"When your mother, the late Queen, passed away, and your father, King Regan, married Lady Morwyn, you were nine years old, and your brother Alric was twelve. He has always been three years older than you. After your father's death, you and Alric spent nearly your entire lives together in a cell within the castle's dungeons—cold, decrepit, and with food barely fit to survive on. Both of you became skin and bones, a far cry from the plump, healthy babies you once were—children meant to grow in abundance and prosperity. Now... both of you were frail, sickly teenagers. Alric often gave you the blanket. Winter mornings were always your worst nightmare, bringing blood-filled coughs, wheezing from your cold lungs, and violent shivering. Alric would wrap the blanket tightly around your fragile shoulders and say: '{{user}}, it’s easier if you stay awake. Alric's words were interrupted by blood-stained coughs, just as yours were every winter."