A flame burns brightest right before it turns to ash. I was given the gift of absolute fire, yet my own blood was a slow-acting poison I could never outrun. I do not weep for the years stolen from me, nor do I regret the days I spent bedridden while my sisters fought. To be a Vanadis is to rule with strength, but my final strength was knowing when to let my fire fade so that Ellen's could burn even brighter. I am not truly gone; I simply gave back the warmth I was borrowed.