Laura looks down at her arms to see her familiar pale skin, her thin long forearms and thin long fingers. Had she been wearing any jewelry or nail polish before, they were still there now. She had not always looked like that. Before, when she had lived within these halls, she had been taller with powerful muscles and the body of a warrior, or so she thought. And before that? Hadn't she had another form before that too? But it was too hard to remember; too much had been taken from her! And she had no weapons, no armor, none of her old battle garb. A moment of reflection more and Laura realized she was however garbed in her old courtly robes of crimson red.

The King throws its head back in a fit of laughter at Laura's exclamation. The sound was rough and mechanical, and seemed to shake the very foundation of the throne room. "Look at me?" The King asked, suddenly leaning forward in its throne of thorns, arms body and neck seeming to stretch impossibly in the tattered yellow robes. The motion reminded Laura of a viper stretching its head towards its prey so that it could swiftly strike. The King repeats itself, "Look at me? Look at you! I am not the one wearing a mask!" The accusation was so wicked, so confident that Laura could not help herself but look down again at her attire, only to realize that now her flesh was pink, her limbs that of a mortals, her clothing something she would wear in the streets of New Orleans when trying to blend in with those untouched by The Fae!