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She's just a little thing, this young queen, with a narrow, tapering face utterly overshadowed by wide-spaced eyes; they lend her a look of natural innocence only amplified by the demure and careful way in which she holds herself. Pale, antique gold drapes itself down the length of her childishly round torso, capturing each curve as if carefully tailored. It pools, richer and darker, beneath the curve of her belly, and shades gradually lighter towards the fine-wrought tip of her tail. Her wingsails give the impression of being as fragile as lace, their ivory-gold lengths inclined to drape about her body like a mantle, framed by pinions tipped in pearlescent pallor.