jueves, 30 de abril de 2015


This summer, when I am done with my exams, I will surely carry on with the Baratheon Saga. Thus, what better to give you right now than a little sneak peek of the upcoming story arc?

This mannish French WW1 nurse could as well have been Brünnhilde von Tarth.

So far, throughout the summer of 1914, the conflict was nothing but the average Balkan squabble between Austria and Russia. It appeared that it would never cross the limits of this particular kind of regional dispute, which had been a hot potato throughout the history of both empires.
However, we now know that this conflict developed into something far more ominous and violent than a mere Balkan squabble. Something unknown to those who lived outside the Balkans (and within them) in that summer of 1914.
Including those who lived in Lorraine, one of the most peaceful regions (and in a rare moment of peace in its convoluted history), in the summer of 1914, for we shall now return to the Tyrells and their ostentatious lives. For this, we shall leave overrun Serbia and Croatia for the Tyrell lands. Thus, we turn away from all those gunshots and screams of agony, to find ourselves transported to the Tyrells' estate. Do you, readers, hear the sound of dancing? A waltz is playing in there, where the sun has already set and the light of the halls still shines through countless windows. Un-deux-trois, un-deux-trois, un-deux-trois... Do you, readers, hear the sound of dancing? And now, from the fountain or the maze where you stand, pay attention! A beautiful girl comes out on the balcony with her lover. She looks lovely in that teal gown, her chestnut-coloured pompadour crowned with the bonniest bonnet ever seen on a Lorrainian maiden's head. He is tall and dashing, dark of hair and clean shaven, wearing a lieutenant's mess uniform, epaulettes and sword and all, that surely triples his graces. This soirée is held to celebrate their betrothal, it's their engagement ball (a historical event in Lorrainian society), and soon Mademoiselle Tyrell will be a Baratheon... No! Though her mother and grandmother have not done so, she'd rather keep her maiden surname.
The sound of dancing, a beautiful girl coming out on the balcony with her lover, who will soon be her spouse... What is the subject of their conversation?
"How wonderful the stars are," he says to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"
"I hope the cloth will be ready for my wedding dress in time," she answers. "I have ordered the satin from Paris this afternoon, and I will embroider it and sew it myself; so I will not be lazy."
"Margot, are you serious... You will make your own wedding gown?"
"As you hear it, René! And also make the white rose and lily wreath, and the matching bouquet, with my very own hands." Now, Margot Tyrell is wistfully leaning against the balcony railing. Her fiancé, standing behind her, chuckles. Lieutenant Baratheon was only accustomed to the von Lännisters' use of private dressmakers... and the Tyrells employ the local tailors and seamstresses, who sew both uniforms and civilian attire, for both officers and privates... So even Margot will make her own wedding gown, wreath, and bouquet? Thus he reasons: this is a clever girl, the cleverest one he ever has met, she will become a lieutenant's wife, and perchance the pay from the State won't suffice to support both of them. Not even after she has reached that degree at Paris University which she is planning to study in between the betrothal and the wedding.
A third person now comes out of the balcony. It's a blond young ensign, a good-looking one, looking at his sister and fiancé as he calls to them:
"Rainer! Margot! Midnight! The cotillion will now begin!" The church bells of Sierck peal distinctly in the distance.
And thus, all three enter the ballroom once more, where Louis XV chairs are arranged in a semicircle, and every girl and lady, from three generations of Tyrells to those who are but mere children, takes up a chair. The great hall blazes with light of chandeliers, reflecting on glittering bayonets and on officers' uniforms, and on their female company's jewelry.
A figure of tall, sturdy physique, not fit for the modest sky-blue dress she is wearing, steps out of the shadows and into the light. She has watched and eavesdropped behind the shut door, surveying the romantic couple on the balcony from behind a mint-green velvet curtain, keeping them still in sight, herself unseen... overhearing a comment about the lovely stars and the wonderful power of love as she restrained all the tears for her love's betrothal to another, envying the one who will hold Rainer's heart in hers: a beautiful girl, a born Tyrell, clever and of wealthier descent than the colonel's daughter. A bride worth such a bridegroom.
Thus, Brünnhilde von Tarth had not partaken in the revels except to watch Rainer Baratheon, who must have invited her for a reason. What if she became an old maid at the end of the day?... For she was still young and her heart was still full of fire.
Still there was a faint glimmer of hope in Brünnhilde's broken heart, and that was the cotillion. Primroses, forget-me-nots, larkspur, violets, pansies... If Rainer only gave her his little bouquet of wildflowers!
One by one, the young officers and the gentlemen picked a cotillion bouquet from the silver dish and presented it to one of their ladies. As the awkward girl had expected, Max Tyrell gave his to his Valérie, and Charles to his Léonnette. Other young officers, fellows like Caron or Cuy, flocked around other maidens on the chairs, Brünnhilde sitting still overlooked, a freak so tall that her gown scarcely reached below her knees, her flaxen hair cut short like a boy's, with a smattering of freckles now that the make-up had come off (she was a flapper a decade ahead of the trend, and you shall see how she changed during and after the war)... No surprise that even the freshly-baked ensigns shunned her. She could hear them chuckle behind her back. There was no fairy godmother to help her. And Rainer... "Du Rainer, du Feiner!" What if Rainer took up his bride to dance, as it has been intended?
To Brünnhilde's surprise, Rainer whispers something in French in Margot's ear. The only words the blonde can understand are "Excusez-moi." "Excuse me"...
And then, quite unexpectedly, the dashing lieutenant walks up to the overlooked, strange girl. His blue eyes meet her blue eyes, the colour of the forget-me-nots in the cotillion bouquet. Rainer Baratheon bends slightly before her, as Brünnhilde's cheeks flush so red that her freckles disappear. Into her finely gloved, though still rough and strong hand, he places his own, softer and less inured. She looks down into the flowers: her favourites, forget-me-nots! Is this a dream? Tonight, Brünnhilde has not drunk that much, and she is wide awake, her pierced heart hitting her sternum like trying to breach it as the lieutenant offers her his right arm and asks her, softly and confidently:
"Voulez-vous danser avec moi?"
As boldly as she can, mustering all the courage she can find, she replies: "Oui."
In the meantime, the Tyrell fiancée is taken out to dance, with a posy of daisies (to fit her name) by the youngest of her brothers. Margot and Laurent would have made a nice couple if no blood-ties bound them.
So Rainer takes Brünnhilde around the waist as he reassures the assembled Lorrainian gentry that he will dance the next waltz with his intended bride. The fair-haired girl doesn't care, as long as she's had but one dance with the one she loves and will never kiss. Perchance the essence of her love lies in that it is impossible to attain, unrequited, mere friendship from his side, yet blood-heating passion from hers. To look at the forbidden fruit from a distance and stay in her place by not even touching it.
At the end of the dance, the lieutenant looks at her wistfully as he bites his lower lip and blows her a kiss.
In between the cotillion and the next number, champagne is corked and served in the Bohemian cups, even to the children, and healths go round in this sparkling nectar to Rainer Baratheon and Marguerite Tyrell. And every costly glass is raised and most of them are drained, and, in the fiancé's system, reason now begins to yield to a quick and cheerful intoxication. Which appears to run in the family, as we have seen with other Baratheons. While Laurent merely drank a quarter of his cup, and so did Margot, the dashing young lieutenant, a second Cassio, drained his own to the dregs. Though it had already begun to warm his heart and reach his head, Rainer was but half or one-third intoxicated: he didn't reel when he took his bride out to waltz, but his thoughts had already been overcome by an excited elation he had felt before.
And Brünnhilde? The blond girl from Rügen had sipped in a good draught of liquid courage, and this time it was Laurent Tyrell who took her out to dance. Shorter and more fragile-looking, the ensign, though he lacked none of Rainer's graces, didn't attract her at all. Yet Laurent was as courteous as could be, not seeing beyond the ruddy blush and coy smile of the awkward maiden. In spite of her physique, she danced light as a sylph, her heavy heart lightened by the draught she had drunk. All had been joy around her ever since twilight fell, and at last, after midnight, she had given in to it. Would Brünnhilde von Tarth dream that night?
And what about Rainer? There he is, waltzing with his beautiful Tyrell bride, kissing her on the cheek while she plays with his raven hair, his strong uniformed arms clasped around her slender waist.
Every now and then, the strange girl looks at them, and her heart skips a beat, laughing and dancing with all the others, though deep inside she is still bleeding. "A lieutenant and a camp follower? Not even in fairytales!" Then, she steels herself and looks at Rainer, Laurent, Rainer, Old Madame Tyrell, Rainer. Then, all the officers follow the leader and take her out to dance: Cuy, Caron, Guillaume Tyrell... And she makes a promise to herself, to the lieutenant bridegroom that is not hers, and to the world around her:
"Though I never will marry Rainer Baratheon, I will protect his life, and even give mine in exchange!"
Little does Hilde know of the future that awaits both of them, and whether she will stay true to her commitment.
That engagement ball night, of whose consequences you will hear after this parenthesis, was the beginning of the end of the life of Rainer Baratheon.


Now it's time to have some fun with Latin!

First, there's this carol, sung when a pig's head was traditionally served on Christmas Eve:

The boar's head in hand bring I,
Bedeck'd with bays and rosemary.
I pray, my masters, merry be,
Quod estes in convivio (As many as are in the feast)
Caput apri defero (The boar's head I offer)
Reddens laudes Domino (Giving praises to the Lord)
The boar's head, as I understand,
Is the rarest dish in all this land,
Which thus bedeck'd with a gay garland
Let us servire cantico. (serve with a song)
Caput apri defero (The boar's head I offer)
Reddens laudes Domino (Giving praises to the Lord)
Our steward hath provided this
In honour of the King of Bliss;
Which on this day to be served is
In Reginensi atrio. (In the hall of Queen’s [College])

Caput apri defero ( The boar's head I offer)
Reddens laudes Domino (Giving praises to the Lord)

And here's how some Latin verses were translated by students, traditonally:
Versio I:
Caesar adsum iam forte,
Brutus aderat.
Caesar sic in omnibus,
Brutus sic in at.

Caesar had some jam for tea,
Brutus had a rat.
Caesar sick in omnibus,
Brutus sick in hat.

Versio II:
Caesar et erat forte,
Brutus et sum iam.
Caesar sic in omnibus,
Brutus sic intram.

Caesar ate a rat for tea,
Brutus ate some jam.
Caesar sick in omnibus,
Brutus sick in tram.

Speaking of buses...
When 1920s Oxford was invaded by motor buses, a professor wrote the following satire:


What is this that roareth thus?
Can it be a Motor Bus?
Yes, the smell and hideous hum
Indicat Motorem Bum!
Implet in the Corn and High
Terror me Motoris Bi:
Bo Motori clamitabo
Ne Motore caedar a Bo---
Dative be or Ablative
So thou only let us live:---
Whither shall thy victims flee?
Spare us, spare us, Motor Be!
Thus I sang; and still anigh
Came in hordes Motores Bi,
Et complebat omne forum
Copia Motorum Borum.
How shall wretches live like us
Cincti Bis Motoribus?
Domine, defende nos
Contra hos Motores Bos!

Another poem, more favoured by drinkers, goes a little like this:

Foster’s Lager
Ice-cool, at the bar, in glasses,
Foster’s lager wins all classes.
Utinam, relinquens agrum,
Biberem Fostertem lagrum!
Oh, for sure, they can cause aggro
Qui parent Fosterti lagro:
Lagri Fostertis amore
Victus quidam (goes the story)
Stole. Ebrios multos, certe,
Lagro capit lex Fosterte.
Yet I love thee, amber nectar:
Foster’s lager, te complectar!
And when circum me Fostertes
Lagri sunt, animadvertes,
Fostertum laudes lagrorum
I must sing. What’s more, decorum
Urges me ne parcam largis
Fostertibus illis lagris.
Sic, Fostertes lagros sinking,
Donec day breaks I’ll be drinking.

If you like chocolate, try this one:

Est praedulcis esu Mars Bar.
Nil est cibo tuo, Mars, par.
Tune vis beatum larem?
Habe promptum Martem Barem.
Captus dono Martis Baris
Helenam liquisset Paris.
Dum natabunt ponto scari,
Dentur laudes Marti Bari!

There's this poem about a pair of brothers on an opossum hunt:


The nox was lit by lux of luna,
And 'twas a nox most opportuna
To catch a possum or a coona;
For nix was scattered o'er this mundus,
A shallow nix, et non profundus.
On sic a nox with canis unus,
Two boys went out to hunt for coonus.
The corpus of this bonus canis
Was full as long as octo span is,
But brevior legs had canis never
Quam had hic dog; et bonus clever.
Some used to say, in stultum jocum
Quod a field was too small locum
For sic a dog to make a turnus
Circum self from stem to sternus.
Unus canis, duo puer,
Nunquam braver, nunquam truer,
Quam hoc trio nunquam fuit,
If there was I never knew it.
This bonus dog had one bad habit,
Amabat much to tree a rabbit,
Amabat plus to chase a rattus,
Amabat bene tree a cattus.
But on this nixy moonlight night
This old canis did just right.
Nunquam treed a starving rattus,
Nunquam chased a starving cattus,
But sucurrit on, intentus
On the track and on the scentus,
Till he trees a possum strongum,
In a hollow trunkum longum.
Loud he barked in horrid bellum,
Seemed on terra vehit pellum.
Quickly ran the duo puer
Mors of possum to secure.
Quam venerit, one began
To chop away like quisque man.
Soon the axe went through the truncum
Soon he hit it all kerchunkum;
Combat deepens, on ye braves!
Canis, pueri et staves
As his powers non longius carry,
Possum potest non pugnare.
On the nix his corpus lieth.
Down to Hades spirit flieth,
Joyful pueri, canis bonus,
Think him dead as any stonus.
"Ain't his corpus like a jelly?
Quid plus proof ought hunter velle?"
Now they seek their pater's domo,
Feeling proud as any homo,
Knowing, certe, they will blossom
Into heroes, when with possum
They arrive, narrabunt story,
Plenus blood et plenior glory.
Pompey, David, Samson, Caesar,
Cyrus, Black Hawk, Shalmanezer!
Tell me where est now the gloria,
Where the honors of victoria?
Nunc a domum narrant story,
Plenus sanguine, tragic, gory.
Pater praiseth, likewise mater,
Wonders greatly younger frater.
Possum leave they on the mundus,
Go themselves to sleep profundus,
Somniunt possums slain in battle,
Strong as ursae, large as cattle.
When nox gives way to lux of morning,
Albam terram much adorning,
Up they jump to see the varmin,
Of the which this is the carmen.
Lo! possum est resurrectum!
Ecce pueri dejectum,
Ne relinquit track behind him,
Et the pueri never find him.
Cruel possum! bestia vilest,
How the pueros thou beguilest!
Pueri think non plus of Caesar,
Go ad Orcum, Shalmanezer,
Take your laurels, cum the honor,
Since ista possum is a goner!

Anonymous, student humour, early modern UK:

Patres conscripti took a boat, and went to Philippi;
Boatum est upsettum, magno cum grandine venti.
Omnes drownderunt qui swim away non potuerunt.
Trumpeter unus erat, qui coatum scarlet habebat;
Et magnum periwig, tied about with the tail of a dead pig.

This one is old seventeenth-century German university humour:

Certamen studiosorum cum vigilibus nocturnis, anonymous, 1689

Bursa Studentorum cum tempore finstere noctis
Cum Cytharis Gigisque gaßatim lauffen et Harpffis
Inque steinis hawen, thuot feir ausspringen ab ipsis.
Non aliter rabidi Vigiles quam reißende Welfi
Accurrunt celeres cum Prüglis, Penglis et Heblis,
Hisque Studiosos antasten ilico verbis:
„Ite domum, Schelmi! sonuit jam zwelfen ab uris.“


Would you trust a Quisling or a Judas Iscariot?

And why do we say "Quisling" and "Judas Iscariot", but neither "Pettigrew" nor "Greyjoy"?
(Simply, because these two characters are very recent.)

A Venus is a hottie, but Venus (the planet) is hot in another sense, and a Venus (as a razor) is rather on the cold steel end of the spectrum.

And there are some animal species called Goliath: the Goliath frog, the Goliath beetle, the Goliath spider... How many Goliath beetles can a Goliath spider eat in a day? And a Goliath frog?

Adelie penguins, the brand Ford, Mitsubishi, Saint Petersburg (once known as Leningrad), more brands like McDonald's, Gustavus Adolphus cakes, peach Melba, Pavlova cakes, pears Belle-Hélène, Przewalski horses, plant genera like Tradescantia, Linnaea, Loeflingia, and Wikstroemia... boycotting, Kobrigrams, cardigans, Wellington boots, Nelson's Column at Trafalgar Square, the name of every other planet and dwarf planet, many other animal and plant species named after their discoverers... the Victoria genus of water-lilies (in the Amazon rainforest), Victoria Falls, Lake Victoria, many communities and regions also called Victoria, the Victoria Cross, Victoria sponge cake, the Victoria and Albert Museum... (Queen Victoria has left a HUGE footprint!), the Philippine Islands, the Cook Islands, Cook Strait, Magellan Strait, both Magellanic Clouds, many other places on Earth and in space named after their discoverers... degrees Celsius, volts, amperes, watts, newtons, pascals, and many other units of measurement, the months of July and August...

Can you think of any more eponyms (in space, animals, plants, places, dishes, brands, expressions, units of measurement... named after famous people or characters associated with them)?

lunes, 27 de abril de 2015



A lovely albino pointy-eared maiden...
...dressed in scarlet and black...

...playing the violin on a green hill as the sun sets...
...a sorrowful and ominous melody...

This maiden, sublime, noble, and beautiful... full of refinement, majesty, and elegance... (Kedakaku. Tootoku. Uruwashiku.)
 They say her name is Twilight...
that she is the usurper Dyspear's daughter and princess of the Dysdarks...

Shut is still brooding over Close, when suddenly...

As soon as Shut saw her enter the throne room, he was unexpectedly smitten.
SHUT: So beautiful! I simply MUST adore her! I simply MUST give her a token of my affection!
LOCK: Weren't you supposed to be, like, queer?

(She burns the rose into ashes with a blue flame from the palm of her hand).

SHUT & LOCK: What the...???
She burned the rose??? She called Dyspear "Mother"???
Which means she is a... DYSDARK PRINCESS...
TWILIGHT: The Dysdark Princess.

That unrequited and unexpected Shutlight pairing... the dark magical girl and the token queer...
So Shut is bisexual... even though TvTropes says he is het...
Camp Straight: He is very effeminate but he fell in love with Twilight the exact moment he saw her.
I refuse to believe what the tropers say! In my headcanon, Shut is bisexual!

SHUT: "The daughter of the Great Sorceress Dyspear,
the true heir to Hope Kingdom,
Her Highness Princess Twilight!"

Though she'd rather prefer Shut to Shut up and leave her in peace...

The victim of the week was, as I expected, the old master luthier and violinist Mr. Nishikido
(Minami's violin teacher).
The first adult victim in the series!
Hitherto, the Dysdarks had only attacked teenagers.
Now that a Twilight-empowered Shut targets an adult, it means that things will get even more serious...

Twilight appears pretty cool and smug, more like the average dark magical girl than 
spoiled, childish Regina.
Yet she is far cooler and more confident than I expected, aside from detached...
I think I've got a new favourite Dysdark...
For she is smart, she is artistic, and she is confident...
Cold and haughty, on the other hand, but who cares?
Like her own motto says: "Sublime, noble, and beautiful."
Or "Proud, honourable, and beautiful." (as it has otherwise been translated).
A third translation reads: "With refinement, majesty, and elegance."
In original Japanese, the motto is "Kedakaku. Tootoku. Uruwashiku."

She inserts her key into Shut's heart padlock,
making him feel both racked with pain and elated 
(it looks, with that squeal and that smile, like he's having an orgasm)
Does anyone else see this as a metaphor for orgasm? Or simply for intoxicating power?
Then, Shut was filled with great power that manifested as a purple aura...
SHUT: Power... Power surging within me!

This is Shut on power.
Not a mere intoxication... but still more harmless than Joffrey.

The Desporg made from the old luthier's Shut dream, the Despair Door, 
and the padlock Shut threw at him,
were crimson, being Twilight-empowered.

This Desporg was also stronger than any one before. 

Was there any innuendo of gender-flipped coitus in Twilight empowering Shut?

Twilight's blue will-o'-wisp attack.
It reminded me of Brave, sort of, with all those will-o'-wisps...
that fell on the ground and then rapidly spun around, 
increasing until they became a circle of blue flame.
Twilight firebends well enough to give both Azula (from AtLA)
and Becca (from WaterFire Saga) facial scars.

It seems she was playing with Ruka all along, and Twilight is pleased with it
(sadistic, Schadenfreude, or both)?
TWILIGHT (coldly): Dreams are just illusions that pitiful people believe in.
Sublime, noble, and beautiful.
(or: Proud, honourable, and beautiful. Or: With refinement, majesty, and elegance. 
Her original motto reads: Kedakaku. Tootoku. Uruwashiku.)
A real princess like me who possesses those traits does not need mere dreams.

Sublime. Noble. Beautiful.
Proud. Honourable. Beautiful.
With refinement, majesty, and elegance.
Kedakaku. Tootoku. Uruwashiku.
(Could as well have been Westeros house words...
so I'm planning to do Twilight's House Crest
in scarlet on black field, with the Dark Key for a crest.
Three versions, one in Japanese and one for each translation)

Twilight says that she locks her heart away to play the violin,
and gives Ruka the same advice...
"You can only play the violin after you lock away your heart.
Sublime, noble, and beautiful."
(alt. "Proud, honourable, and beautiful."
alt: "With refinement, majesty, and elegance."
Kedakaku. Tootoku. Uruwashiku.)

TWILIGHT (coldly): Dreams are just illusions that pitiful people believe in.
Sublime, noble, and beautiful.
(or: Proud, honourable, and beautiful.
or: With refinement, majesty, and elegance.
Kedakaku. Tootoku. Uruwashiku.)
A real princess like me who possesses those traits does not need mere dreams.

TWILIGHT (To Princess Cures, coldly): (Noblewoman's laugh): How rude. Disappear.

So, in the end, post-defeat, Twilight coolly outflew Shut, who hastened after her.

In the end, in the throne room, Shut was still eyeing his dark princess, as Lock looked skeptically on.
SHUT: She's really beautiful...

Does this mean Shut shares something with Gustavus Adolphus and Oberyn Martell?
(I'm speaking of their sexual orientation, btw.)

My precious...
And then, on her own, Twilight sounded Shakespearean once more:
TWILIGHT: Just like the day ultimately becomes the dark,
the dusk will eventually cover the skies.
This black key and I will cover the world in despair.

TWILIGHT: Just like the day ultimately becomes the dark,
the dusk will eventually cover the skies.
This black key and I will cover the world in despair.

Sublime, noble, and beautiful.
(or: Proud, honourable, and beautiful.)

We also learned that Mr. Nishikido taught Minami to play the violin,

A reunion between an old master and his best disciple
which she does obviously excellently,

and so did Mme. Shamour to Kanata.

And that Kirara can play the violin as well.

Anyone else expected she could?

Shut is now brooding over Close (like Loras over Renly), when suddenly Twilight steps in.
Unexpected crush ensues...
Add that Twilight is Dyspear's daughter (who's her dad?) and owns
a "Dress-Up Key" in her signature colours 
(this would make seven Keys so far, if Twilight's were an official DUK, which it is NOT)
no good omen...
(Though Enjolras's song is a different, more positive, story!)

PS. There is a theory of Twilight and Kanata being siblings... can they be?

Are these two brother and sister, like the fandom claims?
Let's see... Both appear to be the same age and size.
Both share some features, like almond-shaped tsurime eyes and a heart-shaped face.
Twilight is an albino, while Kanata is darker of features.
Kanata's ears are hidden in the locks on his temples: one can't see if they are really pointy.

So, for now, it's just a theory, like the possibility that my favourite imp may be a Targaryen.

Alternatively, Twilight and Kanata may be fiancés. 
In this headcanon, their marriage was arranged to establish relations between
the Hope Kingdom and the Dysdarks,
but something came in between, then an invasion and a usurpation ensued...
and now they're enemies. Sworn enemies, for life and death.
The rightful heir and the usurper's daughter.

What's more, there's a third hypothesis of my own devise,
one that hearkens back to Dokidoki Precure:

This third hypothesis states that, just like Aguri and Regina in Dokidoki Precure,
Kanata and Twilight may be the light and darkness of one and the same person,
who has been literally split apart.
Not far-fetched, but considering the case of Aguri and Regina
(certain similarity, contrasting personalities and colour schemes),
it might as well be true.

So, do you go for this hypothesis, the fiancés one, or the siblings one?

What a fantastic introduction to Twilight... ***** and Shut's unexpected crush, and the melody she plays on her violin, make it even better. Now I am REALLY hooked on Go Princess Precure!

And her motto, which sounds like Westerosi house words (Kedakaku. Tootoku. Uruwashiku)... a reviewer states that:  the Dark Princess’s slogan revolves more around the social status and the outstanding individual who is above others. 

Twilight is epic. Totally epic. More than just looking like the bastard child of Aerys II and Azula or Galadriel.
I mean, if she is the first Dysdark to target an adult,
if she is so cool and confident,
and has such a motto about the outstanding individual, which sounds like Westerosi house words...
and if Shut and Lock cower before her... and if Shut has fallen for her...
she has become my favourite Dysdark, relegating Shut to a second place!



READ AN AWESOME REVIEW OF THE EPISODE HERE: http://angryanimebitches.com/2015/04/go-princess-precure-episode-13/

PS. RANKO just appeared in the trailer!!! (FURTHEST to the LEFT? THAT IS NOT