The first to come to her call draws her full attention swiftly and with hope burning brightly behind the worry and grace that compose the rest, and while the figure is not Faelene, she remains amused with the young woman that has come to answer her call, even if it is not the girl’s mother. Smiling in a sad sort of way that befits the situation, she responds the white youth with a name, as well, a name that she had not said in many a season and had, more often than once, wondered as to the validity of its meaning, whether or not the girl still lived. ”Sno," comes her soft voice, a giggle offered in response to the observation the once filly makes most immediately.

Psyche did not talk of her daughter or the girl’s father much, but Illynx was clever enough to piece the parts together; this was the child of the spotted once Lord of the snow, one of several children that had come from the loins of the Bane of the past. While she doesn’t approve of how the child came into existence or how her life was handled by either of her parents, she does feel love for her niece in ways that Illynx can feel such things, and it is pleasant to see her face, even in the darkness of the moment.

It’s not your father’s, she wants to say aloud, knowing the mother of the snowy child well enough to assume how her little brain works as well. She was young when the Empress and she had both disappeared into the wilds, perhaps not remembering the loyalty that the golden wench held in her heart for the dark queen of the Plague, and the words would have come across chidingly – even if Mauja was a fine male of fine lineage, he was off limits for the simple fact that he had taken a bite from the supple, forbidden fruit of her darling Psyche. That he had then taken the apple and tossed it away as if valueless to him was another matter all together.

She didn’t want to talk down to or of her lost family in this moment, and so her tongue was held. There would be time for explanations later.

’Her name is Sielu…’ she hears, then a secondary arrival rustling behind her that draws a single golden eye back and a slightly mocking smile to make way onto her lips. Was today a day of reunions? A great big, happy family all coming together again to help a little girl in distress, the lost Lord who had left and never returned suddenly appearing as if a ghost in the trees. She could snort in disdain of his arrival, but there is something so sad about the way he holds his entire being that she withholds all sound as if he is still a king to her.

"Mauja," she states, the remarkable appearance of the speckled ghost evident in her tones, "what a pleasant surprise."

She slips so easily into old habits; it drives her mad, makes her figurative fingers clench and bite into the soft heart of her palms. Her vengeance is played out upon the edges of her tongue, bruised and sore as it is clenched between white teeth and her mind ponders what words to add into the moment, golden eyes watching the first stirrings of the still and weak child with hopeful interest that disguise how badly she wants to kick Lord Mauja squarely in the jaw while embracing him in the knowledge that he had not died.

Poor Illynx, so complex and bitter, a wretched thing of jealousy, lust, and greed all bound together as one. If not for her love of what the two standing unicorns held in common she would dig into the cowardly stallion for leaving both she and her Empress in such a disparaging state that it had cost his lover both her station and most of her pride; if not for her memories, brought to life by a simple words. "I played with her once, when she was quite small," she begins, looking down at the girl with mistiness to her eyes, the presence of a child in her belly drawing such maternal sorrow from her as she looks upon the purple frame so weakly stirring in the brush.