"The first time I met my Fate, we fought," Nanoha tells their daughter; it’s Vivio’s second favorite bedtime story, after the story of how she was adopted: like that one, it is a hard story with a happy ending. The lamp on the bedside table burnishes Nanoha’s brown hair to a golden aura, as warm as her voice; it reminds Fate of their first visit to a museum, Nanoha gasping and tugging at her hand, and Fate falling in a contemplation in front of Renaissance paintings.

"Her eyes were so sad… I wanted to be her friend," Nanoha murmurs; and her words, as always, make Fate’s heart grow tender, more tender than the bruises she wore as child.