Maeve, the little fae child with silken locks of gossamer, was a regular here at the Ark. She would walk around the ship with that bright, quintessential Maeve smile upon her face, either playing with Tobi, following Mira around, or admiring Tetradore. The ark felt safe for Maeve, there was a sense of stability to it. She knew who was probably going to be there, she knew their reactions towards her. The ark was predictable, the large ship looked as if it were something unmovable. And that was what the child with pale locks needed in her life. For so long this lithe little girl has bounced around from home to home to home, but, here in Sacrosanct, the golden haired child thinks maybe she will not have to leave.

She moves around the Ark, unable to find some off her companions. She brushes golden hair back behind those delicately pointed ears of hers. Maeve walks around the downstairs, moving off to where the fighting typically happened in the evening. The golden haired fae child had never been allowed to stay during the fights. With good reason of course, such things (violence, nudity, more violence) would never be suitable for a child. Still, Maeve walks around the downstairs area, making her way over the bar. She had tried wine once, copying one of her foster mothers, but the taste had been displeasing and the pale golden haired girl had no interest in trying another other adult beverages.

But that is when something happens that the cream haired girl does not expect. A sudden clap of thunder startles the petite child and she quickly feels panic flare up within her. She is frozen for just a moment, like a deer in headlights before her feet take off in motion almost before her brain has a chance to catch up with her body that was already searching for a place the petite girl with gossamer locks could hide. She dashes behind the bar and finds a cabinet underneath, surely too large for an average nine year old. But, Maeve, being the fae creature she was, is able to fit into the tightly cramped space, those hands flying up over her delicately pointed ears that hide beneath golden locks. Amethyst eyes close tightly as she waits for the storm to end.

So often during these storms is she taken back to that day, a day Maeve isn't even sure she actually remembers, and with every passing year it was growing more and more blurry and out of focus, as if her brain could not keep a hold of it anymore.

She had been so small, still with those pale golden locks that resembled something like early morning light. The lithe little child had panicked when the thundering started. Why was she alone? Where was her mom? Tears fall from those multifaceted purple eyes as she runs almost blindly along the street. Feet pound the pavement as the thunder booms in her ears and the cold air whips around her, stinging her face, turning those pale cheeks bright red. She stumbles, cause more tears to hit those violet eyes of Maeve's. Those golden locks swing forward, sticking to her face with moisture as she rises from the ground, a tear in her pants and a small scrap emerging on her skin. Quickly, she gets up off the ground and continues running, only stopping when she realizes she had come to a police station. Her mother had always said, if she was in trouble, she could ask a policeman for the help. The door, she tries to pull, but it is locked. The golden haired child begins to bang wildly on the door, tears frozen to her cheeks.

She doesn't remember them coming for her, just remembers sitting wrapped in a blanket in a chair, blonde locks still soaking wet, and violet eyes having finally ceased their crying, but there are still tear stains on her pale face. And perhaps, all of this, is why the golden haired girl cannot bare thunderstorms, cannot bear the way the loudness explodes upon the world. Nor does she like the streaks of lightning that reach across the sky like long, twisted fingers. Maeve would rather all of it just disappear.

And that is what she tries to do as she stays in the cabinet, those pale hands pressed firmly over her ears and those eyes shut tight. She doesn't know how long she stays like this, just focused on anything besides the storm that roars outside. It is after some time though that those hands grow weary and eyes become tired that the fae child finally releases her defensive stance. Maeve does not hear any thunder outside, listening carefully with those pale, delicately pointed ears. She thinks perhaps it may be safe now to emerge from her hiding place. She pushes open the cabinet door and crawl out, only for those bright, amethyst eyes to meet someone she had never met before. "Oh, hello," she chirps shyly before coming to stand up. "I'm Maeve."

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