If Daine had her druthers - not that she ever expects to, in dreams like this - she might keep the clothes she's wearing, but she'd definitely lose all the paint. The breeches are a bit tight, almost like hose, but at least they're thick enough to be warm in the drafty hallways. Her shirt is sleeveless, though, even if it is pretty - a deep, thunderous grey around the back and fading to a lighter, pearly sheen in the front. Her arms are done up like a player's, painted the same deep grey as her shirt, with subtle highlights giving her skin a pebbly look. The first mirror she passes reveals that her face and neck are painted the same way, and when she carefully cranes her neck around to look behind her, she can see a lightweight, false tail pinned to the back of her breeches.

This is stupid. She's too short to be a basilisk. But it seems the rift has seen fit to dress her like one, anyway. If Tkaa could see her now, he'd probably be speechless.

Daine sighs, then wanders towards the faint strains of music she can hear coming from around a corner. She'll see whatever it is the dream wants to show off so badly. Then, maybe she'll try to find a bathroom where she can scrape some of this paint off. She's certain she'll smudge it horribly even if she tries to be careful.