But still. There is something implacably... off. Its spidery fingers are a bit too long and thin, and even though its face is covered, the expression it bears is still somehow hungry. A mask covers where, approximately, its face should be, but there's only emptiness behind the eye-holes. Despite its movement, it still only feels almost alive.
It pauses, twisting its head this way and that; an animal gesture. Tasting the air.]
Riddle, riddle: not quite Faerie, and not quite Terra. Where, then, is here? A wound between worlds. I sit me on a scab, perhaps, 'twixt the two.
Come thee hither than, thou wandering souls that haunt this place, and greet a poor lost fairy. What fun we'll have.