon in my bathtub."

Alyssa laughed softly. "No, I suppose not." They fell into a comfortable silence, savouring the soothing heat of the water and each other's presence. Elaena eventually swam to the front of the pool, where a large window offered a view of the sunset on the horizon. She reached out and rubbed her wet hand on the fogged glass, clearing it so she could see more clearly.

Elaena spoke up again. "This morning I had the most strange of dreams."

That seemed to pick Alyssa's interest. "Pray tell."

"It was an unusual experience," Elaena began, her voice taking on a distant quality as she recalled the events of her dream. "It felt as though my mind had somehow left my body and travelled to another place entirely."

"How strange," Alyssa murmured, somewhat fascinated.

"Indeed," Elaena agreed. "But the strangest part was what I heard. The people speaking in my dream were conversing in the valyrian of Pentos. They were discussing treason and some forthcoming war, and they spoke of my grandfather forming alliances throughout the realm. They also mentioned that the Queen was a witch that had spies everywhere, and that a Greyjoy boy and Lyanne Stark were going to die soon… or were dead, I don't remember."

"Lyanne Stark?" Alyssa echoed, her brow furrowing in concern. "The Prince's betrothed?" Then a coy smile appeared on the woman's face.

Elaena narrowed her eyes. "What?" she asked, her voice filled with suspicion.

Alyssa was quick dismiss the notion. "Oh, it's nothing," she replied evasively. "Just a rather old memory of a young girl who used to fancy the prince and wasn't too pleased about him marrying someone else."

Elaena couldn't help but roll her eyes, a hint of amusement dancing in her gaze. "That was years ago," she said, her tone filled with mock exasperation. "I assure you; I do not fancy Prince Edric anymore."

The two of them shared a light-hearted laugh. It was nice to see Alyssa jest; it was quite the rarity as for late. After the laughter died off, there was another brief silence, allowing their thoughts to wander. It was Alyssa who broke the silence, her voice rather thoughtful.

"That's awfully specific, though," she said. "Perhaps you should tell maester Kerryn about this dream?"

Elaena scoffed at the suggestion; scepticism blatant in her expression. "Maesters don't concern themselves with dreams. It's not part of their studies."

"I beg to differ," Alyssa countered, amused. "One of Lord Celtigar's nephews, the handsome one with the purple eyes and silver hair, once told me that the Maesters take dreams quite seriously."

Surprised, Elaena tilted her head slightly. "Ser Damion?" she asked. "Why would he know about such things?" and why did the name Celtigar elicited a prickling feeling in the back of her neck? Was he mentioned in my dream?

"He studied at the Citadel for many years," Alyssa explained. "I reckon that he knows a great deal about their practices."

Elaena nodded thoughtfully, considering Alyssa's words. "I had no idea," she admitted. "But why were you two talking about dreams? That is not a very usual topic to converse."

"Well, I happened to asked him about it because I used to suffer from strange dreams as well," she revealed.

Elaena's interest was immediately piqued. "Really? What kind of dreams?" she inquired; her voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Alyssa took a moment to collect her thoughts before responding. "Visions, I think one could call them," she said. "Images and sensations that felt real, yet disjointed from reality. Some were unsettling, while others held a strange sense of familiarity. I had to take sweetsleep because of them."

"Maybe it's a Velaryon thing," Elaena pondered aloud.

"Or perhaps it's a Valyrian thing," Alyssa countered. "After all, the Targaryens were well known to have strange dreams, weren't they? About their dragons and the such."

"Yes, they were," Elaena agreed, her mind wandering to thoughts of her own dragon's egg. "For better or worse."

"Indeed," she agreed.

Elaena suddenly remembered her grandmother's words.

This is meant to be...


A.N: So I decided to make some big changes to Elaena's character. I really wasn't happy how she turned out to be in the previous story. She is now more assertive than plaintive. At a first glance one could say that she is more like her mother in that she is more willful, sharp-tongued and proud (and perhaps slightly vain). Though she is still a very kind and empathetic person.