She hugged him back, clinging slightly. "My father once told me," she whispered, "that being a Cepter... having this power... it meant there were certain rules a Cepter should always follow. No matter what. Never use your cards against a non-cepter that can't defend themselves. And if you can use your cards to do good, to protect, to help others, you always should." She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto the memory, trying to recall her father as best she could. She swallowed hard.

"As a child I never understood. We never had much. The clothes we were wearing. A blanket each. His Book. I didn't understand why he never used his cards to defend him when people he owed money to came after us, or used the cards to entertain, or why he didn't sell them on the days we were starving... That was what he told me. And I understand now. I try... I try so hard to be someone he would have been proud of. He told me his Book, his cards... because when he did fight, he fought for ante cards... that it meant that his Book was full of the dreams and memories of everyone he fought against. That he could never betray them by selling the cards..." She realized she was babbling and tried to make herself stop.

"S...Sorry," she mumbled. "I just... my cards all want to help. I want to help. I want to be a good person. I want to be a good Cepter. Like my poppa was. Like my Master is."