Ruatria: The series of elegantly pointed nails fanned themselves along the taught leather of her coach’s glove. The embedded jewels along the rounded tips refracted the fading lamplight and mirrored the equally glistening markings along her brow and framing her mysterious eyes. The bursts of purples and greenish gray that served as the infamous labeled ‘windows to the soul’ shone suddenly with a brighter light and grabbed the ordain black of the stumped man with intrigue. With his guard down just long enough, her movements just swift and feline enough, she managed a scarce few gestures of a spell and with a folding of her deep maroon cloak she was wearing, she was into the ominous stone building and he blundering his way back down the weathered cobble road, without any remembrance of the strange beauty. The coach blended into the evening’s dark and the Elf with the royal cloak slipped with silent footsteps towards the daunting door that was supposedly a palace backdoor.