Everyone is excited and fidgety.
Ava Morningstar, the renowned princess of the Faery realm, sat on the high throne constructed out of pure crystalline and thick ice. Her white robe fell flat on her side. Her back straight, figure poised and proper. She had an air of elegance, not of arrogance. Her skin was fair, whiter than snow, even. Her face was small, definitely delicate and extremely flawless, like a polished, precious, rare stone. Her eyes are alluringly deep. One can see the ripples of gentle sky spreading at the iris of her eyes. And the expression that held them are definitely warm, welcoming, breezy even.
She acts as prim and proper in front of their subjects. Yet, only the king, queen and her servants know how much of a troublemaker she was. Her eyes will always scan around the grand hall with delicate golden contours. Searching for the right time to sneak out of the grand occasion.
