Aria had been fascinated for at least part of a candlemark. With a twist of her magic and flick of her eyes the bit of lost ribbon she discovered would flutter and dance about in the air and the equally lost kitten would grumble and mew and scrambled to capture it. She played with the kitten and grinned, amused, but from a safe distance. She ultimately didnâ€™t get along well with ground animals. She liked them, but they never seemed to like her.<br/><br/>That was a few hours ago. Afterwards she walked around the village. Finding a fountain she looked at the reflection and smiled, proud of her glamour. She looked exactly like a human woman: mousy brown hair up in a bun, brown eyes, tanned skin of a farmersâ€™ wife, plump, dressed in a simple brown dress. That was, at least, if she looked at herself through her right eye. Her left eye revealed a very different picture complete with shoulder-length hair so fine and blonde it looked nearly white, and fair skin. Her sky blue eyes, marbled with swirls of various tones of light blue, were entrancing after the dull human brown.  Her face was narrower, her body thinner and slightly shorter. She liked her slightly pointed ears better than the humanâ€™s blunt round ones.<br/><br/>In her mind, she was prettier and more interesting than the human, but anymore she looked odd even to herself. The important thing, the one she had to force herself to focus on, was that she pulled it off. To anyone without Faerie Sight, she looked like this human woman. Quickly, she closed one eye, and then switched eyes. For a moment, she kept this up. Human, Aria, Human, Aria, Human. Chuckling she pushed away from the fountain, picked up her basket of freshly cut flowers (a hole-ridden thing filled with old leaves to her left eye) and began to walk out of the village. She was ready to get out of this village and back out where she could stretch and let her glamour fall away. She wanted to move about in her dark blue gypsy pants and her loose, long sleeved white shirt instead of pretending to move about in a dress. The black boots looked strange when she glanced at her feet. This practice was becoming uncomfortably confining, and suddenly no longer amusing.<br/><br/>She rushed her way out of the village. Well, as quickly she the felt this human glamour would be able to go. It was an exaggerated toddle step that forced her to shuffle along the streets. As she got closer to the edge of the village, she wasnâ€™t paying attention. She was focused on getting out and trying not to run.<br/><br/>Thatâ€™s when the person ran her over.<br/><br/>He crashed directly into her as she crossed his path. Her basket went flying and the â€˜flowersâ€™ scattered on the ground. She tripped and fell to her knees and tried to force her face to look shocked instead of the frustration she felt. She cautioned herself and tried to keep up the illusion. She forced herself to struggle, fall a little again, and struggle more to stand up. Reaching out she held the glamour clothes and fluffed the skirts of the dress to remove the dust from them, and looked at her illusion boots so the person couldnâ€™t see any anger in her eyes.<br/><br/>â€œMâ€™pologies, Mâ€™lord. I was not looking where I was going.â€ She tried not to put any accusing emphasis on the last sentence. Or at least she felt like she tried. But to her tone sensitive ears she knew that it was still there.