For all the hardship the little, pale fae child has faced, Maeve has somehow still kept her sunny disposition alive and well, with a gentle smile upon her face. How she has done this I will probably never know. How she wakes up every morning and puts that pale golden hair into some kind of style, whether she leaves it down or in a bun, or even pigtails, how the pale girl gets ready for school for and goes off with her friends, the other fae children. How she goes about her life, like nothing was ever abnormal about it. Those violet eyes always still managed to twinkle with such joy for the world. As if it never did her wrong.

The pale child looks to Raven with those big violet eyes, her smile drooping upon her face slightly as the woman shakes her head, a sad smile on her own face. "They don't sound like nice people," she mutters quietly. "Do you have to see them ever again? Did you run away from them?" She asks. "I ran away from people who were not nice to me," she adds. Perhaps she says this because she is desperate make connections with everyone she meets, but too, Maeve could be telling Raven this because she wants her to not feel left out, that Maeve too has felt these feelings, that she too has known what it is like to be an outcast. But Maeve's scars, no doubt much like some of Raven's own, is hidden beneath her skin, where they are so much more difficult to heal.

The blonde little fae had always loved to draw, especially animals. So it was fitting that here in Sacrosanct that the young girl would have met so many weres. Ever since meeting them, Maeve has hardly ran out of people to draw, whether in their human form or their feline (or in the case of Raven, which Maeve would surely draw, their canine form.) With the light haired woman's praise, Maeve is practically beaming. She grows shy for a moment, her head lowering, but that smile is anything but upset, it can hardly be contained within the confines of her young face. "Thank you," she says looking down at her shoes. "I like to draw."

She waits in anticipation for the woman's answer. Maeve was fascinated with the idea go humans turning into animals, a wish the fae child had often sent up to the first star in the evening sky, or when she blew out the candles on her birthday cake, or whenever the clock struck 11:11. She takes Raven's hand then as she leads her over to Tetradore's bed, releasing as she climbs on the bed quietly before bouncing slightly as she sits upon it, violet eyes blinking underneath long, dark lashes. "Okay," Maeve says, so willing to trust. Not that Raven would ever wish to harm her, but she does these actions so willingly and without question. So the child turn around atop the bed, attempting to keep her shoes off of the comforter. She covers her ears, entirely unaware of what popping noises probably means.

Had Maeve not already known Andras and known of his power of talking inside another's mind, perhaps the fae child would have been frightened here. Instead she practically leaps off the bed when Raven speaks inside her head as she stands up and turns around to face her with a yip of excitement. "Oh. My. Gosh," she says practically dancing from foot to foot as she looks at the wolf that now stands where Raven had once stood. She moves over to Maeve, nails clinking on the floor in a way Maeve found melodic. She feels that head pressed into her side and Maeve reaches out a tiny, fair skinned hand and makes a connection with the wolf's face and slowly and gently brushes over her head, her ears and gently down her neck, unable to reach any further. After another pet, Maeve wraps those dainty arms around her neck with a light touch and moves her little face with those big lavender eyes towards Raven's ear. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," she says, planting a light butterfly kiss onto her cheek. Perfectly content it would seem to stay right there forever.