@ofdusk sent:
Eir's entrance, understandably, turns heads. Corrin's included. She looks beautiful. An image of grace, truly, looking far more fit for a throne than some silly little ball filled with teenagers.
And Corrin is drawn to her--eyes round with awe. Of course she knows she's not the only dragon in existence, but seeing even just the representation of another has her thrilled.
"...lady Eir, is it?" gods, she feels more like a child than a queen--eyes full of stars and voice impossibly small. "Your headpiece-ah! Your tail! They're beautiful."
The princess knows well where her expectations lie in her reception, and for many nights had prepared herself to meet them. Yet it does not absolve her of her disposition, something so natural that it would be absurd to have changed for merely an evening— and often Eir finds herself excusing herself from the ball throughout the night. In contrast to the alacrity within, the night beyond the hall was a knowing sort of peaceful; she needed not spend more than a moment within the moonlight to have her mind soothed. Her arms rest upon the banister of a balcony as sapphire hues trace the course of stars, promising herself only mere moments more of this tranquility. To quit permanently so early, especially with so joyous an occasion for her friends, seemed out of the question— and Eir steels her resolve to join the ball once more, before company meets her outside.
Silver tail sways as the princess turns, sharp to footfalls in so quiet an atmosphere. The woman who approaches she knows, and with a slow nod, Eir mutely greets her. There is a light in her eyes that seemed unconfined to the felicity of tonight’s events, and Life smiles as to accommodate it. Hands clasp politely over the other; she nods once more to confirm Corrin’s words of address.
“… Both are merely replicas,” she answers, after a moment. Eir’s thoughts are carefully placed in the endeavour for a gentle answer; to admit so much loss forthrightly seemed almost painful, despite their truths. For a minute lapse in time, pale lips fall into a thin line as she considers what next to say— Corrin was a dragon, of course, and it seemed no difficult question as to infer her fascination. Yet the subject seemed difficult to convey; no appropriate words come to mind that Eir felt the need to speak, treading treacherously between her civility and consideration both. But she recovers quickly, instead following with, “… but thank you, nevertheless. Your kindness is one I’m grateful for.”
Glancing towards Corrin, the princess realises her sore mistake in manners— she had hardly even given the other a chance for introduction! A faint blush rises to Eir’s cheeks; she makes an effort to disallow her eyes from searching for the floor below.
“Oh, I…” Her words come out penitently, soft in her throat. She recalls the courtesy of the Ethereal Ball. “I’m sorry— I never asked for your name. May I ask that we trade stamps, as acquaintances..?”