The pretender
"What's your name?"
I ask to the Faery as we walk, heels tapping with a series of loud clicks as we make out way further down the corridor, weaving past the servants of the palace with a careless ease. All the while I hug my arms tightly around myself, rather keen not to have my body on display for all of the Faey Folk to see- even if they are under a trance. If only I didn't have to wear something so utterly revealing.
It takes a moment for her to answer as her fingers clench by her side, a slight tenseness to her body that certainly wasn't there before. There is a clear hesitation in her voice when she talks, as though she is straining to hide something underneath.
"Reshma," she states, voice wavering, before she straightens herself up again, glazed look overcoming her features once more as she asks in a monotonous voice:
"What is your name, young Queen?"
But I do not hear her.