Despite everything Maeve has been through, that she has faced, she still retains a certain amount of grace, both in the way she dances and the way she lives. To an outsider, one who may know about Maeve's story, her tale, they may believe that the fae child made it all look so easy. "Children are resilient," they would say as they watch the blonde girl play on the playground or perform a series of pirouettes effortlessly, golden hair flowing out behind her like streams of sunlight, sweet albeit shy smile on her face. But look closer in those violet eyes of the little fae girl that moves with such elegance and refinement and you will see such a large amount of hurt within those eyes that stand stark and wide against her pale face, an innocent smile on her lips. But that hurt in her eyes is slowly healing, until it has become no more than a ghost behind those eyes that seemed to belong to someone much older and wiser than she was. The golden haired child was patching up her heart, filling the cracks with love and trust as best she could.

She turns to her, just as Maeve expected she would and the pale fae child stares up at her with such sharp, beautiful eyes that look as though they were pieces of lavender staring out beneath long, dark lashes. As the young woman looks to Maeve, she shuffles forward a few steps towards her, satellite dish eyes still wide with awe, Maeve even when excited doesn't make many large movements; they are all slow, small, and calculated as if every second she is running through equations and angles and strategies though she does none of these. She just doesn't want to disturb the world in which she lives. Unlike so many, the ivory skinned girl doesn't mind that nobody knows she is there when she is. She is an observer, and while she wouldn't pass up the chance to make friends again, after so long, she doesn't find it a pressing need. There is solace to be found in loneliness, especially when she danced.

A smile tentatively crosses her face as she closes the remaining distance between herself and the woman. Eyes peering up at her, the petite child is filled with wonder and curiosity. "De rein," the little fae with long, pale tendrils tied back into a ponytail says, her voice remaining soft and quiet. When the golden haired, a color that mirrors Maeve's own locks of liquid gold, young woman looks to Maeve with a simper of a smile on her face, Maeve grows a little braver and looks into her brown eyes with her own of violet. A simper of a smile on her own tiny face.

Maeve watches the woman without any reserves, without judgement, and a gentle amethyst gaze. "Oh yes, I do," Maeve says in response to the blonde woman's question. "I love dancing," she adds on, though, that she be obvious by now. What comes next though takes the cream haired child by surprise. The cream haired girl had certainly had every intention of just simply watching the blonde dance around, perfectly content to do so. So when she asks if Maeve would like to try, stepping from the middle to give the petite fae some space, the girl with long pale tresses tired back in a ponytail feels her jaw drop for a moment. "Me?" She questions the golden haired woman, as if to just be sure. It was not very often anyone older than the petite child cared to take an interest in her, especially in her dance ability. The platinum blonde with strange violet eyes was more accustomed to be brushed off with a 'not now, kid.' "Sure," she says shyly with that silvered voice of hers. She moves towards the center with lightness of a little bird, steps barely seeming to connect with the ground.

The blonde begins in B-plus position as she had often been taught to begin in when she was in ballet class. The youthful fae child begins to move around the small center area in chaîné turns, remembering her lessons, thighs staying close together before beginning a small combination of turns, rising as far as she can onto those red high tops, that blonde pony tail whipping around as she turns, remembering to spot a smile on her face as she moves with a dancer's grace, the only way the child knew how to move, purple eyes spotting. That extends beautifully out with each turn before she pulls her petite body in tightly and Maeve feels that familiar sensation of turning without any restrictions, as if her body were made of nothing but air, before the pale child explodes out of the turn with a grand leap, rising upwards, platinum blonde ponytail and all, before giving herself to gravity and that lithe frame comes back down to the ground and her petite body lands with hardly a sound against the wood deck, the fae child then gathers herself together before turning to look at the blonde woman. "I want to be a ballerina when I get old," she says, moving towards the woman with that ethereal sort of grace that Maeve has possessed for most of her life having been born a fae rather than created. A shy smile crosses her features as she comes to stand beside the woman. "Dancing is the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world," she says in a dreamlike state. "My name is Maeve," the lithe girl says looking up at the dancer with satellite dish eyes, that small smile still present on her face. Suddenly she notices something about the woman, something all too entirely familiar, even when she had never met this woman before and she dares to ask the question. "Are you like me?" She asks, bringing those slender fingers up to touch the delicate points of her ears, an all too knowing look crossing her face as if she already knew the answer that awaited her.