"he told me of your arrival, but i had to see it for myself and here you are."

it isn't so much difficult to believe, as it is funny trying to place miranda in the present. were she possessed of a softer heart or even lead a softer life that nurtured one, sara might feel guilt over the fact some of what must be miranda's worst memories also happen to be among her fondest. she doubts she will ever meet anyone quite like miranda again. her voice has never been like the songbirds who warble and trill sweetly in the early mornings when sara was fortunate enough to be let on on walks. it's an often shrill sound that lances straight to the heart of a matter, a weapon without which she would be otherwise defenseless. the fiery miranda who speaks her truth and hides no intention behind a smile or scheme does not remotely resemble the princesses in any storybook she has read. sara wants to lead her by the hand somewhere, anywhere, really, however storms aren't made to know peace.

"i found you," she expresses, proud, as if it were actually worth something. sara's eyes wander over miranda, smoothing her roughest edges. "do you remember me? i could never forget you."

Miranda knows who Sara is referring to without even needing to ask. There is only one he that exists between the two of them. She bristles; so he talks about her, now does he? Even though he can't be bothered to at least dignify her with an answer?

But for once, it's not about actually about him.

"I remember you, Sara. My memory is not so weak that I would forget the year I spent trapped in that monastery."

(Her life would be so blissfully simple if she were capable of putting such things out of her mind as easily as others apparently were.)

Miranda could count the number of people who visited her while she was held in that dark cell on one hand, even less if she excluded the people tasked with bringing her meals. It had been for her own safety, they told her, when they stole her away from her home and shut her away in that dark place. Gone were the small mercies granted to her as a political hostage; she was no more than a prisoner, left to rot away out of sight.

Sometimes, another child would come to visit instead of one of the priests. She wasn't supposed to be down there, judging by the exasperated priests that would come collect her once they realized she had disappeared from her room. At first, Miranda had lashed out at the younger girl, thinking her detached way of speaking to be her way of mocking her. But even if she said terrible things, Sara would always eventually come back to watch her with those irritatingly clear eyes of hers.

...How nice it must be, to live unclouded.

Eventually she would stop fighting and let Sara visit without complaint. The days that Sara visited were the only ones that broke up the dull monotony of that life. Perhaps Miranda had even come to enjoy the companionship, although she would be hard pressed to admit it.

Miranda turns her face to hide her expression, although she cannot hide the way her cheeks flush. "Forgive me, if I had known you were here, I would have greeted you properly myself."