She was always seen second. Even in full sunlight, she seemed to glow with the soft amber of a hearthfire — warm, steady, never blinding. Where others conjured fear, Triss conjured trust. She wore compassion like other sorceresses wore jewels: not for display, but because it belonged to her nature. And yet, behind that easy smile and the healer’s touch, there lingered an ache that never truly faded — the ache of being enough, but never being chosen.