[ Lauralae had agonised over the notion of swimming for longer than she would care to admit; the idea of going out so bare was entirely foreign to her, despite how eagerly she had once stripped down in the midst of the parties. Having her hands, blackened and charcoal, so obviously on display was another level of discomfort, and so she agonised for longer than perhaps she needed to, wandering around the house and trying not to scowl at anyone she walked by, irritated and frustrated by her own indecision.

It has been a long time since she was desirous of company, and being put in the position of caring about clothes feels like fitting a mould her mother once wished for her, and she has no desire to be that child.

Eventually, with a little help, she finds a black swimsuit with some long sleeves that will suit her well, and it means she can venture out into the party, even if her ears twitch from how loud it is and her face twists into something like discomfort. The parties she is used to, from her younger years, were softer, more akin to balls than a celebration like this, and the sound of modern music echoing from the speakers makes her chew on the scar on her lip without too much hesitation.

Cup in hand, with a matching blue wristband, Lauralae tries to mingle, wandering around and evading the water as much as she can. For a long while, she sits beside the paints, curious and interested, especially since she's just been given her own book and art supplies to record herbs - this is different, though, and she sticks one of her pale legs out to try and paint shapes on her body, to see how it feels to have winding black and red vines colouring her skin.

When the fireworks come, she tucks herself in a corner, staring up at the sky with wide eyes, looking enthralled by the explosions of light and the wonder of it, all so very new to a girl more accustomed to isolation than celebration. ]

[ Throughout the winding maze, there are moments when it seems as if Lauralae appears out of nowhere, emerging from around a corner or slipping up behind someone without making a sound. It might take a moment to figure out just where she comes from, or how she arrives, but anyone paying attention will see her body shift and slip, transforming into an animal as she makes her way through the bales of hay, either a wolf or a raven, whatever seems to best fit the moment.

She flutters around, or leaps across the gaps, and seems to be genuinely enjoying herself if the small smile on her face as she turns back into her elven form is anything to go by.

The games interest her, for at least a moment, and she seems more than content to slip up beside someone and start to play alongside them without a word, like some kind of ghoul more interested in the prize than the novelty of getting to play. She is desperate to win one of the plushies to go with her hideous Garfield toy - not that she knows that the Library gave her a monstrous cat. She likes it.

The feast, when it comes to it, does not alarm Lauralae. In fact, the odd hallucinations don't seem to bother her at all; if nothing else it seems to excite her, the way that the hall fills with the scent of flesh, the vines turning to arteries, the taste of it on her tongue. She looks like she is indulging in the decadence of it a little too much, tucking herself at a table and stroking her fingers along the feast, touching the mushrooms, leaning in to smell it all, more monster than girl with the sharpness of her teeth and the blackness of her fingers.

As she eats, her ears twitch, and perhaps she is actually more wolf than girl. ]

[ Feel free to find her elsewhere, sign yourself up to be handfasted to her (go crazy with it!) or DM me for something and we can figure it out! ]