Daia

She smiles, an actual true smile without the seemingly normal undertone of sadness and pain, and shakes her head.

“I’m afraid it’s not the blankets.” She holds a hand up, palm toward the ceiling, and a small ball of fire blooms to life inside. “Fire is my affinity, so I have a very tight control on anything that involves it.”

She holds it out to Daia. “Touch it,” she dares, smiling with barely controlled amusement.