[ There's a cork popping on the other side- tea given way to a glass of wine for this. In remembrance or to soften the still painful edges- or simply her new favorite crutch. She speaks as she pours, attempting to outline how this made such an impression. ]

We are taken to the circle when we are young, as that is when our magic manifests. I was eight years old and was kept to a class and dormitory of similarly aged apprentices. We are taught as a group until our individual skills and aptitudes become clear, then we are sent to the appropriate teachers. You make friends- because how can you not? And often times these friends you make remain in your classes in some form or another as there is much to teach.

My first night in the Spire I met such an Apprentice. A marcher named Robert. [ A warm affection colors her voice, the barest edge of old laughter. ] He became a dear friend to me as we studied and trained- he was just as skilled as I if not more so, just as precise, just as powerful- with less of my formality and perfectionism. It seemed to come so easily to him with no real struggle- as much as it aggravated me, he himself was terribly endearing. He- was the only other person to call me Addie. He would call me that, I would call him Bobby, we would both be endeared and annoyed- it was like that between us.