"I have no healing ability, I'm just good at making the torture last a long time with as much pain as I can possibly think of. When I was about five, my mother, yelled at me, reprimanding me for something petty. I got mad, as little children do, the next thing I know I'm in a destroyed building with my mother at my feet, her heart in my hand." Lumina's voice cracked, a clear sign of the pain that story held, and her ability to hold it back, to keep it inside.
"The thing is, I don't even remember why I got in trouble, it was that petty, that unemportant, it would be different if her death had meaning, but it doesn't. Her death was completely empty, meaningless," Lumina said looking down.