The thing I fear most for people given memorable, magical names, is that by the time they approach some level of maturity the universe, life, people, familial or distant, have attempted or contrived to squeeze any inherent joy from the moniker.
This is particularly relevant to girls, whom tend to be more intuitive, empathetic, in harkening to their elders, particularly their mothers. Freedom, independence, self-worth, any degree of bloody-mindedness, maternal instinct aims to obliterate quite utterly from all offspring similarly. Boys are permitted to rebel a little, but girls are expected to accept and be contrite, unqualifiedly honoring their examples, and obligations.
We are inclined to forget the purpose of epithets, quite why the newest pope chose to be called Francis, why Amy Ponds daughter has a very particular identification other than Melody.
My son is named David, most apt as he grew up small, but with the inclination to stand as tall as he chose, needing to fear no one.