Cassandra was a busy woman to say the least. As a councilwoman, she dealt with plenty of trivialities of their great city of progress. Petty legal disagreements, committee engagements, public speeches, ect. It wasn't all trivial of course, but on dragging days, the complexities of other's innate stupidity and immaturity baffled her.

She was among the slight elders on the council, but that in no way meant she was a weaker target, an easy vote. If anything, she held the great people of her city to higher standards. She believed in progress, fulfillment of potential, and the utmost, respect.

So imagine her disdain when her own daughter was to act out. At another one of her cocktail parties not to mention, the last bits of what seemed to be petulant childlike immaturity seeping through the cracks of her otherwise sensible teenage behavior. Sitting out on the balcony in the cold whilst the rest of the social went on smoothly behind her. Normally, she had little to no problem with giving her daughter space. She was a smart, respectful, honest girl and she truly didn't like socializing much. But in the public eye, it sent the ill-perceived message that she couldn't keep her own heir in line.

Cassandra wouldn't have that. And as the night went on, her daughter's solitary stunt arrested more and more of the public's attention. Feeling it would be ignorant and distant to send a maid out to collect her, she decided to extract her daughter herself. She really did care for her daughter's preferences, finding nothing wrong with isolation or alone time. Just not in the seething beast that was the public eye. She pulled her white gloves on a little tighter, straightened her corseted suit-top, and stepped out in the cold.

"Caitlyn, come inside, now. Your absence hasn't gone unnoticed, this is an important night. The public expects you to be here. Get up"