For a creature whose very existence depended on their sense of self, whose very being was based around the concept of cogito, ergo sum, to say it would be second nature to Mallia to appear however she very well pleased would be laughable; it wasn't second by any measure. Nor was her ability to impose her will on her immediate surroundings; it was how her powers worked, because it was how she herself operated.
Which is to say, her appearance didn't differ from its usual. Which didn't necessarily mean she appeared as an adult; she was in a mood over this all -- not a poor mood, but a mood nonetheless, a bit confused and a little frustrated that waking didn't seem to be working for her -- and in exasperation, somewhere between deciding that she wanted to investigate further, and declaring, toss it all, may as well enjoy it! it was anyone's guess whether she was going to appear as an adult or a teenager just then.
And her portion of the patchwork dreamscape was surely something to behold indeed, and rather remarkably stable, too, around her.
On first glance, the dark castle present surely belonged in a creepy nightmare: the castle itself was all dark gray stone, with inky blackness reaching up from below to engulf its surface, a good few stories tall, its peak atop a tower with a pointed roof and balconies that reached out around it, an imposing monument to power that cut across the sunset sky.
A second glance, however, would prove that not all was as it might seem: the dark stones that made up the large structure seemed to sparkle, and moss dotted the cracks between them with green. The black lace that reached up was the darkness of her rosebushes, somehow trained to climb like ivy, so dark green as to only shine where the sun hit it just right. Deep, dark, brilliant colors peeked out here and there, impossibly-colored blossoms with the gentlest, sweetest fragrances. Stained glass windows broke the silhouette, depicting those same strange blossoms, all the way from the ground level to the tower, the balcony's railing similarly claimed by the foliage's enthusiasm. It may have been imposing, but the intent of the architecture seemed less to loom and more to reach, a door seemingly open up there at the top, a light on in that uppermost room....
There were no castle walls here to ward off defenders, there was merely what amounted to a beautiful stone mansion, itself more a work of art than a work of military defense. There was no drawbridge, no moat; off behind the castle, through the lush garden of roses and other flowers, the forest began, its trees looking vaguely reminiscent of figs, but larger, more hardy, a bit on the wild side themselves, rather than groomed and manicured things. This was a fairy's place; for as artificial as hewn stone was, there was a rawness to it all, nature itself invited back in to thrive, which permeated everything.
And then there was a village... if one dared call it that. On the other side of the castle from the gardens and forest, crudely made, very short little mud huts were clumped together in loose groups against one another, leaving wide walkways between them, unpaved dirt roads made by the repeated stomping of many feet. Little firepits were nestled here and there throughout the area, some simply smoldering, others seemingly inert. A few chickens clucked, wandering about freely elsewhere just out of sight, unperturbed and unafraid, and somewhere, a goat was making sounds to itself as it went about its business. There was a sense of life in the place, but it wasn't quite present at a glance, perhaps hiding... and past the primitive little village that looked as though it could hold none bigger than very young children, the fields seemed to be a messy patchwork of farm crops and attempts at gardening, where they weren't full of weeds and grasses and random flowers growing wild, patchily mowed where they were trimmed at all. Beyond that... the forest from behind the castle reached around to encompass the bit of land entirely, a solid backdrop of trees to hush the outside world.
It was peaceful here. Quiet. Protected. The late sun was warm, the air still.
But there was something a little off about it... another version of it, if one looked at it from another angle, focused a little differently: the castle was bare of its wildly-grown rose gown, stones glittering nakedly, missing even the moss, as though it were all fresh and new. The rose bushes were small, around its base, but lively. The miniature primitive village was missing, the area and fields beyond all combed over with barely even a few weeds peeking through, the area a mix of gray ash and pale brown dirt, tilled and evened out again, all the way out to where the forest didn't stand. Smaller trees of more expected Western European varieties stood out there in the distance instead, sparse and young, revealing the jagged landscape outside the castle grounds, the whole place built into something like a crater, a pit among the tips of mountainous crags, a perhaps artificially leveled little haven within a natural pen. The castle hadn't needed built walls with battlements, as nature had done that for it.
The beginning, perhaps, warring to be seen, versus the lush results of centuries of encouragement?
Mallia herself might not have been far from her castle's doors, wide open as they were, crouched to chat with someone just out of sight among the little huts. Or perhaps she was inside, her voice coming from that uppermost chamber in the tower as she sang something to herself....? She was rather good at singing, at least...
(TLDR under this cut) Fairy lady's castle is tall, dark, subtly sparkly, covered in dark roses, and is more an artistic stone mansion than any kind of military fortress. Said castle is surrounded by a very-small-child-height village of primitive mud huts and a wild garden. Past the crude little village, haphazard little crops and gardening happened in an otherwise wild meadow. Outside all that, encircling the area, is a big thick forest of large fig-related-looking trees. Past the surrounding forest, there's mountaintops. The place is isolated by the landscape. It's cozy and peaceful here. ♥ ...And there's another, alternate version of this place, if you look carefully: the castle is new-looking, its rosebushes are small... the overgrown garden, village, farming patches, and the forest around everything are all missing, and the land inside the crater-like area is freshly tilled and leveled, like it's ready to be planted in or built on. Mallia still looks like her usual self, but may or may not be a teenager here just because. She's probably either somewhere nearish the castle's front doors or up in that high tower. She's not hard to find. She may or may not even be singing. Go pester her? Explore her home?
Mallia ~ Open to all! ~ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ʚїɞ εїз ྅༏༊ 🦋
Which is to say, her appearance didn't differ from its usual. Which didn't necessarily mean she appeared as an adult; she was in a mood over this all -- not a poor mood, but a mood nonetheless, a bit confused and a little frustrated that waking didn't seem to be working for her -- and in exasperation, somewhere between deciding that she wanted to investigate further, and declaring, toss it all, may as well enjoy it! it was anyone's guess whether she was going to appear as an adult or a teenager just then.
And her portion of the patchwork dreamscape was surely something to behold indeed, and rather remarkably stable, too, around her.
On first glance, the dark castle present surely belonged in a creepy nightmare: the castle itself was all dark gray stone, with inky blackness reaching up from below to engulf its surface, a good few stories tall, its peak atop a tower with a pointed roof and balconies that reached out around it, an imposing monument to power that cut across the sunset sky.
A second glance, however, would prove that not all was as it might seem: the dark stones that made up the large structure seemed to sparkle, and moss dotted the cracks between them with green. The black lace that reached up was the darkness of her rosebushes, somehow trained to climb like ivy, so dark green as to only shine where the sun hit it just right. Deep, dark, brilliant colors peeked out here and there, impossibly-colored blossoms with the gentlest, sweetest fragrances. Stained glass windows broke the silhouette, depicting those same strange blossoms, all the way from the ground level to the tower, the balcony's railing similarly claimed by the foliage's enthusiasm. It may have been imposing, but the intent of the architecture seemed less to loom and more to reach, a door seemingly open up there at the top, a light on in that uppermost room....
There were no castle walls here to ward off defenders, there was merely what amounted to a beautiful stone mansion, itself more a work of art than a work of military defense. There was no drawbridge, no moat; off behind the castle, through the lush garden of roses and other flowers, the forest began, its trees looking vaguely reminiscent of figs, but larger, more hardy, a bit on the wild side themselves, rather than groomed and manicured things. This was a fairy's place; for as artificial as hewn stone was, there was a rawness to it all, nature itself invited back in to thrive, which permeated everything.
And then there was a village... if one dared call it that. On the other side of the castle from the gardens and forest, crudely made, very short little mud huts were clumped together in loose groups against one another, leaving wide walkways between them, unpaved dirt roads made by the repeated stomping of many feet. Little firepits were nestled here and there throughout the area, some simply smoldering, others seemingly inert. A few chickens clucked, wandering about freely elsewhere just out of sight, unperturbed and unafraid, and somewhere, a goat was making sounds to itself as it went about its business. There was a sense of life in the place, but it wasn't quite present at a glance, perhaps hiding... and past the primitive little village that looked as though it could hold none bigger than very young children, the fields seemed to be a messy patchwork of farm crops and attempts at gardening, where they weren't full of weeds and grasses and random flowers growing wild, patchily mowed where they were trimmed at all. Beyond that... the forest from behind the castle reached around to encompass the bit of land entirely, a solid backdrop of trees to hush the outside world.
It was peaceful here. Quiet. Protected. The late sun was warm, the air still.
But there was something a little off about it... another version of it, if one looked at it from another angle, focused a little differently: the castle was bare of its wildly-grown rose gown, stones glittering nakedly, missing even the moss, as though it were all fresh and new. The rose bushes were small, around its base, but lively. The miniature primitive village was missing, the area and fields beyond all combed over with barely even a few weeds peeking through, the area a mix of gray ash and pale brown dirt, tilled and evened out again, all the way out to where the forest didn't stand. Smaller trees of more expected Western European varieties stood out there in the distance instead, sparse and young, revealing the jagged landscape outside the castle grounds, the whole place built into something like a crater, a pit among the tips of mountainous crags, a perhaps artificially leveled little haven within a natural pen. The castle hadn't needed built walls with battlements, as nature had done that for it.
The beginning, perhaps, warring to be seen, versus the lush results of centuries of encouragement?
Mallia herself might not have been far from her castle's doors, wide open as they were, crouched to chat with someone just out of sight among the little huts. Or perhaps she was inside, her voice coming from that uppermost chamber in the tower as she sang something to herself....? She was rather good at singing, at least...
(TLDR under this cut)