Blue and grey among the snowflake motif-- The petite figure of Fastheld's tax mistress glides through the threshold of the great hall, slippered steps muffled on the vast stone expanse. One could almost shiver despite the radiating heat from hearth and bodies alike. Marveling at the "snow"-dusted displays and glittering tapestries that hang from overhead, Rowena feels for a moment as though she's stepped into a winter landscape. She would blend well amongst the displays this night. A self-conscious glance flits to the silvery lace that glistens beneath her blue-clad bust and she touches her fingertips to her downy nape to ensure that the pendant remains in place. Only when self-assured does the Mikin emerge more fully from the final step and into the growing level of noise coming from the