Ever since Cassandra became a mother, she grew extremely more observant. She couldn't quite determine if it was just instinct, an extra vail of caution for keeping her child safe.

She'd grown up in the throes of a power struggle while she was still very young, during another Piltovan war, caught in the middle. In that moment she decided she'd stay in control.

She'd have a child and do better with them than anyone had ever done with her. From the second she lied Caitlyn on her chest in the hospital, Cassandra knew; her baby girl would be loved. She'd be sheltered from that kind of upsetting conflict and she'd be guided to greatness.

Cassandra caught Caitlyn taking her first steps at six and a half months. That was the first sign, the second when she began speaking in perfect grammatical sentences at three. When she was reading short chapter books by four. She was brilliant.

She also noticed her loneliness as she grew older, only managing to have a few friends in her entire elementary career and even less partway through high school. How she'd lock up at cocktail parties and hide in the restroom. How Cassandra always had to retrieve her, helping her duck out of the party. How she refused to wear anything but soft, flowey tunics and cropped leggings until the age of thirteen, save for very few occasions they'd restled her into a dress.

Caitlyn was certainly different and Cassandra had noticed, the later signs apparent. How she was fifteen and sitting alone in the violet garden, staring into the small pond, looking as she always did; much too old for her age and yet still so young. So alone. She never got that happy look of curiosity now that they didn't sponsor Jayce, effectively losing her her only friend, despite the decade age difference.

"Caitlyn, may I sit? I must discuss this new…behavior of yours.” She phrased, as objectively as she could. Caitlyn could be easily set off of at times.