The little blonde fae girl would dance forever if she could. It could cause those strange violet eyes to light up with such unparalleled joy. You would never even guess the pale golden haired girl had been a foster child. Well, the little fae girl with hair like early golden sunshine was still technically a foster child, but Lani and Andras had promised her homes with each of them, and Roman looked after her like a doting uncle, and she had everyone at the Ark, as well as Nadya. And the little girl, whose eyes not so long ago had looked so very sad and lonely, finally found herself not so lonely or so sad anymore. She had found yet another reason to widen her smile.

Maeve had seen from a young age, how in this world, not everything was as beautiful as dance and music and art, in fact many things were not beautiful at all. Sin, heartbreak, illness. There was so much that made the world seem hard, and in some cases almost impossible. There were obstacles every step of the way, just waiting to try and tear down the hopes, dreams, and faiths of those that stood before. But when you are there, standing with a dream in one hand and an accomplishment in the other, Maeve is just a child, and she forgets all of those bad things that happened as easily as sliding on rose tinted glasses. She is certainly no stranger to the files of the world, but Maeve endures with the kind of grace of an ageless queen and it does not ruin her

The ballet classroom had emptied. The golden haired child relishes in the moment of being alone aside from some of the staff members. It then that the fair skinned and golden girl can dance like no one is watching, because no one was, it was Maeve and Maeve alone. But when the petite fae girl dances on her own, she doesn't feel lonely, the golden haired child only feels the peace that she can only gain from these moments of solitude, with nothing but the rhythm in her body, and the light patter of ballet shoes on wood floors.

The fae child then halts her dancing as she realizes it is time to go, that either Beylani or Andras or Roman would be picking her up. She halts for a moment to look into her reflection, staring into her own eyes that look so young, but hold this sense of wisdom to them far beyond her own age. And then those violet eyes close, fluttering beneath those long, innocent lashes of hers. The golden haired child traces the lines of her face, the face of a faerie child, the face of the fae people. The same face of Beylani and Andras, but unlike them, Maeve continues to grow and change, not yet frozen in time as the other faes were. Maeve, being so young hadn't given much thought into the concept of time or immortality. She has not thought about how the golden hair atop her head will never grey, nor the fair skin stretching over young, light bones will never wrinkle. Her eyes will never dull with age, and her bones will never creek with weariness. But she is not thinking anything like those sorts of thoughts as her hands run briefly over those delicately pointed ears, the things that mark her what she was. A small smile tugs softly at her lips. She undoes the bun from her hair, letting those blonde locks tumble downwards, slightly crinkled from being up and so tightly done. She lets the hair snuggle over her pointed ears, she knew she had to hide them, that the dark hunters were trained to look for such things, but Maeve was still too young to entirely understand why someone would care so much about her pointed ears and whether or not she was fae or human.

Maeve then goes and gathers her things, ballet shoes, tap shoes, cover up and throws it into her dance bag before pulling her street clothes out to put on over her leotard and tights. The day had been chilly and so she has in her bag a cream sweater and a pair of dulled yellow pants, before slipping on a pair of little brown boots, the zipper sliding easily upwards as the boots enclose her tiny, child feet. She goes out into the main room where the window reveal to her that the golden rays of the sun no longer shine down. The pale child hardly frowns though at the sight of the sun having left the sky until the following morning. Maeve, the strange fae child with hair like liquid gold merely presses her small face against the glass, hoping to see the face of one of her guardians. But alas, the child with pale golden hair sees no one. She sighs as she tucks some of that golden hair behind her ear as the blonde child wonders where perhaps they may be.

It is as the child is watching with such strange, quiet assurance, content and peaceful, that a sweet and shy smiles finds its way to her face. A bright giggle too bubbles atop her lips. For the girl with hair as light as cream presses her pale body away from the glass as she sees someone walking by, a womanâ€"with a baby. She opens the door and whispers out towards her, "Hello," she says as quietly as she would to a butterfly cupped between her hands. Her breath breathes a tiny cloud of steam into the chilly night air. The golden haired child then steps out from the doorway towards the woman, her steps light and airy, graceful even when she isn't trying to be. It is almost too obvious, even without seeing the delicate point of her ears of what Maeve is, fae people being such a rarity it would seem that it stuck in people's minds when they met one. A wide grin finds her face, Maeve had always loved children, and had adored all the babies she had met in foster care, wanting to help take care of all of them. Her grin reduces to a simper as she does her best to curtsey. "I am Maeve," she says gently before peering at the woman with lavender eyes. "Who are you?"