#dreaming

"We have wandered from where we should be..." A trifle uncertain.

"We just need haven, sir, ah lord" A voice says

"Come in, come in then" The doors swing wide "Are your new forms uncomfortable?"

Earl the Gargoyle (though a handsome one) blinks "I feel.. quite at home" he admits

"Nay..." SHe extends her hand, admiring the webbing.

She has, teeth. What an odd feeling

The sidhe says "Wonderful, I have no memory, and you young ones seem to be disturbingly okay with having your very forms shifted. " She calls out "Young lord, what shall we call you?"

"young lord? What.. means this young?" The exile seems confused

She pokes at them with her tongue. How odd!

as the doors have opened, a grand and gothic sort of set up, vaguely germanic

"Thou art an exile, the ladies said..."

"Ah, they are right. You heard them? Oh of course you would have. My masking wouldn't bar... yes, yes.. the Lord part I understand, Exiled or not. The young? What does that mean?"

"They are delightful..."

"Young, like a wilder like us" Earl explains

"Not old, a grand dame, like me" Aganthe explains

"How curious." The Exile says as they enter his domain. "Why do you let time affect you?"

"We must needs... we are..." Eyes wide. "A.. Lost One? Art thou an Exile from Arcadia?"

"Am I? How curious a notion" the voice says still feeling the halls.

filling them too

"We don't much get a choice" earl says, and he flies up to look about, seeming not even to think of it

"We are half-mortal.."

"Oh, the mortal side causes you to yield to time, to age. That's not a problem here, see?" The voice says

and Agnethe gasps, and touches over heart.

"Oh, that was getting weak. Here.. this will help." The Exile says

Agnethe , the Lady's hair gains luster and color, the signs of age gone from here as she looks to be a wilder herself

Zara tries to grasp the magic, to see how...

Oh so much in flux here. Time , space, being.. She is not sure the Exile is a Lost one per se, but he is bound not just to this manor, but to the dreaming around it, and he to him. They are essentially his figments, he dreams them and they are. There seems little malice here that she can sense. Her mind is still essentially her own. Though she does not feel like a sluagh exactly.

"We would bring thee no harm a'purpose." She reassures.

"I feel so strange" Agenthe looks at her hands, smooth, young, then she says "Please. Whoever you are... we're not toys. You must stop changing us. "

"But you allowed yourselves to be changed even before you came here, at least, one of you did. I feel the magic of the Baker" The Exile says . One table has filled with food and wine "Partake, sit, talk to me"

"The Baker, yes. The Cookies seem to have made their way..."

"Cookies?" The Hearth turned sidhe grand dame turned Sidhe wilder says "I.. think I know some recipies"

"These are magical, for but a day..."

"Oh, time again" The Exile says without a body.

"Perhaps," Earl says, fluttering from one Column to another "You might ah, it feels rude not to talk to you with a face, lord?"

"Aye, time..."

"And you, river goddess, would you have me take a form?"

"I... as you will. I may speak to the darkness as well as a face. But it would be a kindness to my Love."

The form coalesces before them, it is not quite.. sidhe, suprisingly mortal looking

Yet power blows off him like a breeze a dusty field.. one can see the haze of it

Too vast, too complicated - but oh, Zara is as drawn to it as Vashti is to Hirim's suits.

"Well, that's more mannerly" Aganthe says with that mix of confidence, approval, and assertiviness that is a sidhe

"You are all lost... I am exiled, but why are you here?" Exile asks "And please, eat, eat"

"We.. we went astray." She looks at the food, curious.

Despite the fact it is not spoiled, Zara finds the smell of the food delicious. Indeed, the most intriguing might be the moist meats.. like plunged flesh drenched and soaked in the sauce or liquid of the dish. Something about seeing a meal as 'drowned' makes her want to run her tongue over her teeth.

Oh, she does...

Fine chairs, spindly at first glance, but strong, are before the table, and the exile moves to slide the chair back for the Sidhe even as Earl does the same for his Russalka

Zara settles, elegantly.