Elora lets out a little sigh, though not of any kind of displeasure. He's right, after all, and that's a deeply complicated subject for her. Names matter, and she spent most of her life without hers, so long that now that she has it again, it doesn't feel like hers, a lot of the time. Maybe that's all the more reason to tell him, though. Between what he's told her about himself and the sudden stifling sense that who she is doesn't matter here, she wants to say it, to explain as best she can. She doesn't want to be alone with it anymore.

"Well, the short version is," she says, and takes a bite of muffin, figuring she might as well, "when I was born, I... fulfilled a prophecy. It was a whole thing, there was an evil queen who wanted to kill me, et cetera, et cetera. That didn't happen—" She gestures to herself. "Obviously, as you can see. But then the new queen, not evil, decided it would be best if I had a normal life. If I never knew who I was, never learned to do magic. So I was Brunhilde, the kitchen girl. And that was all I knew, until not very long before I got here."