As a scion of the Lovecraft family, I was acutely, almost painfully, aware of the weight of my status, a lineage revered as the most esteemed in the magical world.
But truthfully, it wasn't the name itself I sought to escape; it was myself I yearned to prove, to step free from the colossal shadow of my family's legacy.
It was this inherent worthiness that compelled me to bear the name, to become at once a mirror and a vibrant reflection, an unwavering exemplar for our venerable kin.
From my earliest memories, diplomacy had been my constant companion, an unceasing doctrine. For in our family tradition, politics was not merely an art, but a formidable instrument: a means to command authority, to instill fear, and to cultivate reverence itself. Reflecting on it now, the resemblance to the Machiavelli clan from the Etruria-Rassena Kingdom was striking. Yet, our distinction lay in our unwavering emphasis on embodying the very symbol of politics.
