i.
Every second in this place is like being smothered. Starved and emptied. Alone in a great desert, a daughter of the sea suffers. Her body shakes and shivers like she is beset by a terrible sickness. Her expression sunken and lost.

But however and whatever it is that has come to pass that she is here - what can she say of it? Nothing she dares to, not now, not ever. In fact, she speaks not a word to anyone, she hasn't been given the correct procedure to speak at all, so she dare not risk it.

Relief comes in the form of the invitation. At last, a chance to be presented to whoever the spirit-leaders are of this place, no doubt! What mercy from them no less, that they give her clothes that are... perhaps, a little grand for her taste, but at least is familiar. Though it is difficult to get dressed without her sisters and brothers there to help.

But do it she does and with the consummate role and grace that must be paramount to the Second-Child. It's neither new nor notable for her to be looked at, even if she so dearly hates it. With her back stiff and her shoulders sloping low, she doesn't stop nor poses for the procession, or in fact, lifts her head except when spoken to by name. There she raises her gaze, to give a stately nod in silent greeting. Best to just keep walking as the trail of her skirt behind her in a long sweep.

Far be it for her to be ungrateful for the invitation to something this lavish to her mind, but she looks visibly relieved when the fuss made over her is done. Oh, perish it.

ii.

Gilia eats like a bird out of each meal that is presented to her. All of it is lavish, sumptuous and sickening in its quantity that her mother would have words if it was ever found out that she gorged herself on such things. It would be unseemly in any form for someone of her position to take in large amounts, and to consume much of it at all. So she takes it simply in polite mouthfuls.

The only thing more painful is how dull the things she has to add to a conversation. Each thing is exact. 'Yes', 'no', 'if it pleases you', 'I would not think to presume that.' Stock responses to anything that she is expected to answer as she rapidly learns here that people seem to take direct conversation easily. That was mercy, until general conversation passes along...

"Oh, no, I have fiv- four siblings. One mother, three fathers and the Father-Sea, of course." Given that she has not even said her name yet to anyone, it might be the most she's said of anything, let alone herself.

iii.
When the dancing begins, Gilia is taken so strongly by it. For if there was one thing her people are known for, it was there dancing, a joyful memory that time nor pain can touch, but without that same invitation, she cannot permit herself.

Her hands curl under her long sleeves, her gaze stands fixed in rapture, out watching the robots and people move in their patterns. For the first time since she arrived, she looks enthused, despite her hesitance to join in. As much content to clap along with eager (appropriate) abandon. Smiling widely, the pearls around her head swaying as she moves.