
Lucilla, President of Startorch Academy and idealist with both feet on the ground. She holds quiet vigil over her students as they rise to challenge the very sky.

An action camera Lucilla used during her time in the Pioneer Association. Though her own abilities far surpass the camera's performance, she still enjoys recording through a physical lens. Particularly on lonely nights, when she silently revisits small, unguarded moments she overlooked at the time.

Lucilla loves to immerse herself in the lives of characters on screen. These old film rolls of classic movies were the one thing she could not bear to part with when she left the New Federation. After becoming President of the Academy, she rarely found the time to watch movies. That changed the day she noticed one of her students had appeared on a movie poster. Now, Lucilla cherishes these film rolls more than ever.

Why take time out of a busy day to put on makeup? Once, the answer might have been to fit the image others expected of her. But now, Lucilla simply does it to please herself. Just as she tells her students, "Never mind what others think. Become the person you imagine yourself to be."
<i>A letter lies quietly in the files box, stamped with the seal of Lucilla's mother, Kamerel.</i> For a memory-type Resonator, diaries, notes, or other memo-keeping tools are dangerous media. They are the driftwood a drowning sailor clings to in a shipwreck. Faced with the crashing waves of memory fluctuation, you must rely on them lest you sink beneath the tide of recollection. But the moment you begin to unconsciously depend on external objects to fill the gaps in your memory, you also accept a certain risk. That someone, for instance, might tamper with your diary to rewrite who you think you are. Therefore, Lucilla, I forbid it. I forbid you to record your private matters by any means beyond your own mind. I forbid you to speak of them. I forbid you to form such a dependence. As a memory Resonator, you must become its master, the strongest, most dangerous being in your own sea of recollection. I wish for you a life without driftwood, without refuge. Without the need for me, or anyone else. And yet, as my own body began to fail, I found myself, without realizing it, keeping a diary. Perhaps memory-type Resonators are, in a way, premature inheritors of memory itself. The side effects you endure are merely a stage of life that every aging soul must inevitably experience. Lucilla, by the time this letter reaches you, I will have likely passed. You should know that I am not rambling to you out of sentimentality. This is a warning, a precaution, lest you forget who you are over something trivial. I have prepared materials for you—records of your past, to help you rebuild your Memory Palace. Of course, whether you use them is your choice. As with every choice before this one, it is entirely voluntary.