Cogito, ergo sum

Morrigan watched the attempt, her lips set in a firm line, neutrality, and yet if one knew her: she was disappointed. If you cannot master the simplest of magics, Asha'bellanar, then you are never going to master your birthright. The words were delivered in a flat tone, as she moved forward, stepping right through the copy. It felt as though she'd simply stepped into a cool air front in the room, and she sneered at her daughter. Weak. Pathetic. She shouldn't have stayed with Loghain after the child was born; living on the run had done well for Kieran's upbringing...

It'd dissolve as she interrupted it. Are you telling me that, a pause, as three copies of herself were created, in quick succession, Is the best you can do? Every copy mimicked her movements, spoke as she did. With a snap of her fingers, she dissolved the magic and came to stand just in front of her daughter. I should never have let your father raise you. He was too weak to understand what is expected of you. Translation: Kieran had turned out perfect, near perfect save for his anxieties, which Morrigan didn't care about. The boy could cast magic, he was studious, well-trained. Strong. This girl?

The girl might as well be some orphan she'd dragged in off the street.