As Ophelia left the gardens, Daniil was left with only the flowers and her own thoughts for company. The young woman was no stranger to loneliness, a barrier always existing between her and the rest of her family. How many evenings had she spent in these very gardens, contemplating the nature of the injustice that faced her and her sex. Well, contemplation was the word she would prefer to use. Most would define it as 'sulking', or 'pouting', and call her a petulant child for it, ignoring the fact that she was indeed a young woman. She was never treated as such by those around, who looked upon her exactly as they would a brooding child told no for the first time. 

And that did not change now. The moment she showed independent thought, she was called like a rabid mongrel to be disciplined and put down. It was unfair. No, beyond that. It was outrageous. Tyrannical! The more she considered the injustice being visited upon her, the angrier she became. The more rage filled her until she was trembling with it, her body shaking with complete and utter fury. How dare he? How dare he do this to her? How dare he demand this of her?! He wanted her in his chambers? Oh, he would be receiving just that.

She stormed through the hallways, her hands clenched into fists so tight that her fingernails dug into her palms, threatening to break the skin. Twenty years of fury was building up in her, now ready to explode with the power and ferocity of a scorned goddess. When the door to her grandfather's chambers was in sight, she did not knock. Did not announce herself. She grasped the handle to the doors, and threw them open with such force it seemed like they might fly off the hinges. They stayed, however, and there she was faced with her judgement. She stared at him, green eyes maelstroms of hatred and rage.

"Grandfather. You wished to see me."