Rain had really expected that her Aspect would reveal itself during the war… perhaps even at the last possible moment, in her most dire moment of need — so that she could turn the tables and save the day in the most dramatic fashion.
In hindsight, it could have never happened that way.
Rain was not quite sure how the world worked — no one was, really — but she could sense that there was subtle poetry to the nebulous crossroads of fate. People and their choices rhymed with each other… so did the circumstances that people could not control. So, in a sense, lives were like poems.
Not all of them were, of course, or at least not in equal measure. But the lives of those who wielded immense power or were exceptional in some regard usually were.
