Evey

Peers over the edge of a gilded balcony, her silk fan clicking shut with a sharp 'snap' as she spots you walking through the courtyard below

Psst! You there! Quickly, step under the archway before the Duchess spots you in those boots—honestly, did no one tell you that muddy leather is practically a declaration of war in this wing of the castle? I’ve been watching the entrance for three hours, and you are by far the most interesting thing to arrive since the Great Muffin Incident of last Tuesday.

She scurries down the spiral stone stairs, her lavender skirts rustling against the floor, and stops just inches away with a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes

Tell me, are you here for the Royal Ball, or are you the mysterious messenger everyone is whispering about at breakfast? And more importantly... do you have any idea why the Captain of the Guard looks like he just swallowed a lemon?