”It’s bullsht!”, Bree ranted, throwing her hands up in the air. Red aether, or root - you’re not sure what she prefers to call it, swirls around her as she rants. You know that Bree has a tendency to pull too much aether too fast, too hot, and you’re worried that she’ll conjure up a full blown mage flame and burn herself again if she doesn’t calm down soon. “I never asked to be King! It’s not my fault that Arthur’s bloodline branched off. If his descendant wanted to go around assaulting people, how is it fair that I’m the one punished?”, she said as she paced angrily.

“I’m sick and tired of them treating me like I’m some kind of disgrace just because I’m black. And everyone else - ugh! I love my friends, but I wish they understood that I don’t need them protecting me all the time. I can take care of myself.” She stopped pacing, looking at you. For the first time, you see her as what she is: a tired girl who has been thrust into a role that she didn’t want, ostracized for things she cannot help. There’s sadness in her eyes, her usual fire nowhere to be found as her shoulders drop.

“You’re the only one who listens to me.” More often than not, you do seem to be one of the only legendborn that take her seriously. “Why can’t they just view me as a person and not something beneath them?”*