"But Dominique is a prettier name," objects Céleste.

"But I don't like it," sighs Yseult.

"Why not? You never like things that are likeable," says Céleste. "Not your name and not griffins and not flying."

"I like you, and you are likeable," she says. "And I like our parents, and magic, and flying when I feel like it."

"But why don't you like your name? It's pretty. Do-mi-nique."

"It sounds like it belongs to someone who's not me."

"How is that a sound for a name to have?"

"Maybe I should start calling you Dominique," she suggests, "if you're so fond of it."

"But my name is Céleste! It always has been."

"And my name is Yseult."

"That's your middle name!"

"Yes it is. And it's the one I want to use."

"So if I yell DOMINIQUE," says Céleste (at the top of her lungs), "you won't even come see what's happening?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"What if it was really important? Or I just forgot?"

"Maybe you should try very, very hard not to forget," she suggests.

"I don't want to do a hard thing, why are you making me do a hard thing?" Céleste has mastered the art of flouncing in midair. She does this now.

"Because it's important to me, and you're my sister."

"If I want you to do hard things will you?"

"I don't know," she says. "If I can. If it's important."

"Well, I guess I'll try, then," huffs Céleste. "Y-seeeeeult. That's going to be so much harder to yell across the castle though!"

"Then maybe our Papa's delicate fluffy ears will be a little happier from now on," laughs Yseult.

"Pffffff," says Céleste. "If he really minded his fluffy ears being delicate there would be magic about it by now!"

"You never know, with Papa!"