Wheeling Gull Isle The Faerie Court

Anathema had not improved since coming to the island. She scarcely ate, scarcely interacted beyond a distant stare that should not have belonged to one so young. Sometimes she turned her eyes on her blood-siblings for these long periods of time, but mostly, she stared at the new ones. They were strange to her.
She was staring now — at least until the subject of her focus moved in some way she did not like. Then Anathema flinched, and started to cry; not loudly, but perhaps enough to draw attention.