Lalandria sat at one of the inn's tables, instead of a stool on a stage, for once. It was quite nice, except that she was paying for her drinks and stay. This was a big change for her. She usually didn't have the money to pay for the room but lately she had been able to make some money off her singing. It felt different and instead of people instantly asking her to come join them after she sang, she sat alone in the crowded common room. Today was a day of many changes. She watched the crowd. A flutist sat on the stage, in her place, and played fairly well, as well as Lalandria could, but playing the flute wasn't her strong point.
Lalandria looked down at her ale and noticed it was empty.

She motioned for one of the serving girls to come fill it. The girl nodded at her and motioned to the pitcher she carried, signaling she had to refill it. Lalandria smiled at her and bowed her head, acknowledging that she would wait without complaint. Once again her gaze traveled across the room, wondering if she would actually meet people like others did, not as a performer, but as a normal person.

She ran her hand along the scars crossing her arms, pushing the sleeves, which usually covered them, back. Her eyes were gazing off into the distance, not realizing that she was doing so. She began to hum a tune to herself, of a song that an old man had sung to her, when he had found her sitting in a corner crying to herself, after one of her father's beatings. She lost herself in memory for a time. Those near her heard the beauty of the song and the voice that hummed it and glanced in her direction.

Lalandria was a beauty; none would say otherwise, her beauty some would say, surpassing that of her songs. Her hair caught different light, shooting streams of gold and red through her dark brown hair. Her eyes caught the light, gleaming with glints of green and gold. At the moment, several of those sitting near her were staring, caught in the song that expressed the sad, little loneliness of a child long lost to hope. Lalandria would usually have never allowed this lapse of control, but today was different, and her control had slipped for a moment, leaving her in this gorgeous, if tragic appearance. For in truth, Lalandria was most beautiful and real when she, or the song she was singing, was sad. The more tragic the emotion or song, the more beautiful she was. At this moment, she was truly beautiful in every sense of the word.