“You called, Victoria?”

Andra Castle’s voice was stiff as she spoke, but Victoria Glade did not rise even half an inch from her seat. Sitting there, on the velvet sofa, she looked regal enough to throw you into a curtsey - though Andra’s eyes held nothing but a grudging sort of respect.

“What is this I hear, Andraviona? You have not yet bought your dress for the ball?”

Andraviona. Andra flinched. No one called her that, absolutely no one. Not since she had turned fifteen, and told everyone off for calling her something so complicated.

The only exception was, had always been, Victoria.