Our story begins in the private rooms of Máthair Mothúcháin. The crystal walls glimmer, the light of the joylamp chandelier mounted above dancing off of them. Literally dancing, as the light twists and jigs along the smooth, carved crystal, moving along with an invisible song. Now, ordinarily, a whole lot of light bouncing off the walls of a crystal room would be quite the unpleasant sight. If this were any ordinary place, one couldn't look anywhere without getting a blast of light in the eyes. But this is Cathair na Aisling. This is the city of dreams. Ordinary physics, logical thought, have no hold here. The light feels as if it ought to be beautiful, and so it is. Such is the way of Annwn. 

The Máthair cannot currently be seen, from where Ena sits. The thri-kreen is sat on a crystal couch, impossibly soft and cushy despite what it's made of. The amethyst cushions almost envelop her, and she could very well fall asleep on them. If she could sleep. Across the room, behind a thin curtain woven from moth wings and sweet nothings, the Máthair sits, silhouetted. She is readying herself for a diplomatic mission, out to Bodden Bag, the residence of Baron Bellbelly, a senior member of the Far Court. She has instructed Ena to accompany her, as she takes tea with the Baron, discusses trade, the operation of the dream-mines in his lands, and other such stuff. For company, more than anything.

"Just another moment, dear." The Máthair's melodic voice sings out from behind the curtain, twisting through the air and into Ena's ears. Or... earholes. Whatever. "We'll be off soon."

(Feel free to introduce Ena, describe her appearance, and ask any questions you'd like to, IC or OOC)

Ena feels contented bliss as she reclines in the couch, framed by the deep purple cushions. The light above her dances. She can almost hear the song of it as it bends and trills through the air. She stretches both of her pairs of arms upward, locking pairs of hands with each other, palms out and pushing against their bodily restraints. The stretch feels good, inspiring her feet to point away from her body and her spine to stretch, stretch, and pop. Nearby, a teacup emanates the scents of woodsmoke and honey. It is an exquisite pleasure to wait on the Máthair.

Ena is only the latest of her line to serve the Máthair. Ena reflects on this as she watches her lady's silhouette -- the Mother has known her whole family, and more besides, and Ena's own life was but a firefly's glow in the Mother's radiance. She knew the Máthair was a noble being, an Archfey, and yet, Her voice was as a grandmother's voice in Ena's heart: rich with experience, but fiercely tempering. Ena's own parents had less to do with her upbringing than the Máthair. She had sworn her fealty to Her long before she'd known that fealty was a gift to be pledged.

The Máthair's voice, as always, invokes a sense of joy in Ena. She reaches out to the Máthair with her mind, and communicates Content. An image of still, clear water, lit from the depths by crystalline light; the scent of sweetmoss, grassy and floral. 'I am happy to wait, Máthair,'  Ena's mental voice sings in harmony with her mistress's tune. Although Ena typically clothes herself in illusion magic, she does not do so before her Queen: her carapace is a pale lavender, with dark grey ridges outlining her thin abdomen in delicate spirals. Her eyes are silvery pale. She is thin, and taller than those who came before. Before she can stop herself, she sings:

Joy. The scent of wildflowers in summer.
Watchfulness. Peat and a cold draft at night.
Fear. Iron tang over rootrot.

And as if to assure herself, Ena rises from the amethyst cushions and holds all four arms out in a wide stretch, allowing illusion magic to flow over her shell. Pale lavender deepens to royal purple, and grey brightens to golden brilliance. She lets herself be gilded in the finery of her station: bangles, illusory silver, encircle all four of her wrists (and at least two each, at that!), and her garments iridesce blue-green against her as she makes herself ready to be escort to the Máthair.

"Beautiful singing, dear," the Máthair calls sweetly. "I can taste each note in my mind. You are supremely talented." There is a final rustle from behind the curtain, and then the silhouette of the Máthair stands, revealing her full height. She towers over even Ena, at least feet tall and impossibly slender. Of course, her dimensions are not exactly concrete, but this is the form that she chooses to take most of the time. The curtain is brushed aside, and the Máthair emerges. Her porcelain face, white and beautiful over her onyx-black carapace, is hidden behind a collar of whispering wind and the feathers of a butterfly. A crown, woven out of moonlight, sits in her crystalline hair. Her dress is large and full enveloping and concealing her slim frame within soft fur and fragile moth-wings. The Máthair's gaze fixes on Ena, multifaceted crystal eyes shining from beneath porcelain lids. "You look lovely, dearest. Well, now. Shall we depart?"

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