Everything that belonged to Nero always smelled of roses. It's a truth at least as old as Bella: to live and work in the palace, you had to learn to love that scent, the sweetness of her favorite crimson petals and the laurels that cut across them. When she was a child, Bella thought it smelled like tea. She even tried making it, once, but it turned out it didn't taste as pretty as it smelled. She hadn't known better, back then. She still cared too much about seeing smiles. 

Bella drinks deeply of the air, and sure enough the rose-and-laurel is unmistakable now. It's headier and more intoxicating than any of her favorite wines; this version of the scent is cut through with a tender, savory meatiness she can't quite place. It's like petals garnishing a steak, or perhaps flowers growing from a sun-baked corpse. Her mouth waters more with every whiff of it she gets, until she has to wipe her lips with her thumb to keep herself from drooling. Remember, Bella. The smell is always the best part. 

Her body feels light and loose and powerful as she glides through the corridors chasing that luscious, beautiful smell. It's almost as if the chaos of the Yakanov and its strange mix of industry and cleaner and science and sweat and sparks had been set up like a maze just to trick her, a series of walls to keep her nose from the truth of what they were working on. They should have known better than to think it would be enough to hide from her. They should have expected her to be able to pluck something this beautiful from a bouquet of millions. 

Ahead of her there are Coherents scrambling this way and that to assemble themselves into a line capable of stopping her. Her lips twist into a huge, feral grin. Good. Good! Her ears and tail are twitching with delight, her arms and back are singing with power! Her legs and hips shift and sway to the song of battle, ruffling her skirt and bouncing her hair with the beauty of the dance she'd been built rather than born for. Come. Come! Her fingertips are itching, her claws need sharpening. Come! Maybe they'd send that Khitava bitch at her. Bella's body ripples with drunken laughter. She flicks the bells now as she walks. Can you hear her? Come on!

Her Regalia has never felt so light on top of her head before. No more strings. No more expectations. No more worries, no more memories, no more connections past following this smell... and breaking the cage they've built for it. For the first time, her neck doesn't beg for the weight of a collar. For the first time, the name of the princess isn't pushing its way into her skull and dragging a dozen memories up with it. For the first time, her breath comes freely and easily in a place that isn't Tellus. She could even sing right now, if she had the mind to. 

Her eye is blazing with delight and lust for the coming battle. She is powerful. She is beautiful. She is a Queen. She is free. Ah, she should have made this decision years ago. All it's costing her is everything she used to think she wanted.