Edric's gaze was unwavering as he met Doran's eyes, his fists still clenched at his sides. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, and the weight of Doran's question hung in the air like a challenge.
"You ask me what I would have you do," Edric said, his voice low but steady. "I would have you stop playing at politics, stop hiding behind these games of manipulation. I would have you take a step back and look at the people you claim to serve. What do they see when they look at you, Doran? A ruler who plays the game well, or a leader who sees beyond the schemes and understands the cost of every decision?"
He stepped forward, his words gaining strength. "I don't want to be part of your vision. Not if it means turning a blind eye to the suffering you cause. You speak of sacrifice, but where is your accountability? Where is the honesty, the willingness to take responsibility for the pain you inflict?"
Edric shook his head, the frustration that had been simmering in him now boiling to the surface. "I can't be like you, Doran. I can't stand by and watch you justify everything with words and subtlety. I want to do what's right, not what's convenient."
Edric's eyes narrowed, his voice growing more forceful as he continued, unable to hold back the frustration that had been building for so long. "And you want to talk to me about sacrifice and responsibility?" he spat, his tone biting. "What about the lies you've spun for years? What about how you've exaggerated Dorne's strength to your own family, to everyone who believes in your cause? You've made them think you are something you're not, that you have the power and influence to challenge the realm."
He leaned forward, the anger in his words rising with every syllable. "You've built up Dorne into this grand illusion, convincing your own people that we are some untouchable force, when in truth we are divided, struggling to maintain even the appearance of unity. Do you not see what that has done? You've made promises to them, to your family and kingdom, and all you've done is set them up for disappointment when the truth comes crashing down."
He took a deep breath, his anger fueling his next words. "Your family—they deserve better than this. They deserve to know the truth, to understand that the strength you've been selling them is nothing more than smoke and mirrors. You've blinded them with your vision, with your promises, and now they're caught in a web of your own making."
Edric's eyes were hard, cold. "Do you think they don't see it? That they don't feel the weight of your manipulations? The lies you've woven around them, making them think Dorne is invincible, that your careful words could protect them from the world's realities? It's all a façade, Doran. And sooner or later, it will come crashing down. And when it does, you won't be able to hide behind your games and your clever words."
He straightened, his eyes fixed on Doran, the words like a blade aimed at the heart of the Martell patriarch. "You've manipulated them all, and now you expect me to follow you, to believe in your cause? I can't, Doran. I won't. Not when I see the damage you've already done within your own walls."
Doran's expression remained composed, though his eyes darkened ever so slightly. He met Edric's fiery gaze with a quiet intensity, his voice low but steady as he responded.
"Do you think I don't know the risk, Edric?" Doran's words were calm, but they carried an undercurrent of something far more serious. "Do you think I haven't seen the cracks in the foundations of my plans? I do not live in a world of perfect choices, where everything I do will have only the desired outcome. I have made decisions, hard ones, and I will not apologize for them."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving Edric. "You speak of truth, of honesty, but you fail to understand that sometimes the truth is not enough to keep the peace, to protect the ones you love. I do not lie to my family to deceive them. I lie to protect them. There is a difference, a very important one, and it is one you have yet to grasp."
Doran's fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his chair, the sound a subtle reminder of his control over the situation. "You believe that I have endangered them by weaving illusions. But what would you have me do, Edric? Stand before them, show them every vulnerability, every threat, and risk losing their trust, their hope? What would you have me do, expose them to a world they are not ready for?"
He paused for a moment, his expression softening just a fraction, though his voice remained firm. "I do not have the luxury of simplicity. If you had lived my life, seen what I have seen, you would understand why I have made these choices. Not every battle can be fought with swords, and not every truth can be spoken aloud."
Edric let out a humorless laugh, his lips curling into a thin, bitter smile. The sound echoed in the silence of the room, cold and devoid of amusement.
"Running in circles," he muttered, shaking his head as he stepped back, his arms folding tightly across his chest once more. "We've had this conversation before, Doran. Over and over again. The same tired rhetoric, the same justification for everything you do. You protect them, you sacrifice for them—yet you never once stop to think that maybe the way you're doing it is what's truly dangerous."
His voice grew sharper, frustration creeping in as he continued, "How many more times will you hide behind this veil of necessity? How many more lies will you spin, convincing everyone that it's for their own good? Do you really think you're the only one who can see the truth of the world? I'm tired of hearing the same thing, tired of hearing about all your 'wisdom' while the people you claim to protect keep suffering under your schemes."
He laughed again, but this time it was a bitter, hollow sound. "I've heard it all before. 'Not every battle can be fought with swords.' 'Not every truth can be spoken aloud.' You've convinced yourself that you have the only answers, but all I see is a man who's been playing the same game for too long."
Doran's expression softened, his sharp eyes never leaving Edric's. There was a quiet, almost weary resolve in his voice as he responded, his tone unruffled by Edric's bitterness.
"I know of my arrogance, Edric," he said calmly, leaning forward slightly, his fingers resting on the edge of the desk. "I have always been aware of it. It's not a weakness; it's a reality. Arrogance comes before the fall, as they say, and though I have not yet fallen, I worry about it. I worry about the fall more than you might think. That is why I take precautions. That is why every move I make, every decision, even the betrothal, is made with that in mind."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained steady, almost sorrowful in its depth. "I am not blind to the risks, Edric. I do not take these steps lightly. Everything I've done—everything I've orchestrated—has been to ensure that when the fall comes, Dorne will stand, and so will my family. Your mistrust of my methods is understandable, but I do not make my choices out of greed or ambition. I make them to safeguard everything we've built, and to protect what is to come."
Doran paused, his gaze lingering on Edric for a moment before he added, his voice quieter now, "I would not ask you to trust me without question. But understand this: the world does not reward those who stand still. It punishes them. And I will not allow that punishment to fall on us."
Doran's voice was steady, unwavering, as he continued, "I don't expect you to agree with me, nor do I ask you to. But I do hope, one day, you will understand why I do what I do."
Edric let out a quiet, humorless sigh before pushing back from the desk and taking a seat in front of Doran. He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes locking onto Doran with a mixture of frustration and something akin to resignation.
"I understand why you do what you do, Doran," he said, his voice low and steady, though laced with frustration. "I can see the logic behind your actions, the necessity of securing power, of protecting Dorne. But it's the way you go about it that I can't reconcile with. The endless maneuvering, the manipulation, the games you play with people's lives—it's not just the ends that matter, Doran. It's the means. And that, I can't accept."
Edric's voice softened but grew no less determined. "I understand the need for strategy. I understand the need for caution. But I will never agree with the way you treat those who are caught in the crossfire. That's what I can't abide by."
Doran's stern demeanor softened, just a touch, as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling together thoughtfully. For a moment, the quiet of the room was palpable, and the usual tension seemed to fade slightly.
"I know you don't approve of my methods, Edric," Doran said quietly, his voice calm, though tinged with something more personal.
"In three days, you and Arianne will leave for King's Landing," Doran said, his tone more measured now, though there was a trace of something heavier in his words. "I cannot say I do not feel a great deal of weight in that. It will be difficult, not just for Dorne, but for our family as well. For Arianne, for you… for me. It is a strange thing, to send your own blood into a den of snakes, but it is what must be done."
He paused for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface of the desk as if weighing his next words carefully.
"I hope, with all my heart, that it works out," Doran continued, his gaze steady on Edric. "For Dorne's sake. For your sake, and Arianne's. I hope you find a way to thrive there, despite the dangers, despite the games that will no doubt be played. And I hope that you will remember, even as you challenge my methods, that I do this with the best interests of Dorne—and of you—at heart."
Doran's expression softened further, a rare glimpse of vulnerability showing through. "I know you do not agree with me, Edric. But I also know you understand why this has to be done. My fear is not the failure of the plan itself, but the toll it will take. And I worry, perhaps more than I should, about you two."
Edric could feel the tension in the air easing just slightly, as Doran allowed himself a moment of honest vulnerability—something Edric had not expected from him.
"I understand," Edric said, his voice cold but not without a certain edge. "I understand what you're trying to do, Doran. I understand the lengths you'll go to for your precious plans and Dorne's future. But the truth is, none of it matters to me—not if you don't respect me as an individual. And I don't think you ever have."
Edric's gaze darkened, his tone hardening as he spoke again, his words carrying the gravity of what he had been thinking for days.
"When we reach King's Landing, Dorne will be in trouble, Lord Doran," Edric said, his voice edged with a somber certainty. "The tension is already thick. People are watching us, waiting for a misstep, and I fear that Dorne will be at the heart of it all. A single mistake, one slip of the tongue, and everything will unravel. The court, with all its alliances and betrayals, will turn on you, your position will be perilous, more so than you think."
He paused, his words weighing heavily on the room, before continuing with a cold, bitter edge. "And even with this betrothal—this 'unifying' bond between Dorne and the North—don't fool yourself into thinking that the North will stand behind you. They will not be loyal to Dorne. They never will be. My family doesn't trust you. They never have."
Edric leaned back in his chair, his frustration simmering just below the surface, his hands clenched into fists as he spoke. "We're walking into a lion's den, and you're acting as though this betrothal will somehow shield us. It won't. Not in King's Landing, and certainly not in the halls of power. You've built walls around Dorne, but those walls will crumble the moment we're in the lion's grasp."
He shook his head, "You've underestimated the dangers of the game you're playing, Doran. It's not about subtlety or patience anymore. It's about survival. And right now, it feels like we're running out of time."
Edric's eyes narrowed, as he leaned forward, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Forget about other people's tongues slipping," he said, his words sharp, almost mocking. "All that needs to happen is for my tongue to slip. That's all it'll take. One wrong word from me, and everything will collapse. One slip, one moment of weakness, and all the tensions we've been walking on will explode. Dorne, the North, the entire game you've been playing—it all falls apart in the blink of an eye."
He paused, his gaze meeting Doran's, filled with a bitter truth that only he could see.
"And I know you're aware of that. You're banking on me staying silent, on keeping everything contained. But I'm not sure how much longer I can bite my tongue, Doran. The stakes are too high, and this betrothal—it's a trap, not just for us, but for me, too."
A few hours later, the talk with Doran shelved away in his mind, Edric sat in his study the stillness of the study broken only by the sound of quill against parchment. Edric sat at the large desk, his focus entirely on the intricacies of a trade deal that had been drawn up over the past few days. Maps and figures were scattered across the table, his brow furrowed as he reviewed the details, unaware of how much time had passed since their last conversation.
The door opened with a soft creak, and Arianne stepped inside. Her presence seemed to shift the air in the room, but she was not here to tease him. Instead, she entered dressed in flowing, but revealing attire—striking silks that clung to her figure, accentuating her curves in a way that was both seductive and commanding. The heavy folds of fabric seemed to shift as she walked, leaving little to the imagination. She wore a faintly amused expression as her gaze lingered on Edric for a moment, but instead of her usual teasing smile, there was only an air of curiosity about her.
She was dressed in a way that made Edric pause for a moment—her attire more provocative than usual, more daring. The soft, flowing fabric clung to her body in a way that made it clear she wasn't concerned with modesty in that moment.
Without a word, she crossed the room and lowered herself gracefully into the chair opposite Edric. She settled comfortably, stretching her legs out as she casually draped her feet across his lap. There was no challenge in the gesture, no playfulness to it; instead, it was more an acknowledgment of the space between them, a quiet understanding that this moment was not about the games they often played.
Edric glanced at her briefly, but he didn't react beyond the slightest narrowing of his eyes. He had long learned that Arianne's presence was often unsettling, but in this moment, he was too absorbed in his work to be distracted by it. His fingers danced across the paper, making notes here and there, ignoring the weight of her feet resting on his legs.
After a few moments of silence, Arianne shifted, tilting her head to study the documents laid out before him. Her eyes swept over the trade deal, and without asking, she reached for a sheet from the stack of papers. She didn't speak at first, just quietly examined the document, her gaze sharp and calculating as she absorbed the details Edric was so focused on.
For a while, the only sound in the room was the rustle of parchment and the soft crackling of the brazier in the corner. Arianne's fingers moved over the paper, tracing the lines and figures, her brow furrowing slightly as she picked up on the complexity of the deal.
"You're focused," she said eventually, her voice soft but steady. She glanced up at him, the shadows of the room adding a mysterious edge to her expression. "More serious than usual."
"And?" Edric asked.
Arianne's eyes lingered on Edric for a moment, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the lack of response from him. She could tell he was lost in his work, not looking for her usual flirtations or distractions.
"Nothing," she replied, her tone light. "Just wondering how long you'll keep ignoring me." Her voice was an attempt at playfulness, though there was a hint of something deeper beneath the surface.
She shifted in her chair, her feet still resting on his lap as she leaned back slightly, folding her arms across her chest. The silence between them stretched out, but this time it felt different—less awkward, more comfortable, as if they had reached some unspoken understanding in their shared quiet.
Arianne's tone shifted, the playful edge softening as she looked at Edric, her gaze distant for a moment before she spoke.
"You know," she began, her voice low but steady, "I found something about six years ago that made me angrier than I think I've ever been. A half-written letter from my father… it was about giving Dorne's heirship to Quentyn." She paused, her eyes narrowing as if the memory still stung.
"I didn't understand it then, and I still don't." Arianne shifted in her seat, her feet pressing lightly into Edric's lap, but her posture became tense. "I found that letter and felt like I had been betrayed by the one man who should have supported me. It hurt, Edric." Her voice carried a quiet vulnerability, as though she was reluctant to admit what she'd carried for so long.
She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes with an intensity that revealed more than she intended. "I was so angry. I thought my father didn't trust me, that he was willing to give everything away to Quentyn without even considering me. And it wasn't until, when he finally told us—when he told both of us—about the real reason behind that letter, that I understood. The marriage to Viserys."
Arianne's face twisted slightly in frustration, her fingers gripping the sheet of paper she had pulled from the desk as she spoke. "It was never about Quentyn. It was always about me being tied to Viserys, to his claim, to the throne. All the things my father did… They were all part of the plan to secure our place, to secure Dorne's future. But at the time, I had no idea. No one told me what was really happening. And now… now I understand why it stung so much."
She fell silent, her voice still, the weight of the words hanging in the air.
Edric didn't even glance up from his papers, his voice flat and distant as he spoke, his words cutting through the silence between them. "And now you're telling this to the one person who stands to lose from it." His tone was heavy, almost detached.
Arianne's expression hardened, her fingers tightening on the paper in her lap as she met Edric's words. She remained silent for a moment, taking a breath before responding.
"Don't think I don't know that," she said quietly, her voice sharp despite the softness in it. "I'm not stupid, Edric. I understand the stakes. But that doesn't change what happened."
"I didn't ask for any of this, Edric," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "You think I haven't thought about the consequences? About the loss? The pain that comes with these games my family plays? Believe me, I understand it more than you think."
She paused, taking a breath before continuing, her tone softening. "I didn't want to be part of it. I didn't want to be a pawn in this marriage, but here I am. And you..." She let the words hang in the air, her eyes searching his face, though he still refused to meet her gaze. "You think I'm the one who should be blamed? That it's my fault for being caught up in this? That I am just some piece to be sacrificed for the sake of Dorne's future?"
Arianne's voice grew quieter, but there was a steeliness behind it now. "I'm not asking for your sympathy, Edric. I just need you to understand. If you can't, then I don't know what else to say."
Edric let out a deep sigh, his eyes still fixed on the papers before him. His voice was quiet, but laced with an edge as he spoke, without sparing her a glance.
"You come to me," he said, the words heavy with resignation, "you show me this vulnerability, this openness. Completely out of the blue. Four hours ago, I threatened your father, Arianne." He paused, his tone sharpening just slightly. "Forgive me if I'm a bit of a skeptic."
Arianne's eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and something else—perhaps regret, or even a fleeting sense of understanding. She shifted slightly, her feet still resting on his lap, though the casual comfort between them seemed to have disappeared. The weight of his words hung in the air.
"You think I don't know what you're capable of, Edric?" Her voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, as if she was weighing every word before it left her lips. "I know what you said. And I know why you said it. But I also know that you're not the only one who's had to carry a burden of responsibility. I didn't choose any of this. None of it."
She leaned back slightly, letting out a soft breath. "But you're right. Vulnerability... it doesn't suit me. And maybe it doesn't suit you, either. But if we're being honest with each other—if we're going to get through what's coming—then we have to be able to look beyond just the game we're playing. We have to see the people behind the moves."
Arianne looked at him with something akin to pity, but her eyes were steady, holding his gaze even though he still refused to meet hers. "I just hope you understand, Edric. This isn't easy for anyone."
Edric's voice was sharp, cold as he turned his gaze on Arianne. "Do you think I want this pseudo understanding from you, Arianne? Do you think I crave your pity, your sympathy?" He paused, his eyes narrowing as the words left his mouth. "No. I don't. Because tomorrow, you'll return and try to mold me again—reshape me into something you can control, something more to your liking."
Arianne's expression hardened at his words, the weight of his accusation hanging in the air. She straightened, her feet sliding off his lap as if his rejection had physically distanced her from him. She met his gaze with an intensity that mirrored the fire in his voice.
"You're wrong," she said, her tone sharp and almost accusatory. "You think I don't see what you're doing, what you're trying to push me into? I never asked for your sympathy, Edric. I never wanted it. But don't mistake me showing you something real for weakness. This isn't about shaping you, it's about—"
She stopped herself, taking a deep breath, trying to regain control of her emotions. She had a way of keeping her composure, but something in his words seemed to have shaken her, even if only briefly.
"I don't know what you expect from me, or what you think you're trying to prove," she continued, the edge still in her voice but quieter now, more measured. "But understand this—tomorrow, next week, a year from now—I will be the same person. And I'll still be fighting for the same things. You, on the other hand, seem intent on running in circles, blaming me for things that aren't even mine to control."
She stood up, walking to the window, her back turned to him as she glanced out at the dimming sky. "But you're right," she said, her voice softer but tinged with bitterness. "Tomorrow, I'll come back. And maybe I'll ask you for something again, because that's what I do—try to shape things, shape people. I've been doing it my whole life. But don't mistake that for trying to manipulate you, Edric."
She paused, her voice cold now. "It's not pity, it's not sympathy, it's just... the reality of living in this mess we're all part of."
Edric sighed deeply, finally lifting his gaze from the papers, his expression impassive, yet his eyes carrying the weight of something profound. "It is not sympathy that binds us, nor pity that motivates either Arianne. It is a more subtle force, a quiet machination of our being—a struggle for power and purpose that pushes us."
He paused, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the desk as his thoughts gathered. "You say you would walk away from it all, but the paradox lies in the fact that no one can truly escape this maze. We are all trapped, entangled within our own narratives, governed by choices we did not make but were instead thrust upon us. The illusion of free will is but a delicate construct, a veneer that disguises our servitude to forces far greater than ourselves."
He leaned back in his chair, his voice growing quieter but more intense. "And in this, we are not mere players, but puppets. The tragedy lies not in our inability to change our fate, but in the delusion that we ever had the power to do so."
Edric's lips curled into a wry smile, though there was no joy in it. "I know. It's nihilistic, bleak even," he said, his voice cold as he shifted his gaze to meet Arianne's eyes for the first time. "But that doesn't make it any less true. You and I, we live in a world where ideals are mere illusions. Hope, ambition, they're all fleeting, transient. A farce designed to keep us moving, to make us think we have control. We're all just trying to outlast the inevitable collapse of everything we hold dear."
He leaned forward, his eyes sharp, almost cold. "But there's a strange comfort in it, isn't there? In accepting that the world doesn't owe us anything, that the pain we feel, the suffering we endure, is all part of a much larger, indifferent cycle."
As Edric's words lingered in the stillness of the room, he felt a weight shift in the air. His own words, once so cold and detached, seemed to have pierced through the layers of pretense that had built up between them.
He could see Arianne's face, her apprehension, the fear flickering in her dark eyes. It wasn't the kind of fear that came from external threats or enemies, but the kind that gnawed at the soul—the fear of being exposed, of having her carefully constructed armor chipped away, bit by bit.
He approached her slowly, almost methodically, his footsteps heavy on the stone floor as he made his way to the window where she stood. The light from outside caught the edges of her silhouette, casting her in shadows and golden hues. For a moment, the two stood there in silence, the world outside distant and irrelevant, as if the walls of Dorne itself had closed them in.
Arianne didn't speak immediately, her gaze fixed ahead, her breath shallow. She was processing, calculating, but Edric could sense that her thoughts were tumultuous. The walls she'd built around herself, the carefully curated exterior she'd worn like armor, were crumbling in front of him, and she was powerless to stop it.
Arianne watched him closely, her breath shallow. He could feel her apprehension, her fear—though she would never admit it. It was there, in the way her eyes flicked from his face to his hands, the faint tremor in her posture.
Her lips parted, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. She stared at him, uncertain of what she was seeing. The man she thought she knew was no longer the same, and that realization made her feel more exposed than she cared to admit.
"You fear what I've said, don't you? Not just the words themselves, but the truth in them," Edric said, his voice low, cutting through the tension. "You fear what you've built, what you've convinced yourself is your reality, falling apart."
Arianne's body stiffened slightly at the words, her gaze flickering to him, but she didn't immediately respond. The air between them grew heavier, filled with an unspoken tension, a sense of vulnerability that she wasn't used to feeling in Edric's presence. She had expected him to be many things—calculating, cold, perhaps even distant—but not this: not someone who would challenge her so directly, who would expose the very core of what she thought she had mastered.
She didn't want to admit it, but it did unsettle her. Edric's ability to stand there, to remain calm and indifferent was something she both envied and feared. His ability to at times exist outside the currents of emotion, the sharp detachment with which he seemed to navigate the world—it unsettled her in ways she couldn't quite name.
She turned slightly toward him, her eyes narrowing, studying him as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning behind his words. Her mouth opened as if to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she exhaled slowly, her fingers lightly grazing the edge of the window, feeling the coolness of the stone beneath her fingertips.
As Edric stood before her, his presence unwavering, Arianne's mind began to drift, thoughts tumbling over themselves in a frantic rush. She had never met anyone like him—someone who seemed to exist outside the usual complexities that shaped people, the endless webs of motivations and desires that guided her own life. He was detached, yes, but more than that, he seemed immune to the normal human chaos of emotion. It wasn't apathy, not quite. It was something colder, something more impenetrable.
She couldn't help but think back to their earlier conversations, the moments where he had acted—done—without hesitation, without the second-guessing, the worries, the doubts that anyone else would've had. It was as if he existed in a realm where only the objective mattered, where things were either right or wrong, and no space existed for the nuance that people like her lived within.
There were times when Edric's decisions had been startlingly right, but devoid of the softness that might have made them easier to swallow. He had no time for delicate feelings, for the subtle manipulations or the grey areas she thrived in. He just acted. He moved forward. And in those moments, she couldn't help but admire that clarity. His way was sharp, ruthless even, but it was—correct. It was both terrifying and, in some strange way, admirable.
But then there were moments when it felt like a wall, an invisible divide between them that she couldn't breach. She'd thrown herself into the fray of everything, fought and schemed, created complex webs of power and influence, only for him to step in with one brutal, straightforward action that wiped it all away. He didn't need the endless plotting. He didn't need the games. He just needed to know what needed to be done—and he did it, like he just did right now.
It was clean, almost too clean.
But what was most unsettling was that this wasn't who Edric always was. No, most of the time, he was more than that—more human, more unpredictable, more open, even in his bitterness. In his quieter moments, there was still something of the man who still carried a great deal of warmth beneath his surface.
It was as though, for all the wisdom he held, he had never truly figured out how to deal with the world's cruelty without losing himself in the process. When anger, bitterness, or disappointment flared within him, it became the fuel that fed this chilling side of him, the side that pushed others away, that refused to let anyone get too close.
Arianne's mind circled around this image of Edric—the contradictions of him. He was so much more than this frozen version standing before her, yet in moments like this, it was as though this detachment was his only refuge, his only armor. She had seen it before: the moments where his frustration, his anger, bubbled over, and he retreated into this shell, to protect himself from the world he couldn't seem to fix. It wasn't weakness—it was his survival.
She could see it in his eyes, the rawness, the sheer frustration. It was almost as if, in his anger, he allowed himself to exist fully. She didn't know how to handle it—how to deal with someone who could swing so violently between extremes: detached logic and all-consuming emotion.
But there was no way to know. Not when he stood before her now, wrapped in his indifference, his mind fixed on things beyond her reach, beyond the world she wanted to believe in.