Chrom once blushingly compared her hair to moonlight, marveling over the pearlescent white-blonde strands as he combed them with his fingers. Robin thinks he was more right than he knew to liken her to the moon, although he’d surely be upset if he knew her own reasons for finding it apt.

Any light she gives off is the merest refraction of Chrom’s own, a pale imitation borne from close proximity to his radiant, shining presence.