Microlore: Ribbons and bows, lace and satin, a flourish of rattling rhinestones... This dragon loves the frivolous, fancy things in life. She has a boisterous laugh and a manner that screeches with internalized superiority.

And yet, when she has retreated for the day over a cup of steaming white tea, she feels a deep lonliness in her heart. The lace and the shimmer she wears as armor against her overwhelming sense of inferiority. She could never get the right shape for a teacup in her parent's workshop, and she never fully got the hang of peddling wares from her mom. She wants so deeply to succeed at something, but she feels lost and drifting.

She could really use a friend, but it's hard to find friends when you're trying to convince everyone how good your life is. She draws meditatively, trying to perfect even now the simple, lilting brushstrokes that lighted across her parent's glazes. But her hands shake for fear she'll mess it up, and every time she thinks she might be able to mimic that shape, her hands freeze and the paint smears, and she knows - again - that she can't.