~Cleo's arrival is tardive, but elegant nonetheless. A green dress flows around their legs, and ruffles cover their arms in extravagant fashion that would seem unusual for the farmer, if it weren't for the practiced way they walked into the party. A thin, simple golden mask sit on their face, shining in the light of the candlelight. The clothes seem timeless on her, probably her mother's, although they fit like a glove. Her hair is simple, left alone to curl down her back apart from a braid crowned upon her head, small silver jewels dangling from the complex knots. This might be a masquerade, but Cleo will not let their identity be tarnished. The careful steps and practiced decorum cannot hide the red in their eyes, and the power they emit.