[ There is something close to painful irony about this, Lauralae is sure of it.

There is nothing about her that might muster the image of Seelie, not anymore. She had been of the court once, with soft, light hair, closer to bark than burned coal, with sweet eyes and a smile her parents had hoped would have her wedded before she was of an age to complain. She had been amongst the flowers, had slept under the stairs and heard the laughter of other fae as they played their games, enjoyed one another, found themselves in their meager joys.

She had loathed it. The pantomime of it, the pretend, the farce, acting out joys that hid the realities of the world, playing the game of sweetness when behind closed doors it was cloying and dangerous. She had bared her teeth at it, had fled, and in return she had been stolen away by the Unseelie Queen herself - though she thinks that the one chosen here, in this realm, might have a softer touch than the Queen of Air and Darkness.

Marched to the back of the faire, her discomfort obvious (as is her attempts to mirror Alicent's behaviour, no understanding of how to possibly act like a queen left inside of her) Lauralae sits, tucking her short legs under herself. Even her outfit looks completely unlike her own usual dour blacks and dark, midnight blues; she has been encouraged to find another for the event. Thanks must once again be given to Alicent for it.

Even her gloves match, though it doesn't do much to hide the blackness of her skin.

Should anyone approach, seeking the favour of their Seelie queen, she'll do what she can to lean over, to give a shaky smile, and to reach out to offer a blessing of her own. ]

You will do well. I am sure of it.

[ During the events themselves, Lauralae drags herself away from the strange mantle she has found herself on and instead wanders around the different activities, showing curiosity with some and disquiet at the others.

She is not a particular fan of hand to hand combat, but it seems her interest in archery has not waned.

Throughout, she will stop and greet any Seelie she sees, offering a strange, mangled curtsey and the nod of her head; somewhere along the way, someone has braided flowers in her hair. ]

Are you doing well?

[ Back in the forest, Lauralae is returned to her element, away from the strangeness of feeling the ties to her Seelie roots, of the bright colours and sweet flowers that had been adorned unto her. She tugs each flower out of her hair, the braids falling into twisting, tangled curls, and accepts a headdress; she is no sweet, innocent doe, but a skull seems fitting, and the flowers handsome enough for her tastes.

Tugging off her leather boots, she abandons them to one side as she walks into the forest, and this, more than anything else, feels like home.

Her flower is dark in appearance, and she does not expect to see any kind of match to it. Lauralae is more content with walking, feeling the magic of flowers under her feet, flexing her fingers to summon more with her druidcraft. It feels like the world she had left behind, the world that had been her own, decades of isolation that had kept her safe from the horrors of touch and intimacy, the menace of becoming the monster she so terribly feared.

When she approaches the alter, she reaches out with bare hands, no gloves to hide the strange curse that haunts her, and places her fingers upon the stone. Head tilted, eyes closed, she breathes out softly. ]

There is sweet magic here.

[ What kind?

Well, she doesn't know. Try and figure it out with her?

Later, deep in the forest, one might come across a slumbering wolf; after the last month of games, it might be a little frightening to try and approach it, but it seems so... Sweet? Harmless enough, surely. ]

[ Feel free to find her elsewhere, do anything Seelie-adjacent (your queen will support you!!) or PM me for something personal! I am on discord and you can find me at aziraphale! ]