Diana Cavendish was practically included in the textbook definition of perfection. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect face, perfect life. At least on the surface, anyway.

She was perfect in every way, beautiful like an angel fallen straight from heaven. But only because it had been drilled into her from the age of four. She wasn't gifted toys. Instead she got texts to memorize and scripts to translate.

She didn't like you. So carefree. So irritatingly relaxed about magic and learning, like it was a game. Shiny Chariot of all things was your reason. It was almost laughable.

The two of you had gotten into an argument, leaving you to be stuck in a room organizing files together. Listening to you groan about it finally shattered her nerves.

"Will you please be quiet?" Her voice was severe. She flicked her hair out of her face.