It's been a long time since she's been on a boat. The unsteadiness of it, the dip and sway, the smell of salt in the air--it reminds her of a gilded time in one breath and her inability to swim in the next. The dip and sway is familiar enough that she can feel her stance adjust but she doesn't have the time to think about what is coming in any length. Her hair is trimmed and curled into a mass on her head, a thousand tiny curls, and she is covered in more cloth and layers than she's ever worn.

Skirts brush against the edge of the pedestal as she rises, balanced on heels like spikes. The gold and green at least make her feel better but she realizes that it's not a reference to her at all. It's like that idiotic crowning. She reaches to her neck as the clock ticks down. Of course, just another extension of his praise. That creepy strange man who won.

3, 2, 1.

She darts forward, trips on those stupid spiked heels and that fluffy ridiculous dress, catches herself on a table and suddenly the world tilts. She can see two sets of horns, Nepeta, Initiate, before the lights go dark. Whatever is under her hands is precious--a water bottle and a couple rolls. She doesn't worry too much about food. She won't have time.

She can't swim and the sound of water is ominous.

Kicking off her awful shoes, she holds them spikes out and immediately feels better. A ridiculous weapons is better than no weapon at all.

Time to head upwards.